I Wake Up One Morning...
I wake up in my wife's body in a changed world of dominant and
aggressive men and submissive and horny women. How and why did this
happen? Will things return to normal and if so, how? And will it happen
before I lose myself as Melissa? And how many violations at the hands
of men will I have to suffer on the way?
James Smith - The Husband
Melissa Smith - The Wife
Ms. Jameson - The head of Clerical and Admin
VP Carl Angstrom - The head of the division
Jeffrey Blacksmith - Melissa's Boss
Mr. Garrison - An Executive Manager
Betty - Mr. Garrison's Secretary
Katie - The Receptionist
Tracey - Mr. Angstrom's secretary
Richard Cambridge - An Executive Manager
Chapter 1:
"What the...?" I mumble, startled. There's hair in my face, and it's
long. Where did that come from? It must be Melissa's long blonde hair.
How did it get all the way over to my side of the bed? I brush it away.
Ugh! It won't get out of my face! Annoyed, I sit up.
Shit! The hair is stuck to me! I... can't... seem... to brush it away!
I have a hissy fit, trying to get the hair out of my face. Eventually I
am so frantic that I have to stop and close my eyes and count to 10 to
settle down. Okay, fine. 1... 2... 3...
After 10, I open my eyes and take a deep breath. Then, my fingers,
seemingly of their own accord, catch the hair and hook it behind my
ears, out of the way.
Hey, that worked! When did I learn to do that?
I look over to my wife sleeping... but there is no wife, just the edge
of the bed. Wait... I slept on the wrong side of the bed last night??
I think back. I don't remember being drunk. How could I have switched
places with my wife? How was that possible? Did I sleep walk?
I pull aside the covers to get up, but something is wrong....
My legs. They're smooth and... slender. And smooth. And sensitive...
ohhh.... Oh god. My eyes follow my legs upwards. Oh FUCK... I'm wearing
a nighty?
I look higher.
Oh no.... please no...
I HAVE BREASTS. HOLY FUCK MOTHER OF GOD I HAVE FUCKING BREASTS.
What the hell happened? Oh shit, oh shit, shit, shit, shit--
I close my eyes and slowly count to 10. This can't be happening. This
can't be happening. This can't be happening.
10's not enough. I keep my eyes closed and count to 20.
I open my eyes. This has to be some sort of prank, right? Some sort of
weird, twisted, practical...
I look over at the lump sleeping next to me. Wait... is that A MAN
sleeping in bed with me? WHO THE FUCK IS THAT??
He snuffles and turns over to face me, eyes still closed. He looks
familiar. He looks just like...
Me.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck!
It must be a dream. This has to be a dream. I'm dreaming. I must be
dreaming.
I slip out of bed and stand up as quietly as possible so as not to wake
the stranger-doppelg?nger sleeping next to me. On soft pads, I walk
across the bedroom. My body moves weirdly. It's all out of balance. I
feel like I have to stand up straighter and hold my shoulders back. The
breasts on my chest bounce gently as I walk, no matter how carefully I
step. I go to the standing mirror...
... and my wife Melissa stares back at me, wearing slinky lingerie. I
hold a hand to my face and she does the same. I look at her with shock,
and she looks back at me... in shock.
Oh god... oh god... oh god!
The lingerie she's wearing... I'm wearing?? . . . It's the lingerie I
bought her for our first anniversary together, before I knew better. Of
course she said she rather run naked through a bee hive covered in
honey than wear that trashy lingerie I bought her.
But now the woman in the mirror is wearing it. Why is she wearing it?
Why would Melissa put on that trashy underwear she hates so much?
I look down, and Melissa does the same. I am wearing the lingerie. It
is on my body. I look back up and Melissa does the same... I start to
breath heavily... oh god, I'm having a panic attack!!
I close my eyes and count to 10. Then 20. Then 50.
Think calming thoughts. Be rational. There has to be a logical
explanation.
I open my eyes...
It's still Melissa, wearing the lingerie. I look down at my own body,
*I'M WEARING LINGERIE* I'm wearing her trashy lingerie!!
Stop. Think logically. Let's take this step by step.
Again I look down and I see myself wearing the lingerie I bought for
Melissa on our first anniversary. Again I look up in the mirror and I
see Melissa wearing the same lingerie. There is no one else standing in
front of the mirror other than me. That means that...
I am Melissa.
Oh god, it's true. Somehow, I am, inside of Melissa's body... wearing
her sexy lingerie.
But why?
The lingerie is embarrassingly feminine. It's a super-short baby-doll
nightgown which reaches down just to my... (Melissa's?) crotch. The
plunging neckline shows Melissa's ample breasts (MY ample breasts??) to
best effect, with a cute little pair of string-bikini style panties
that cup her pussy perfectly.
Wait... it cups her pussy? Her... PUSSY...????
Oh no. I look down and spread my legs and bend over to look into my
crotch. Oh god. OH GOD!!
I have a pussy. There's no penis there. I HAVE A FUCKING PUSSY. OH
SHIT. OH SHIT. OH SHIT!!!
And then it hits me. I really am Melissa. I am fully Melissa... ALL THE
WAY. I COMPLETELY freak out now. I HAVE NO FUCKING PENIS! WHERE IS MY
FUCKING PENIS???
Close your eyes and count to 10. Okay. It's okay. There's a logical
explanation. Deep breaths. Count to 10. No... let's make it a hundred.
Count to a hundred. There you go. Count... slowly.... slowly... there
you go...
Finally I feel calm enough to open my eyes again.
I am a woman.
There's no getting around it. I am a woman. I have woken up in the body
of a sexy woman. And not just any woman, but I am my hot young wife.
Slowly, hesitantly, I explore a bit. I run my hands over my body,
feeling the silky fabric. You know, this actually feels pretty good, I
think to myself. I don't understand why Melissa wouldn't want to wear
this all the time. My god, I mean, it actually feels pretty incredible.
And she... I mean I (!!) look so hot in it. So sensuous, so romantic,
so...
I stand there, staring at the mirror, watching Melissa stroke her body,
but it's me. It's my hands stroking my body. I am trapped in her body!
Shit, I'm actually starting to get turned on a bit. What the.... is
that...
I look over at the bed. There's a man who looks like me: James. He's
asleep, snoring softly while I'm freaking out over here, trying to wrap
my head around they fact that I'M SOMEHOW IN MY HOT YOUNG WIFE'S BODY
AND I'M LOOKING OVER AT MYSELF FROM THE OUTSIDE.
Close your eyes and count to 100... Okay... maybe 200... okay...
okay...
I open my eyes and look over at the man in bed. He has pushed the quilt
to the side and the sheet is clinging to his body.
Oh god, there's a lump. A lump between his legs. And it's getting
bigger.
I look over at it from across the room. The lump, between his legs. Oh
god.
A jolt goes through me. Like a big fist has reached into my body and
grabbed my soul and all I can do is stand there and stare at the lump,
transfixed. I am no longer thinking about what I'm wearing or... that I
have breasts... all I can think about is that lump.
But hey... I think... that's MY lump! And I know exactly what that lump
is. It is "NPT". Nocturnal Penile Tumescence. Also known as my 'morning
wood'.
How I wished that Melissa would take care of it in the morning. Always
I am waking up with this huge hard on and always I'm hoping that she
would suck it into her mouth and give me some relief. But she never
does. She was always too sleepy and not in the mood. And when I push
it, she snaps at me.
But now *I'm* Melissa...
Oh god... I feel my nipples tingling.
Down below... between my legs...? What is happening down there...?
I squeeze my legs together.
Oh jeez. It's slippery between my legs.
Images of my penis insert themselves into my brain. Only it's from
Melissa's POV. Images of my penis, but looking at it (not owning it),
with delicate fingers with painted nails holding it. The hard penis,
pointing at me... looking delicious...
Did I just think that? Did the words 'penis' and 'delicious' actually
go through my head at the same time? What the fuck? Stop that! Stop
that! Get that out of your head!
But now that I have it in my brain, I can't seem to stop thinking about
it. Penis. Penis. Penis. Penis... it's like suddenly I'm obsessed.
I feel a drip on the bodice of my nightgown. It's from my mouth. Oh
god... I'm drooling. I'm actually drooling!
Oh god, I'm drooling for his penis. James' penis. The penis of the man
who is sleeping in that bed! That man... who is me... on the bed...
with a hard penis...
I pad back to my side of the bed and I slip back under the covers. I
turn on my side and try to sleep, but I can't. I'm too wired and too
awake. Too many thoughts are going through my head.
Penis... penis... that morning wood. His morning wood.... aching.
needing some love.... needing some attention from my lips.... so
delicious.
Damn it!
Penis, penis, penis, penis, pe-- oh shit, but it's not a penis, is it?
It's really... what is it? It's really... a cock. A cock! It's a cock!
It's A NICE HARD COCK and it's there RIGHT NEXT TO ME!!
Fuck. I sit up and look over at the bulge between the legs of the man
sleeping next to me. My eyes are drawn to it, I can't help myself, I
look over every curve of his lump. Is it growing even harder? Is that
possible? Oh god, it's shifting under the sheet. It IS. IT'S GETTING
EVEN HARDER.
Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck.
Worse, he's sleeping naked. I can tell. But I never sleep naked,
because Melissa won't let me. But clearly, *this* James *is* sleeping
naked. It's obvious. There's nothing between me and that hard naked
cock except a thin sheet. Oh god, I can see the ridge on the helmet of
his cock clearly outlined.
Oh man, I'm so horny now that I can barely stand it. I reach over
tentatively but then pull back. Oh god! What am I doing?? Shit. Stop
this!
My mouth is watering, all I can think about is cock, cock, cock,
cock... Images of that hard cock, in my hands, in my... oh god... I am
thinking about... oh no!
Having that cock in my mouth!!
All I want to do is making love to it. Hold it. Lick it. Suck it. Taste
it... mmmmm.... taste it... oh... yeah...
I have to. I just have to!
I reach over and gently, slowly, trying my best not to wake this man
next to me... my... husband?? This man who looks like me? Who the
hell...??
I peel back the sheet to expose his hard cock.
Oh...
I have a soft intake of breath as it's revealed.
I have never seen anything so beautiful. Angels sing. I am struck by
its power and raw sensuality. I must have it... I feel lust taking over
my brain so I can't think rationally anymore. I look at it and it's
like some sort of addictive response...
I must have it in my mouth. I must worship it. It is so beautiful, I am
so horny just looking at his hardness, the helmet, the shaft, the soft
heavy balls. They are so beautiful.
I look at the time. It is too early. I don't know how I know this, I
just know that it is. I must not start too early. This is drilled into
me. I must only start at the right time. He needs his sleep. His sleep
is precious.
But I can see by the growing tumescence that the right moment is
getting close. Not much longer now. I can feel it. My nipples tingle.
My mouth waters. I swallow. I fix my hair with unconscious movements
(how did I learn to do that?) and I smooth my silky baby-doll (so
wonderfully trashy!) nightgown over my body and look at his exposed
manhood and oh god... I have never wanted anything more in my life than
to lick it.
The clock clicks over to 6:30am.
Finally! My nipples tingle and it's like I've been starving my whole
life waiting for this moment.
But wait!! WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?
I halt, mid-motion. Stop this! I shout to myself inside my head. Don't
move! Figure out what the fuck is wrong and--
It twitches. Oh fuck, it's twitching. Holy shit, look at it. Oh god...
it's... it's missing me!
Unable to control myself, I lean over and stick out my tongue and
softly lick the long hard shaft. oh god... the taste is manly and
heavenly. I clench my legs together. I feel more wetness in my crotch.
Crap, it's become a swamp down there. Shit, I am so horny I would fuck
a horse if it were handy.
And the smell. His smell. Musky, male-crotch smell after having slept
all night. Oh, it's rich and dark and it draws me in. My nipples
tingle. It fills my mind with lust. Oh god...
Carefully, I lift up his penis, WOW, it's warm and hard - like a steel
bar wrapped in soft, silky rubber, and I put it into my mouth.
Instinctively, I create a wet fleshy tube with my mouth and slowly suck
it in. I work my tongue against it, trying to taste it as much as I
can.
Ohhh... I'm in heaven.
A flow of pleasure runs through my body as nothing I have felt before.
Is this what taking drugs feels like? Like your entire body... your
entire soul! Is in the right place at the right time with the right
person doing exactly what you most want to do in your entire life and
that's suck on this man's cock??
I draw it deeper into my mouth, as deep as I can, until it bumps
against the back of my throat.
His balls, I see his balls.
I reach down with my hand and gently cup them, massing them softly with
the soft pads of my fingers, keeping my long, painted nails (since when
did Melissa get long fingernails??) carefully out of the way.
I continue sucking and massaging, being slow and soft, feeling his
glorious shaft sliding in and out of my mouth and across my tongue,
until I feel his hands on my head.
"Those lips are the world's best alarm clock," the man who looks like
me... should I start calling him James? Anyway, he says this while
stroking my hair. "I love it when you wake me up with a blow job."
I've done this before? Since when did Melissa... But I don't care
anymore. His cock is too glorious.
I moan at his praise and feel my nipples tingle. I want to tell him
that his penis is so beautiful that I would suck it all day long, but I
have a mouth full of cock and words are meaningless right now. I think
from my moaning, he's probably getting the right idea anyway.
I continue sucking for a few more strokes, feeling his excitement
build, but then I feel him reach down and pull me up by the arms. His
clock slips out of my mouth (oh no!) and I am placed on my back with my
head on his pillow.
"I want something more this morning," he growls. He reaches down and
pushes the crotch of my thin useless (now soaking wet) bikini panty to
one side. I spread my legs automatically, like a slut in heat, looking
up at him with heavy-lidded eyes full of lust. Placing the head of his
cock at the entrance to my pussy, he pushes it in with a single,
confident thrust.
"Oh GOD!" I cry, feeling a hard cock in my pussy for the very first
time. I feel claimed and taken. I feel owned by this man and his
amazing, beautiful, glorious hard cock which is giving me pleasure
beyond what I thought was possible!
His eyes clearly appreciate the sexy nightgown I'm wearing with the
heavy, big breasts captured by the thin silky fabric, my big nipples
sticking out like a porn star's.
We are both so horny that it only takes a few thrusts, the head of his
cock pressing deliciously deep against the very back of my vagina (my
cervix? I don't know I better look it up) groaning and jerking
spasmodically until we both cry out simultaneously "OH YES!" and then
we are coming and coming and coming. I am so sensitive down there that
I can actually feel his cock expanding as sperm jets out into me. It is
so overwhelming that I actually start to cry, clutching at him,
nuzzling his neck, sobbing a little and saying 'thank you' over and
over and over.
"And thank you too," he says, laying me back down on the pillow and we
kiss, his beard stubble nice and rough against my soft lips, thrusting
his tongue down my throat which I always love. His hard cock is still
in my wet pussy, and we both look at each other and we both know we
could continue, a second and maybe a third time...
And I am lost. Lost as Melissa, my mind so fogged and confused and full
of sex and such a flow of warmth that I can't think at all.... I look
up into his eyes and give him another kiss... kiss... kiss...
ohmmmm..... I am kissing this man...
With a reluctant sigh, he pulls his tongue out of my mouth and his cock
out of my pussy and stands up. Instinctively from years of training, I
reach down and cover my slit, trying to keep his precious seed inside
of me, and I lever my hips into the air so it won't drip onto the bed.
But there is so much that inevitably some drips fall into the sheets,
wetting them. I reach over to the nightstand with my other hand where I
find, surprisingly, a stack of hand towels which I fetch. Scooping as
much of his seed from my pussy lips as possible onto my fingers, I
replace the hand on my crotch with a hand towel and bring his seed
mixed with my juices to my lips and slowly suck them off, the taste of
this sperm and vaginal fluid mixture entering my brain as perhaps the
most amazing elixir of sex ever invented by God. And my mind blitzes
and the fog continues and I look over at this naked man in the bedroom
feeling nothing but lust and desire and feeling oh-so-satisfied...
I sit up and place my feet on the floor. I reach down and capture as
much as I can of the spermy liquid spilling out of my slit on my
fingers and bring it to my mouth while the washcloth catches the rest.
James watches me and chuckles.
"That's my horny slut," he says. The word slut acts like a finger on my
slit, giving it a stroke and making me horny all over again.
"Yes," I moan. "I am a slut. I am your slut. Please.... can't we..." I
nod to the bed, wanting to fuck some more.
"Sorry, dear, but I have an early morning meeting with the team from
Poland."
"Well, phooey." I pout and stick my tongue out at him.
"And you have a long day too," he points out. "Don't you have that big
presentation due today?"
Suddenly I realize he's right. I *do* have a big presentation due
today. A presentation that I have been working on for a whole month
now.
"I guess so," I say. "But I'd rather fuck."
"I know, me too." He leans over and pulls me into another kiss, his
tongue thrusting into my mouth aggressively like before, making me moan
and get horny all over again. "You'll do great," he say, encouragingly.
James then pads off to the bathroom and it's not long before I hear the
shower running.
In a horny and post-coitus daze, I clean myself up with the washcloth
as best I can, put on the slinky robe I see puddled on the floor next
to my side of the bed, and go make coffee in the kitchen.
* * *
Chapter 2:
Still in a daze, my body running on autopilot, I put out some breakfast
for James and then I take my shower. By the time I'm done with all of
the moisturizing, shaving and cleansing steps, James has had his few
bites of bagel and is long gone, kissing me goodbye as I'm drying off,
again with his tongue thrust deep in my mouth and my body singing out
to have sex with him again.
Gradually, now that his presence is no longer in the apartment, my head
begins to clear.
In the bathroom I notice a square blister-pack of pills. About a dozen
pills have been punched out. I realize that these are Melissa's birth
control pills... I remember her saying something about having to take a
special kind of birth control pill because she had some sort of problem
with the ordinary pills. What was it? There's a note on the top of the
blister pack which says: "MUST TAKE PILL BY 10AM".
I look at the pills for a long time lost in a fuzzy haze of recent sex
with the fake James that I woke up next to. I watch, as if I were an
outside observer, as my hand moves on its own accord and drops the
package of pills in the trash.
I pad out to the kitchen in just a towel (with another one wrapped
around my long hair) to have a cup of coffee. The caffeine starts to do
it's magic and then...
Oh shit...
What the fuck is going on?
I sink to the floor, still holding my coffee, panicking. Holy shit,
holy shit, holy shit!
Somehow last night, Melissa and I switched places, and now I am
Melissa. But then... who is James?
WHO IS THE MAN THAT JUST FUCKED ME THIS MORNING?
Was it Melissa? Was it another version of me? If it wasn't Melissa,
then what happened to her? And if it *was* Melissa, is she going
through the same questions I am now? But the man didn't seem bothered
by the situation. It seem like this was just an ordinary morning for
him...
Damn, I wished I'd asked the fake-James some questions. Any questions!
But I was such a slut puppy that all I could think about was cock...
Cock...
Oh he had such a beautiful cock...
STOP IT!!
Is this what Melissa feels all day long? But I was sure it wasn't. I
would know if my wife were thinking about cocks all day long and
constantly getting obsessed with them. Wouldn't I?
How nice and firm they are.
How they taste.
How my lips feel when...
SHIT, SHIT! STOP THAT! STOP THAT!!
I slap myself on the face to snap myself out of it.
No, Melissa does NOT behave this way, no way. Somehow, after the switch
(I was really hoping it was a simple switch, because the thought of
Melissa somehow disappearing and some new creepy James sleeping next to
me and thrusting his tongue down my mouth (!!!) was too much to
bear)... Somehow after the switch something must have happened to this
body to become obsessed with...
Don't say it! Don't even think it!
Anyway, after the switch, something happened. And now I'm like this. A
slut. A HORNY SLUT.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck.
But something inside of my says: "You know it wasn't a switch. He
wasn't freaking out. This is his normal. You're the only one freaking
out."
But if it wasn't a switch, then what happened? I am in Melissa's
body... that is clear. I used to be James... I know I was!
I look at the clock. 7:45. Shit! I... No, I mean Melissa! Has a
presentation at 9am!
I hop up and put the coffee in the sink. Stripping the towels off my
body I prance into Melissa's walk-in closet to get dressed.
Okay, okay, let's think. We need to get dressed. Right. Get dressed.
So, what's first?
A bra.
Let's start with a bra. I sift through her dresser drawers, looking for
a bra. Oh man, all of her sports bras that she normally wears have been
replaced by sexy, satin and lacy bras of a wide variety of soft pastels
and prints.
'Because a girl needs to dress sexy for her man and for all men,' the
thought goes through my head. 'We need to show off our tits for all of
the men in our world.'
Where the fuck did that come from?
I randomly pick out something and slip it up my arms. Letting my mind
go blank, my hands go on auto-pilot and automatically reach back to
fasten it together behind my back and then they adjust my boobs in the
bra until it feels nice.
I glance in the mirror and suck in my breath. Her cleavage is amazing.
Are Melissa's boobs bigger? They seem bigger than I remember. Or is
this some sort of push-up bra? Is that why they look so... prominent
all of a sudden?
But there is no time. I find a pair of panties (they all seem too
small, smaller than I remember her wearing) and slip it up my legs. The
back slides up my ass crack. Sheesh, this is practically pornographic
the way the shiny fabric cups my buns.
'Shoes and socks,' the thought goes through my head. What does Melissa
wear on her feet to work? I rack my brains. She must use some sort of
sock or something, right?
I open drawer after drawer, but all I can find are stockings and
pantyhose. There are some socks, but they obviously too casual for
work.
So it's either pantyhose or stockings. For some reason, stockings feel
more like socks, so I pick out a pair. I sit on a bench and roll them
up my legs, careful not to snag them with my nails. But they don't stay
up.
A... garter belt?
I find a garter belt and step into it, settling it at my waist.
Reaching down, I attach the tabs to the top of the stockings, feeling
the gossamer fabric stretching deliciously over my legs.
Oh... that's nice, the thought goes through my head. Mmmm....
I sit down at the dressing table in the closet. I know that this is
when Melissa typically does her makeup. But what to do? I can feel
something tugging at the corner of my brain. Don't think too much, it
says.
I let my brain go blank and my hands sort of take-over, applying WAY
more makeup than I've ever seen Melissa apply. There are like DOZENS of
steps, with concealer, and blush and about a hundred steps just for the
eyes alone, and then lining the lips and then lip stick... it's all
muscle memory and something inside me which has retained some of
Melissa's memories. Thank god.
When it is all over, OH MY GOD, Melissa looks like a fashion model! Her
bright red lips are so kissable...
'Cock sucking lips' the thought goes through my head. I look at the
tube of lipstick and discover it says 'Cock sucking red'.
Shit. How embarrassing.
But it's too late to change. I find a blouse and slip it on. Fuck. The
bra shows through the thin fabric of the blouse! But I look all over
her 'business section' of the closet (for some reason, I never even
consider getting clothes from the other sections) and all of the
blouses are either thin like that or tubes of fabric which look way too
small, or made of straps and small swaths of fabric that don't look
like a blouse at all. What the fuck? Where did all her proper shirts
go?
So fine. It's a sheer blouse. Pants? I need something to cover my
bottom, right?
But there are no pants.
I look, astonished, as ALL of the skirts are either SHORT PENCIL
SKIRTS, or even shorter flared skirts. Shit, shit! This is ridiculous!
I know for a fact that Melissa has NEVER worn a pencil skirt or any
sort of short flared skirt like this, and definitely NOT to work.
But that is all there is in the 'business section' of the closet. What
to do??
I find the longest, flared A-Line skirt I can find. It's short, but not
scandalously so. I'm just about to put it on...
... but wait. I need a slip.
Wait, how would I know that? But somehow I do. I must put on a slip
before I can put on the skirt.
And so I go back into the lingerie drawer and find a silky nylon half-
slip (something tells me this is correct for the skirt) and I pull it
up my legs (oh god, it feels amazing sliding over my legs) and then I
step into the skirt, zipping it up in back and fastening the waist.
Holy cow, it is so short!
It ends about two inches above the knee, just barely below my
stockings. It flares out every time I take a step with flirty kick
pleats and shows the slip as well. This is so going to attract the men,
I realize. Damn.
But nothing to do about it now. Running late! I go looking for shoes.
Damn. All heels? Seriously?
But wait... What the fuck is going on? Melissa and I argued about
heels a month ago. She only has a single pair and that was only for
special occasions like weddings. She HATES heels.
But... but... I look around the closet, astonished. Why have all her
flats been replaced by with heels?
But time is running out. Has run out. I need to get going if I'm going
to be able to take the subway to work.
Shit, fine. I find the lowest pair of heels I can, but they're still
three inches. I step into them, totter for a second, but then I kind-of
let my head go blank for a second and I discover I can walk in them
just fine.
Perfume. I reach out and dab some on my wrists and behind my ears.
Perfume... Wait... I put on perfume? For work? Melissa never does that.
Why did I just do that?
Something about the perfume jogs a memory...
But no time now. I brush out my hair a few times (it falls miraculously
into place and I look gorgeous with my long flowing hair, beautiful
makeup, sheer blouse open in the front my swelling cleavage with just a
hint of a lace bra underneath). On the way out of the brownstone I
fetch a bright red purse which I sling over one shoulder and finally
I'm able to step outside, past the gate and onto the street where I
head to work.
* * *
Okay, so I can do this, I think to myself. No problem. Just pretend to
be Melissa, get through that presentation she worked so hard on and
then get home and figure out what happened later. No problem. Just get
through the presentation so her job is safe. Just a few hours and I
should be able to leave work and head home.
It's a bit nippy in the cool morning air, which makes me wonder why I
didn't fetch a blazer or a jacket to wear. But too late now. I glance
down. The cool air has made my nipples stand out. They make little
points on my blouse.
Great. Just great.
I walk briskly to the subway entrance that I know Melissa uses to get
to her office building. The purse bumps gently against my hip as I
walk. I hear the loud "click clack" of my heels on the sidewalk cement.
The heels make me arch my feet and stretch my calves.
But it doesn't feel painful at all. In fact, it feels wonderful. A
wonderful stretch. I know my legs look amazing in the skirt and
stocking and high heels.
Perhaps I should have gotten higher heels?
But immediately I tamp down that thought. What the fuck?
The A-line skirt flips and flares around my legs as I walk, looking
gorgeous with fun, flirty movement.
Did I just say flirty?
I better take smaller steps, I realize.
I wonder what my ass looks like in this skirt. I bet it looks amazing.
I feel like a model walking down the street. I flip my hair back with
my hand.
Oh, look at that. I have nail polish on. And long fingernails.
I think back. Melissa never used nail polish! And certainly not red
nail polish. I look at my fingers more intently. They look incredible.
It's actually a beautiful New York spring morning. Buds are starting to
come out onto the trees. The air is fresh. I hear birds.
But something is bothering me. I think back to yesterday when I was
still James. Melissa and I had been arguing about something before we
went to bed. But what? I remember she called me a sexist pig (nothing
new there). Probably I made some crass remark like I usually do. And
then she said something. But what was it?
Was it the perfume? Did I ask her why she wasn't wearing perfume? Was
that it? Something I said about the perfume set her off? Or was it
about children? Like, why wasn't she ready to have children yet? We had
been arguing a lot about that recently. Or maybe I was asking why she
didn't dress up nicer at home when it was just the two of us?
Shit, I should have paid more attention.
Well, looks like the shoe is on the other foot now, so-to-speak.
Karma's a bitch, and now so am I.
Just get through the day. Just get through the day and then figure it
out later.
Walking carefully in the heels, it has taken forever to make it to the
corner, but finally I turn onto the avenue. It is more crowded here
with men and women walking briskly to work. I see the subway entrance
on the next block. With a sigh, I walk with my small, ladylike steps
towards it, one foot in front of the other, my ass swaying.
A man steps up quickly from behind and is now walking next to me. I
look up at him. Oh, he's cute! I smile at him. He looks down at me and
smiles back. Wow, he's tall. All the men seem tall. Is this what women
see all day?
"Beautiful morning," he says, sounding friendly and chatty.
"Yes, it is," I say. I look up at him and bat my eyes. Did I just do
that? My eyes glance down to his crotch. Oh GOD, I see a bulge in his
pants. He actually has a hard on and I can see it clearly. Is that hard
on for me? Did he see my ass wiggling down the street and get a hard-on
and then decide 'hey, I'll walk that lady to the subway'? Do things
like that happen to women as they walk down the street?
Crap. I bet they do. Shit.
I smile at him, feeling tingly.
"Yes, a very beautiful..." I glance back down at his crotch and then
back up at him, "uh... morning."
What am I doing? Am I flirting with this random man on the street as I
walk to the subway? I flick my hair with my hands, and then do a thing
with my lips.
Finally we get to the corner and cross the street. The Subway entrance
is at the end of this block. So close...
WHAT THE FUCK??
As we cross the street, he places his hand on my butt!! As if to help
me across the street? How lame! Oh god, now he's rubbing my bottom. Oh
Jesus Christ. I am walking down the street in public view and a guy has
walked up like it was nothing and is palming my ass.
We're back on the sidewalk and he's still doing it!
I should slap the bastard. Or... at least tell him to stop. At least I
should do that, right? Or maybe I should soften the blow by telling him
I'm married (or rather, that Melissa is married!). Something, right? I
should stop this... I really need to do something and not just walk as
if it's perfectly OK for this man to have his hand on my behind in full
public, feeling it up... his nice firm, manly hand...
Oh god...
My nipples are tingling. I run my fingers through my hair and smile up
at him.
What is wrong with me??? Why can't I control myself? If this were
Melissa, she would have slugged him into next week by now!
Suddenly, I see the peril of the high heels. They hobble me. I can not
run away. I can not increase my pace. I have to continue to take small
lady-like steps as this man stands next to me with his hand on my
bottom AND OH GOD NOW HE IS GROPING MY ASS.
"Oh!" I little moan of surprise escapes my lips. "Oh, dear!" I wriggle
my bottom in his hand. WHAT AM I DOING?? I should be slapping his hand
away. I should deck him!
But I can't. I am suddenly so overcome with lust that I want it to
continue forever. His hand on my bottom, groping it, feeling it,
grasping at it... making me so wet and horny... Oh god... I close my
eyes and clench up my body. Oh dear...
Finally! The subway entrance!
"Well, this is my exit," I say, my voice is tinged with regret. Oh god,
I could have walked for miles with his hand on my butt. My mouth is
slightly open and I am looking at him, breathing hard.
"Awww..." he says. "Well, I have to catch a cab downtown. Maybe we'll
chat again sometime."
"Oh, I hope so," I say brightly.
"What's your number?"
Without thinking, I give him Melissa's cell number. He punches it into
his phone.
He gives me a kiss on the cheek and we part.
* * *
I slowly navigate down the stairs in my flared A-Line skirt and high
heels.
I find that I am shaking. What the fuck just happened? A man walked up
to a woman - ME - on a busy street, and causally fondles her bottom and
I just LET IT HAPPEN? Even worse, I SEEMED TO ENJOY IT???
What the fuck?
I see a train pulling away (damn heels!) just as I finally step onto
the platform, so initially I'm the only one waiting for the next one.
But soon other commuters start to join me.
I look to my right and do a double-take. There's a woman being fondled
by a man standing next to her. She's wearing a short, short skirt and
he has his hand up it!
Maybe it's her husband? I wonder. But it looks so casual.
She's blushing with shame, but she doesn't look entirely displeased.
She sees me staring and looks back at me with a "what are you looking
at" expression.
Embarrassed, I look away. But then, to my left, I see another woman. A
man is standing directly behind her, his hands on her waist. He leans
over and kisses her neck. Her eyes are closed in pleasure, moaning. His
hands move up and surrounds her body.
IS HE GROPING HER BREASTS??
What the heck is going on??? Has the whole world gone mad? Men feeling
up women on the subway platform? What the fuck is going on??
Just then I feel a finger trace down my back. The surprise almost makes
me jump onto the tracks, but I restrain myself. The finger disappears
for a second, but then is back, stroking down my blouse and outlining
my bra straps.
"That's a beautiful blouse you have on," says the man behind me.
I feel my skin crawl, as the finger slowly... slowly traces down my
back, and then up one side.
"Th-thanks," I gasp. I'm feeling trapped with no where to go, hemmed in
by the crowd and with this man fingering my blouse.
"Is it silk?" he asks.
"I... I don't know," I admit.
My phone pings and I dig it out of Melissa's purse to look at it.
Shit, it's a picture of some guy's naked dick.
*ping*
There's another one! This time I can see the man. Oh my god, it's the
guy who walked me to the subway stop. He's sending me dick pics??
The fingers on my back get more aggressive, stroking the sides of my
back, underneath my arms, getting closer to my breasts... oh god...
I look at the dick pics on my phone, actually look at them. For some
reason, I can't seem to stop staring at them. They are beautiful. He
really does have a beautiful penis, I think to myself.
Just as I'm sure the creepy man behind me is about to reach around me
and grab my breasts, *thank GOD*, the train arrives. The doors slip
open and we step into it. Damn, all of the seats are full. I walk into
the car and reach up to grab a loop. The man walks up behind me and
does the same.
Suddenly, I am struck by what's happening in the car. Oh GOD, there are
women being groped my men all over! I see women on men's laps, kissing
them. There's a woman bending over while a man carefully examines her
bottom with his fingers. I see men casually sitting with their hand up
a woman's skirt as she squirms with her eyes closed in lust.
WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?
Suddenly I get very, very worried. I must be dreaming. THIS CAN NOT BE
REAL. There is NO WAY this could be real.
I try closing my eyes and then biting my lip and then opening them
again.
It's the same, except worse. Oh god. What the hell subway car is this?
I never take the subway to work. This can't possibly be what happens to
Melissa every day, is it? No... that's impossible. Did I accidentally
step into some movie set for some porn movie? And everyone here are the
extras?
"You should smile more."
What the heck? Who was that? I look up to see a concerned man staring
at me.
"I... I'm sorry?"
"I said, you should smile more. You'd look so much prettier if you
smiled."
For some reason, this strikes me as deep and powerful insight.
"You know, you're absolutely right!" I say, as if flush with a dawning
realization. And I can't help it, but my face breaks out into a happy
smile.
"That's a good girl," the man says. "A smile makes any women's face
more beautiful. Now see, don't you feel better too?"
I think seriously about his question for a second.
"You know, I really do. Thank you! Thank you for taking the time to
tell me this!"
I nimbly put an arm around his waist and pull us together so that I can
give him a kiss on the cheek. "That was really sweet of you to tell
me."
"Aw, 'twern't no problem at all ma'am," he says with a fake cowboy
accent that makes me titter with delight.
Just then the subway comes to a hard stop and I am thrown into his
arms. With a chuckle at my clumsiness, he helps me stand back up.
"Probably you should use both hands," he says, looking up at the loops.
"You know, for safety's sake." The doors open and more people file in.
Grateful for his advice, I grasp the loop with both hands. People crowd
in around us, pressing us together. Unfortunately, this includes the
creepy man from the train platform, who is now behind and pressing up
against me. I feel goosebumps break out on my skin.
The crowd grows. There's more pushing and shoving as everyone in the
morning rush-hour struggles to get in before the doors close.
I feel a hand on my bottom. Who the fuck is that? Is it the creepy
blouse guy? Or someone else?
I try to look around, but we're wedged in so tight that I can't turn
around, and even if I could, I don't think I would be able to see the
hand in the press of bodies.
Oh god... it's groping my bottom. I feel fingers digging into my ass
flesh.
I close my eyes and bite my lips. A man on the subway is groping my
bottom. Oh god. Oh god.
"You okay there, little lady?" The man who told me to smile is now
pressed against me, his nose an inch from my face. He reaches up and
holds my chin in his hand, tilting my face up to look at him.
"Fine!" I squeak, as the hand gropes me from behind, the fingers now
running between my buns. I remember to smile and turn to the man in
front, smiling like he told me to. "Just fine!" I re-iterate.
"Now *that's* a beautiful smile," he says, running a finger over my
lips. "You ladies look so much more beautiful when you smile."
"Thank you," I repeat, which was freaky because I actually *feel*
grateful. As in, not just average grateful, but truly grateful that
this man has gone out of his way to teach me this valuable life lesson.
Which is stupid, right? The whole business about telling women to
smile, everyone knows it just pisses them off. But here he is, telling
me to smile, and I actually feel grateful towards him. Like I need to
be told to smile to be pretty?
The subway jolts to a stop again, and I am jostled between the two men
as everyone in the car sways back and forth. The groper behind me, and
the 'you should smile more' man in front. I'm pressed between the two
men like a woman sandwich.
"Eep!" I squeak. Someone is pulling up my skirt! They are tugging at
the fabric and it's slowly slipping up my legs!
I try to push down my skirt, but then the train starts up again and
we're all jostled back and forth and I have to clutch tight on the
loops above me to maintain my balance. Oh god. He's pulled the skirt
above my bottom. Oh god. Oh god! Thank god I have a slip on! At least
that is affording me some protection! But the groping hand is on back,
groping my bottom in the slip, making it slide sensuously over my
bottom. I squirm and dance as his fingers get more and more intimate.
"What's the matter?" The man in front says. He presses against me. Is
that his... I mean... am I feeling his hard...?
"Nothing!" I trill, my bottom shivering under the assault from behind.
Quickly I beam a reassuring smile to the man in front. "Just... ah...
feeling a little... um... hard to breathe," I improvise. God I wish I
were better at lying.
"Hard to breath?" he asks. "Maybe your blouse is too tight?"
Of all the most transparent, come-on's in the history of transparent
come-on's! I think to myself, but then, almost immediately, I question
myself. Suddenly, I really do feel like it's hard to breathe. Of course
it, is, we're crammed in here like sardines. But what if it really is
my blouse? Could that be possible? Suddenly I find I'm doubting myself
and wondering if it might be true. Could my blouse be too tight?
?Maybe you?re right,? I say, remembering to smile as I look at the man
in front of me with wide and trusting eyes.
?Well then, let me help with that."
As I stand there, both arms over my head holding tight to the loop in
the ceiling, his finger travels slowly down from my chin, tracing a
delicate line down my neck and across my collar bone, where it hooks
into the V of my blouse.
With a sharp intake of breath, I feel him undo the top button of my
blouse. It gaps open, revealing about half of my bra, overflowing as it
is with my breast flesh, made worse because I?m breathing hard.
?There,? he says. ?Does that help??
?It does,? I say, in a breathy voice. Like a miracle, I really can
breath better. I look at him gratefully. He was correct! My blouse was
too tight!
Oh god, I feel the hand on my bottom is now lifting up my slip, the
tips of the fingers grazing against my bottom. I squirm and gasp as a
finger gently strokes across the crevice in my panties between my buns.
Oh god, I stand on tip-toe, feeling taught like a bow, panting.
?Still having trouble breathing?? the man in front asks. ?Here, let?s
try another button.?
His finger travels slowly down, caressing the inner curve of my bosom,
making me moan with pleasure, until it hooks into the second button of
my blouse and with a soft ?flick? it comes undone.
I am breathing heavily now, but not because of the tight confines of
the blouse, but with lust. Unconsciously, my legs clench together and I
rotate my hips, the lips of my pussy squishing together. The man behind
me lifts my slip over my hips. I am now exposed from the waist down
wearing just panties. His fingers worm their way around my hips and I
feel him pulling me back into his crotch.
I feel his hard cock (he still has his pants on) press into the valley
of my ass! He is dry-humping my buns!
?Yes, I think that?s better,? says the man in front. He presses his
body against me. ?Maybe another...?? he asks, almost rhetorically, as
his finger hooks into another blouse button, the one right above my
belly button, and deftly undoes it.
I can?t help myself. I feel a pulse of desire run through my body.
"Yess...." I hiss.
What is wrong with me?? I think desperately, as these two men press
against me in the subway car taking advantage of my acquiesce to their
advances. Not only am I allowing this, but I am encouraging it! I want
it! It?s making me so desperately horny!
The man in front reaches his hands into my blouse and grasps my breasts
in their lacy push-up bra and confidently manhandles them, making my
moan out loud. People around us look over and smile. I bite my lip and
close my eyes, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. He captures a
nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolls it around. I am
literally on tiptoes, I?m so horny.
The subway car jostles backwards and the two men press into me from
both sides. I look up and the face of the man in front is just
millimeters away. I feel his warmth on my cheek and his breath against
my chin. I open my mouth and immediately he thrusts his tongue down my
throat and we?re kissing like horny teenagers. I am wet and dripping in
my panties.
Oh god, oh god! I freak out inside. I?m sandwiched between two men. One
is humping my buns. The other is kissing me! OH GOD!
As the subway slides into the next station, I feel a finger from behind
travel around my body and across my pubic mound. I?m on a vibrating
string, just one touch...
*** Union Station ***
?Oh! That?s my stop!? I squeak. ?But please don?t??
?Everyone out of the way! The Lady needs to exit!? the man bellows.
?But no...? I whimper, as the two men push me towards the door. I am so
horny! I don?t want to leave! I was about to cum! Please, damn it! I
need to cum!!!
But it?s impossible. I am ?helped? through the pressing mass of
passengers, hands against my bottom, coping a feel on my breasts as I
am alternately pushed and pulled towards, my skirt and slip and blouse
snagging on various bodies as I wriggle on through.
It takes a bit, but there?s the door! Oh, but it?s closing! I lunge
forward as it bounces back open and I am just able to get past it as it
closes firmly behind me.
But my slip! Oh no! As I try and step away, somehow it?s been caught in
the door!
Oh god. I bend my knees to give it some slack and desperately try and
pull the slip loose, but it?s firmly stuck.
Oh god! The train is moving! I am forced to stutter-step forwards as
the train pulls away, pulling me along with it. Oh no!! Oh fuck!! My
slip is pulled down around my knees and somehow my panties have gotten
tangled up with it, and they are pulled down as well!
**FLASH**
Did someone just take a picture? What the fuck?
Finally, the slip pulls free of the door, tearing off a bit of lace
which hangs from the door, fluttering as the train gathers speed and
pulls away. I sigh with relief
**FLASH**
What, the? I look up, and there?s a bunch of construction workers
wearing reflective neon yellow vests watching, and one is taking
pictures!
**FLASH**
Startled, I drop my purse to the floor and it bounces open, makeup
spilling all over the station platform.
**FLASH** he takes another picture!
?John! The lady needs some help!?
The first man takes a couple more pictures but eventually they all rush
over to help me. I reach down and quickly pull up my panties as someone
gathers up the contents of my purse while the others help me to my
feet.
?Oh! NO! I got that!? I squeal as they help me to pull up my slip.
Finally, I am able to push down my skirt and button up my blouse.
Gratefully, I accept the purse, its contents restored by the handy
construction men.
?Thank you, such gentlemen!? I say. For some reason I am honestly
grateful for their help, even though they all were copping feels as
they helped me put myself back together. ?How can I ever repay you?? I
gush.
?Aw, shucks, Ma?am,? says the one with the camera. ?Just helping out a
damsel in distress. If you want to repay us, how ?bout you let me post
these pictures in the Pinup-For-A-Day competition??
?Pinup-For-A-Day?? I ask, confused. "What's that?"
?It?s page 2 of the Daily News. Everyday they post the top five pinup
photos they receive, and everyone votes. Then the next day they post
the winner.?
?Oh... okay.?
?Excellent! I?m going to post it right now!? He punches something on
his phone.
?No wait!? I cry. When I said ?okay? I had meant 'okay I understand'.
Not 'okay go ahead post my photo!'
?Oops! Sorry, it?s already posted,? he says, showing me his phone which
now displays ?Pinup Photo Accepted! Good luck and thank you for
entering!?
I feel a flush of embarrassment cover my body.
?Oh, okay, I was just surprised, that?s all,? I say, for some reason. I
think about all of the millions of people which might see me with my
slip and panties pooled around my ankles, my bottom exposed and my
cleavage hanging out of my blouse, makeup spilled all over the
platform. Shouldn?t I be angry? Shouldn?t I be upset with him?
But instead I step over and kiss him on the cheek. What the fuck??
?Thank you,? I say, feeling honestly appreciative. ?It was very sweet
of you to think I could win the Pinup-For-A-Day contest.?
?Are you kidding?? he says, ?You look amazing!? The others all nod
their agreement.
?Well, aren?t you all just a bunch of sweeties!?
I glance at my watch. ?Oh no! It?s almost nine!? I gasp. ?I?ll be late
for my meeting!?
Quickly, I scamper off, leaving the men looking over my photos on their
phones.
* * *
Chapter 3:
By some miracle, I am able to make it all the way to my office floor
without encountering any unwanted male attention. Fortunately, there
are only women in the elevator, all of us pulling down our short skirts
or quickly fixing our hair or makeup using the helpful mirrors placed
inside the elevator.
Was the male attention really unwanted? I worry, thinking about that
and what it might mean.
As I walk in the front door of the office space, I see it's 9am. I just
made it!
"Melissa! I'm so glad you're here." Katie at reception calls out to me.
I had met Katie before when I previously visited Melissa's office to
drop something off for her work. But she looks different now. Her
hair's more teased and she has a big toothy smile. And she's wearing a
lot more makeup than I remember, including bright red lipstick. And
where previously she was always wearing a practical turtleneck with a
sweater, this time she has on a scoop-neck T-shirt which hugs her ample
chest. There's also a helpful sign on her desk which says: 'Let me know
if there's anything I can do for you!" with the word 'anything'
emphasized in bold and italics.
I can't help but stare at her cleavage for a second.
"Ms. Jameson says to head right to conference room 1-A," Katie snaps
her fingers to get my attention and points me down the hall to the
left. "They're waiting for you. Good luck! We're all counting on you!"
I trot on my 3-inch heels in the direction indicated, looking for the
conference room number. It's in the far corner, and as I approach it, I
see Melissa's boss, Ms. Jameson (who I have met a couple of times at
corporate functions) exit the conference room.
"There you are," she says as I walk up. "The men are just finishing up
and they'll be ready for you in just a minute."
Whew. I made it!
"Now Melissa, I have your slides cued up on the presentation, so we
should be good to go. Now would be a good time to fix your makeup.
They'll be expecting you to look your best!"
"Y-yes, Ma'am," I say. Of course, before this morning I had never put
on makeup, when my body and muscle memory took over. So I pull out a
compact, hoping for a repeat. My hands seem to know what to do as they
touch up my lipstick and brush on a smidge more blush. I smile and wipe
off a fleck of lipstick from my teeth.
"All set, Ms. Jameson."
She looks at me critically.
"Now dear," Ms. Jameson says, "you know how critical this presentation
is?"
"Yes, Ma'am." I have a general idea from Melissa that it has to do with
the budget for her department for the next fiscal year.
"If we don't get that additional money for the budget, then we won't be
able to hire more staff for the secretarial and assistants pool. That
means we'll all be working more hours. We might even need to let some
our fellow secretaries go."
"Oh!" I gasp. "That *is* critical," I say, wincing because I sound so
clueless. Of course Melissa would know how critical the presentation
is. Damn it!
But my faux pas doesn't faze Ms. Jameson.
"Yes it is," she smiles. "So, let's make sure we put our best foot
forward, shall we?"
With that, Ms. Jameson reaches out and unsnaps the top button of my
blouse!
"Ms. Jameson!!" I screech, shying away. But even as I complain, a small
part of me, deep inside, is thrilled. I would soon be heading into a
room full of men! With my blouse gapping open! Men! All staring at my
boobs!
"Don't play innocent with me," Ms. Jameson hisses. "We women have to
use all of the tools in our toolbox. Why do you think I assigned you
this presentation? For your brains? Ha!"
Ms. Jameson puts a finger into the neckline of my blouse and unhooks
another button. My blouse is now obscenely exposing the push-up lace
bra I'm wearing underneath.
"That's better," she says. "Now hold still." Ms. Jameson first puts a
hand on my back to prevent me from moving, and then she reaches into my
bra grabs a mound of tit-flesh and 'plumps it forward'. She then does
the same with my other breast.
I moan and quiver as she grasps as she roughly handles my breast flesh.
"Just making sure these are nice and perky," she says. "Oh, hi, Becca!"
'Oh my god! Oh my god!' I think, frantically, as another woman in a
short skirt and glasses carrying a stack of folders walks up. 'I'm
getting groped in the hallway by my boss! We'll both be reported to HR
and we'll both lose our jobs! I'll have gotten Melissa fired!'
But try as I might, my body won't budge. I am rooted to the spot,
unable to move a muscle. I moan with pleasure as Ms. Jameson finds my
nipples and rolls them between her fingers, making them harden and
stick out obscenely.
"Hi Ms. Jameson." Becca says as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
"Melissa, I see you're getting prepped for the meeting. Good for you!
Melissa, we're all counting on you! Knock-em dead!"
I would have liked to watch Becca flounce down the hall, but with Ms.
Jameson's attention to my nipples, it's all I can do to keep standing!
Oh my god, I am so horny!!
"Ms. Jameson?" A young man, obviously an intern, pokes his head out of
the door. "They're ready for you."
"Perfect timing," she says, finally pulling her hands away from my
breasts. "You are primed." She does some last straightening of my
blouse and hair and then pushes me into the conference room.
* * *
Men.
I look around the conference room, and it's all men. And they're
dressed in business attire, with dress shirts and ties. Some are
wearing jackets, some have their jackets hung on their chair backs.
"And here is Melissa with the FY20 budget request for the clerical and
office administration department," says the man in front. He's clearly
the leader, with good hair and an upright posture. He looks like like
he works out at the gym every day. They all do, actually. "Now Men,
let's all pay very close attention to her as she gives her report."
Oh god. I discover I'm unable to move.
'I need to do this for Melissa! I need to do this for her job!' I
scream to myself in my brain.
But I can't seem to move. I feel twitchy and horny. My nipples are
tingling. My pupils are dilated and my nostrils are flaring. I feel
something wet dripping down my inner thigh.
Oh god!
"If it helps, I picture them all naked," whispers Ms. Jameson in my
ear. She places a hand gently on my bottom and squeezes it.
I look at her, shocked.
"Naked and with hard cocks that need to be sucked," she adds, giving me
a sly smile and a spank on my bottom.
Oh god. Now I can see them all around the conference room naked, hard
cocks sticking up between their legs. Naked chests and muscular legs, I
need to kneel down, mouth open, to take care of their urgent, thrusting
needs...
"Uh, Miss? Melissa? Earth to Melissa?"
The man sitting in back snaps his fingers and I jolt out of my trance.
Oh god, there's a swamp between my legs. I clench up my thighs and feel
the slipperiness in my crotch. Can they smell that I'm excited?
I blush deep red.
"Here, we've brought up the first slide for you," he says.
I look up and see the title slide of the presentation. It says
"Clerical & Administration FY20 Budget Request" and there's a cartoon
picture of an outlandishly sexy secretary with a short skirt, red lips,
long eyelashes, makeup, stockings and a low-cut blouse with the curve
of her breasts exposed.
But wait, that's not Melissa's presentation! She practiced it with me
just yesterday, after dinner, because it was such an important
presentation! And the title slide was in the company's standard
template, with the logo and clean styling. Melissa, my feminist wife,
would never (not ever!) have put a picture of a busty secretary on the
cover! What is going on?
'I look just like her,' I realize, looking at the cartoon woman on the
title slide. The men in the room all have expectant looks on their
faces, half of them have their eyes directly on my breasts, I can see,
and the others are grinning at my cluelessness.
I cough and clear my throat.
"Thank you, Mr. Garrison," I say, stammering slightly. "Next slide,
please?"
The 'please' comes out as a high-pitched squeak. I look over,
apologetically at Ms. Jameson, but she's grinning and looking at me to
continue. I take a couple of deep breaths, which has the effect of
plumping out my chest and increasing the gap in between my boobies.
More eyes zoom in to my chest.
I look up at large flat-screen TV on the wall where Melissa's
presentation is displayed.
"The Need," I read the title of the first slide, but unfortunately,
because I'm practically panting with desire, my voice comes out too
breathy and I make it sound like a desperate sexual need. Damn it, I
wince. Then look out and imagine all of the men naked with their hard
cocks standing up in the air...
Needing to be sucked...
Oh dear!
I run my tongue over my lips and begin to read through the
presentation.
"We can all appreciate the necessity of a trim and attractive
administration or clerical worker available at a moment's notice to
handle any need you might have."
As I read from the presentation, I paraphrase the bullet points on the
slide, and as I warm up to the task, it starts to come out naturally,
as if I had practiced the presentation myself, with my own husband the
night before.
"We can all understand that diversity, quality and availability of
administration and clerical staff is paramount to a smooth running
organization. We want to make sure that whenever you have a need, we
have someone immediately able to fill that need. And that your need
will always be filled to your complete satisfaction."
Something about the word 'satisfaction' feels so improper to me. What
sorts of needs would men in this office have that these secretaries are
filling?
I imagine them naked with their hard cocks again.
"We want your needs to come to a proper conclusion," I add.
And how would those needs *come* to a proper *conclusion*? I wonder? Or
should I say, *cum* to a proper conclusion?
I giggle at the thought, then snap out of it and continue.
"We also want to make sure that our staff are bright, eager and fully
representative of our organization at all times. And that requires
proper preparation. And proper presentation includes:"
Oh god, I read through the list and I can't believe what a sexist,
misogynistic list is on the slides! Can this really be the
presentation?
"Beauty sleep - You know how we gals need our beauty sleep? No one
wants a draggy, sleep deprived, cranky secretary! Good beauty sleep
makes all secretaries bright, eager, and excited to please."
As I read the words, I actually feel myself smiling, trying to be
bright, eager and excited, just like the slide says.
"Time to make ourselves presentable -
"Time to dress our selves to be attractive and a good representation of
the company
"Strict training to make sure we behave in the way women are supposed
to behave
"A complete understanding of company policies
"A devoted staff who are grateful for their compensation and position
within the organization. We want our gals to be *very* devoted and
*very* grateful, don't we, gentlemen?"
"And finally, of course, completing all of our clerical and
administrative skills to ensure a smooth functioning organization for
the men who run the company."
"Demands are Increasing"
The next slide goes through the metrics that Ms. Jameson and Melissa
computed, to provide backup to the budget request.
"Requests have increased, since last year, by 5%, and the time to
satisfy a request has increased as well, by 10%, due to the complexity
of the request. This means you are taking more advantage of our
services and it is taking more time to make sure that all of your
requests achieve the best possible outcome.
I go through the rest of the presentation. There's more analysis
followed by the details of the request. The women all get a 1% raise
(up from 0.5% last year) and there is a 3% increase in number of staff.
The one-percent raise is especially audacious. In my brain, I can hear
a past conversation with Ms. Jameson stating that many comparable
clerical organizations are only giving out quarter-percent raises this
year.
"To better serve you," the slide says, "and to provide the diversity of
skills you need."
"Remember, your administration and clerical staff are here to serve
you!"
The deck finishes.
I am flushed with pride. The presentation has gone well. I have made
all of the points on the slides as persuasively as I could, and the men
all appear riveted to the deck (or, at least, to my bosom).
"You make a compelling case," says the man in front. I realize that his
name is Carl Angstrom, and he's the vice president for our group. "And
we are inclined to grant your budget request for this fiscal year..."
My heart leaps with joy. The girls will be so happy! But then he
pauses...
"... but in exchange, some of the men would like to make a few minor
changes to the secretary's policy and procedures handbook," he
finishes.
"What sorts of changes?" Ms. Jameson asks.
"Oh, nothing you ladies need to worry your pretty little heads about,"
Carl says, sweetly. "Just a few minor changes to, ah, ensure a smooth
functioning organization, a proper and attractive workforce for our
customer facing function, and to make certain there are no... um...
miscommunications about duties required. I'm sure you understand."
I look over at Ms. Jameson, worried that this may derail all of our
hard work, but she smiles back.
"Of course, Vice President Angstrom," she says. "I'm sure that we would
be more than happy to make your recommended changes. Won't we,
Melissa?"
She stares at me.
"Oh! Yes, of course!" I say. "I'll be happy to help in whatever way I
can!"
I wince at my overly eager offer.
"Excellent," Carl says smoothly. "Thank you ladies, you may go now. We
men now have some men's business to finish up."
* * *
"But isn't that a problem?" I ask, worried, as Ms. Jameson ushers me
out of the executive suites. "What sorts of changes to the secretary's
manual will they want?"
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Ms. Jameson assures me. "They make changes to
the manual every year. Most of the girls are perfectly OK with them,
and the ones who aren't? Well, maybe they're not the right fit for this
company anyway. Now this afternoon you'll have to go through the
gauntlet and get all of the executive manager signatures on the budget
approval, okay? Here's the formal budget request," she hands me a
document, "with the signature boxes on the last page, okay? Now
remember, Melissa, we're all counting on you! So do whatever is
necessary to get all of those signatures. Do you understand?"
"Whatever is necessary," I repeat.
"Exactly. Now Tracey?" we arrive at an efficient-looking senior
executive assistant. "Melissa here needs to run the gauntlet. Can you
arrange meetings for her with all of the executive managers?"
"You got it, Ms. Jameson," Tracey says.
* * *
Chapter 4:
My first meeting is in 30 minutes, so I have some time to go to
Melissa's desk. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do there, after all,
I only became Melissa this morning. But shouldn't I go there and check
e-mail or something? I wonder if I'll know the password...
Fortunately, from previously visiting her at work, I know where her
office is. But as I get there, the name plate has changed! It now says
"Jeffrey Blacksmith".
'Who the hell is that?' I wonder. I look around, at a loss.
Then I see it. Outside of Jeffrey Blacksmith's desk, there's another
desk, clearly a secretary's desk with a small secretary chair and a
desktop computer.
And the nameplate says 'Hi! I'm Melissa! How may I be of service?'
Oh god... I stare at it for a good several minutes. What the fuck is
happening?
This dream world has gotten more freaky. I woke up this morning, and I
am Melissa. And all morning long, Men are approaching me and taking
liberties with me... and I let them do it. Why? I don't want to, but it
seems that I have no choice. And it makes me horny...
And now this. Melissa no longer has an office? She doesn't even have a
cubicle? All she has is this secretary's desk?
Is she now Mr. Jeffrey Blacksmith's secretary? Is that her job now? I
briefly wonder if she got demoted and never told me. Could that be the
reason?
I slowly sink down into the small swivel secretary's chair. Oh god, my
skirts ride up! Because there is no front to the desk, I'm certain that
anyone who walks by can see up my skirts.
Quickly I squeeze my legs together and cross them at the ankles.
I tap the keyboard and the computer lights up. Then, without thinking
about it, I enter the password: 'L0ve2SuckC0ck!!' and hit return.
Shit! Where did that come from? I stare, astonished, as the password is
accepted and the screen lights up. I blush at thinking what it means.
Is that really Melissa's password? But there's no way in the world
Melissa, my orally adverse wife, would *ever* have a password like
that. Would she?
What is wrong? What strange parallel universe have I stepped into??
The computer completes the login and the screen turns bright pink and
says: 'Secretary's workstation' with a series of 'Secretary
Affirmations' in pink on pink lettering:
"A secretary is always:" it says:
Presentable - Her hair, makeup and clothing are always nice and neat.
Friendly - She is a friend to everyone she meets. She is always
interested in what anyone has to say.
Helpful - She is always looking for ways to help out, either for work
or to make our employees and our guests more comfortable.
Eager - She accepts new assignments with delight. She is always first
to volunteer and accept new tasks. She never sulks.
Caring - She puts others needs above her own. She makes sure that
everyone is cared for in every possible way. She often checks back to
make sure that everyone has everything they need.
Efficient - She does all her tasks efficiently and without unnecessary
effort. She always seeks for ways to complete her tasks more quickly
without unseemly rushing.
Cheerful - She always wears a smile and constantly expresses delight
with her work. She never complains. She is grateful for her job and
happy to be working here.
Sympathetic - She seeks to see things from other's point of view. She
takes on their needs and desires as her own.
Optimistic - She is trusting and open hearted. While she makes prudent
plans for mishaps, she expects success. When things go wrong, she works
positively to make them right without fuss.
Kind - She sees the best in everyone. She never places blame.
Giving - She freely gives of her time and her energies to anyone in
need. She pitches in and helps out wherever possible. She is always
there to lend a hand.
As I move my mouse across them additional explanation is provided for
each, along with a cartoon picture showing a smiling, well endowed,
made-up secretary exhibiting each trait specified. I recognize the
cartoon secretary as the same, 1950's style as the secretary on
Melissa's PowerPoint slides I gave in the board room.
As I read each of the affirmations, I find myself nodding and agreeing
to each and every one of them. 'Yes,' I think to myself. 'These are the
perfect and appropriate descriptions of a secretary, and I am glad to
be one!'
But then I think about Melissa, my wife. There is NO WAY she'd ever
agree to a workstation with such demeaning and humiliating affirmations
on them. What the heck is going on?
Of course, it's not like I ever looked over her shoulder while she was
working on her computer at work. But wait a second. She never had
anything but a laptop. She never even owned a desktop computer at work!
I find the e-mail icon and open it. The background is light pink as
well. Shades of pink are everywhere. Normally, such an explosion of
pink would really piss me off - another example of bad design. But
somehow, this doesn't. Instead, it makes me smile. Pink is my favorite
color!
Looking through her e-mail, I answer each one as best I can. Many of
them are comments or words of encouragement from other secretaries
which I can answer with a quick, "Thank you so much!!!!"
I notice that I am using way more exclamation points than I usually do.
Also a lot of heart and smiley-face emojis.
I check the clock on the screen. It's almost time for my first meeting.
I leave some of the more complex e-mails as "unread" so I'll know to
come back to them later, and lock my computer.
I better check my makeup... I think to myself.
I reach into my purse and pull out my compact and flip it open to
reveal a mirror, and right there at my desk, I inspect my makeup and
hair for blemishes or imperfections. I use the powder in the compact to
touch up a couple of areas, and then pull out the lipstick to add
another coat to my lips.
The texture of the lipstick on my lips is heavenly. I'm so glad to be
able to have lipstick and makeup!
I use a tissue to blot off the extra from my lips, then use it again to
check for any lipstick on my teeth, and after a quick adjustment I'm
ready to go.
Excellent! I swivel off of my secretary's desk chair and stand up
gracefully, fetching my purse, a steno pad and pen and the signature
form before heading off to my first meeting with Richard Cambridge.
But as I'm rounding a corner, I bump into someone!
"Melissa!" says the man, grasping me by the arms to prevent me from
falling. My steno pad falls to the floor.
"Jacob!" I say, "I'm so sorry!"
How did I know his name was Jacob??
"I um..." I feel flustered, "I am heading off to a meeting with Mr.
Cambridge."
Jacob reaches down and fetches my steno pad and the pen from the floor
and gallantly hands then to me. I gratefully accept them, and then
attempt to continue on my way, but Jacob blocks me.
"Jacob?" I ask, mildly annoyed.
"You know the rules," he grins at me.
"The rules?" I have no idea what he's talking about.
"You know, the rules. Our rules. I can't let you pass unless you answer
the question."
"The question? What question?"
"What color panties are you wearing?" Jacob is grinning so much I can
tell that this question is the highlight of his day.
"Jacob!" I say, shocked. I playfully hit him with the steno pad.
"You're such a bad boy! It wouldn't be proper for me to say such
things!"
Oh my god, I listen to myself. Am I *flirting* with him? My voice is
lilting and playful. What the fuck is going on?
"Well then," Jacob says, sadly. "I guess I can't let you pass then. I'm
sorry."
"We'll see about that!" I say, suddenly dashing past him and down the
hall.
"Hey!" Jacob chases after me. Of course, it doesn't last long. After
about two steps he easily catches up and grasps me around the waist,
the two of us falling to the ground, me on top of him, giggling
hysterically, as my purse and steno-pad go flying.
"Jacob, stop!" I say, but in a voice which sounds more teasing than
serious.
"Not until I know the color of your panties!" he says, grasping the hem
of my A-Line skirt and pulling it up.
"No!" I say, squirming on top of him, as he struggles with the skirt. I
deliberately do not make it easy for him. I am sitting in his lap, and
I can feel his hard penis poking at my bottom.
And here the two of us are, in a public hallway, struggling on the
floor as he paws at my clothes??? I see people crossing the aisle
further down, but they just look at us and grin and then continue
walking.
"Jacob, stop!" I say, angrily, pushing down on the skirt with my hands.
"You'll tear it!"
"Well, then, how about this?" he asks, unbuttoning the skirt at the
waist.
"No! Stop!"
But before I am able to push him away, Jason unbuttons the waist and
unzips the skirt.
"No..." I cry, trying to get up, but as I do, Jason pulls down both my
skirt and the shiny nylon slip underneath to reveal my hugging, clingy,
pink lace panties underneath.
"Pink!" he says, triumphantly.
"Jason!" I squeal, but somehow I'm doing it so that it's apparent that
I'm delighted by his rough handling. "You are so bad! Now let me up!"
"Okay, okay," he says, letting me go. I clamber to my feet, the nylon
slip and skirt pooled around my ankles, my entire bottom in panties
fully exposed to people walking by.
Flushing bright red with embarrassment, I pull up first the slip and
then the skirt and put myself back together. Worse, as I do, I feel
dampness between my legs, and as I look up at Jacob, I realize my
nipples are tingling.
Is this making me horny? What the fuck??
Jacob is a gentleman and gathers up my steno pad and pen from the floor
and hands them to me.
"Well, at least the color of my bra is still a secret," I say, as I try
and go.
"Your bra? Why? What color is it?" Jacob says, grasping me about the
waist before I am able to escape.
Oh shit, I think to myself. Why did I say that? What was I thinking? Am
I flirting with him?? Stop that! Stop that!
"Nothing!" I trill. "It's a boring color! I don't know why I said
that!"
I struggle to escape Jacob's grasp, but of course he's a man and I'm
just a woman, so it's impossible. Especially in heels.
"Please, Jacob!" I plead. "I'm already late for my meeting!"
"Not until you promise to show me what color your bra is," Jacob says.
From his voice, I can tell that he's have a wonderful time with our
playful banter. It's the highlight of his day, and just knowing that
I'm bringing him such joy makes me squirm inside with pleasure and
satisfaction.
Like all women, I think to myself. We want to make the men in our lives
happy and full of joy!
"Okay, fine," I say, with mock annoyance. "Let me go, and I promise
I'll show you my bra."
"Very well, but remember, you promised!" Jacob says, giving me a kiss
on the cheek before letting me go. "Now be a good girl."
Tucking my steno pad and my pen under my arm, I look left and right to
make sure no one else is watching, and then I unbutton the buttons on
my blouse. The neckline opens up like a flower, and my push-up bra,
barely containing the flesh of my ample bosom, is exposed in all it's
glory.
"Beautiful," Jacob breaths. "Cream colored with little pink flowers."
"I think it goes nice with the panties," I say, thrusting out my chest
so the bosoms protrude even further, and then swiveling my torso left
and right to give Jacob a nice, 180-degree view.
"Yes, perfectly," he breaths, entranced. Watching him stare at my
breasts gives me a shiver of pleasure at the power my body has over
him. Just me, and my breasts, in a nice bra, and men drool all over
them!
Jacob reaches out slowly, questioningly, looking at me, and holds my
breasts in his hands. I suck in my breath as gently massages them. Oh
god, I am so turned on. I close my eyes and pant and squirm, my nipples
are like super hard pencil eraser points and I gasp and moan as his
thumbs brush across them.
"Well, there," I say, finally, opening my eyes. "You know the color of
my bra. May I leave now? I really do have an important meeting to go
to!"
"Yes you may," Jacob says. "But wait, let me help you." Jacob
thoughtfully buttons up my blouse, but leaves one more button undone
than I would have liked. My bra is now clearly on display for everyone.
"That's perfect," he breaths.
"Thank you, Jacob," I say, honestly thankful. I give him a quick hug
and a kiss on the cheek, and then I'm off, racing to my first meeting
to gather the signatures for the budget request.
- - - -
Chapter 5:
Finally I make it to Richard's office. His secretary, Mandy, glares up
at me.
"Where have you been?" she hisses. "You know how much Dick hates for
people to be late."
"I'm so sorry! I-I-I-I ran into Jacob, and he d-d-d-delayed me," I
stammer. I stand there, fixing my skirt and blouse, before quickly
pulling out the compact from my purse and checking my hair and makeup.
"You should have left earlier!" says Mandy, getting up. "You know how
important this is to all of us!"
"I'm sorry," I mumble. Finally I'm ready, and Mandy, with a stern look
in my direction, opens the door and lets me in to Richard Cambridge's
office.
"Melissa is here for you," Mandy says, ushering me inside.
"Very good, Amanda, you may leave."
"Very well." Mandy gives me one last look of warning and then closes
the door behind me, leaving me alone with Richard.
I stand there, fidgeting, as Richard continues to work, checking some
numbers in a spreadsheet.
"Mister Cam--"
"Nnnn," he says, shushing me, holding a finger up while continuing to
focus on his work.
I stand there for a few more minutes. It seems interminable, and as I
stand there, I get more and more freaked out. Have I ruined everything
by being late? By the time he's done, my heart is beating like a rabbit
and I'm literally shaking with worry.
Mr. Cambridge sits back and looks at me.
"You're late," he says.
"Yes sir, I'm so sorry!" I say, my words rushing out in a tumble. "I
got stopped by Jacob in the hallway and--"
"Are you blaming Jacob for your lateness?"
I realize I've overstepped a line.
"No!" I quickly say. "It was entirely my fault. You must believe me! I
am so sorry, Mr. Cambridge. Please! I promise to do better in the
future. I'll leave earlier and I'll make sure that anyone I meet is
warned that I have an important appointment to make and--"
Mr. Cambridge holds up a hand, stopping my apologies which fade to
nothing.
"I'm sure you will, Melissa, but this gets me to my requested change to
the Secretary Handbook. The section on corrective actions."
"C-c-c-corrective actions?" I stammer. I feel a tingle of electricity
run through me.
"Yes, corrective actions. Now, the current handbook says that
corrective actions must be coordinated through HR, who must approve the
action for scope and appropriateness before they are implemented."
"Yes, sir...?" I am confused. What does he want me to do?
"Well, Melissa, for situations exactly like this, small corrective
actions which do not rise to the level of requiring the involvement of
HR, I would like to amend the secretary's handbook to say that any
corrective action which is agreed to by both parties may be implemented
at the point when the problem occurs. And only if the parties do not
agree, should HR become involved."
"That... that sounds quite reasonable, sir." I say, opening up my
notebook and writing down the new contract language. "I'm sure that Ms.
Jameson would agree."
"I believe she will. Should we try out this new policy now to ensure
that it works well in practice?"
"R-r-right now?"
"Yes, Melissa. You were late. This is a small offense. I believe that a
corrective action is in order. Unless you would rather I escalate the
issue to HR?"
"No! Of course not, sir! Ummm... what sort of 'corrective action' did
you have in mind?"
Mr. Cambridge reaches into the upper right hand drawer of his desk and
pulls out a narrow, wooden paddle.
"Eeep!" I squeak.
"Yes, I believe that a spanking is in order. Now, since this is a small
offense, I feel that five spanks on your pantied bottom should be
sufficient. Do you agree to this corrective action, Melissa? What would
you prefer? A spanking or a visit to HR?"
I shift from foot to foot on my high heels, trying to figure out what
to do. I am in Melissa's body and I am trying desperately not to do
anything which would get her into any long term trouble. But a
spanking! Can I endure a spanking for her?
Of course I can, I decide, reluctantly.
"Th-th-the sp-sp-spanking... sir," I say, with a gulp, my eyes cast
down.
"Very good, Melissa. I think that's an appropriate choice. Now I need
you to sign this form so I have a record that you have voluntarily
agreed to this corrective action."
He places a form on the desk in front of me.
Name of non-performing employee: _Melissa Smith_
Manager of Authority: _Richard Cambridge_
Describe situation of non-performance: _Late to meeting_
Described corrective action: _5 spankings on bottom while wearing
panties_
I agree that my actions have been non-performing according to the
company policy, the secretary handbook or the expectations of my
manager. I willingly and without coercion submit myself to the
corrective actions identified above to be administered by the
designated manager of authority with the understanding that once the
corrective actions have been fully performed to the satisfaction of the
manager of authority, the non-performing incident case will be closed.
Signed: _______________
I am short of breath as I sign my name to the document.
"Very good," Richard says, his voice husky with lust. He clears a place
on the desk. "Now lean over the desk and pull up your skirt."
Oh god, oh god, oh god! Am I really going to do this?
I put my papers and purse down in a chair and then slowly walk up to
the desk until I feel it on the fronts of my legs. Then I reach down
and pull up my skirt as I lean over it, until the full weight of my
torso is placed on the desk. Because of my short legs, I can barely
touch the floor, even with heels on. I pull up my skirt so it is
flipped over my back now, my bottom in panties exposed to Mr.
Cambridge.
"Beautiful," he sighs, reaching for the paddle.
But before he starts the spanking, I feel his hands on my bottom,
stroking them and squeezing it. I have a sharp intake of breath as his
fingers probe between my buns.
"So soft," he says. His fingers disappear and he delivers the first
spank.
"FUCK!!" I cry out. Shit! Immediately my eyes well up with tears.
Methodically, Mr. Cambridge delivers the five spankings, each one
harder than the last. By the end I am crying out and sobbing, my tears
and drool dripping onto the hard surface of the desk.
"There, there," he says, satisfied. "That's the end of your corrective
actions. Now stay there and contemplate your non-performance and
reflect on how you'll do better in the future."
"Y-y-yes, Mr. Cambridge!" I sob, as I do as he says, reflecting on how
I was wrong to be late to the meeting, and how his time is so valuable,
and how I really should have planned ahead and tried harder to be on
time and what I'll do next time.
Just then I hear a zipper being undone! Is he... ?
"Now stay there," Mr. Cambridge breaths. I feel his hands on my hips. I
feel something warm and hard being pressed into my buns. Oh my god, is
he...?
I lay on the desk, wondering what to do, as Mr. Cambridge thrusts his
penis against my bottom. I still have my panties on, so I'm safe, but
still I freak out wondering what I should do. Should I turn around and
slap him? Should I get out and run away?
But then I realize, I should let him know how the spanking has helped
me to learn my lesson. I should let him know that I am grateful for
this opportunity to make up for my previous non-compliance!
I should let him know I appreciate and enjoy his attention!
"Mmmm... Mr. Cambridge," I sigh, wiggling my buns. "That feels so nice.
Thank you."
I press my bottom backwards, squeezing my cheeks together so I can
provide him more pleasure.
"Very good, Melissa," he says. I feel him thrusting more urgently
against me, until, after only a few moments, he gasps.
Mr. Cambridge sighs a second time, and then I hear him arrange his
clothing and zip up.
"You may get up now, Melissa, and I trust that you have learned your
lesson?"
"Oh, yes, sir," I say, standing up and letting my skirts fall down so
they can hide the fact that he has ejaculated all over my ass. I feel
his cum soaking into my panties. "I most definitely have. Thank you so
much for uh... administering my corrective actions. I will do my best
to plan further ahead to make certain that I will not be late in the
future. I am so grateful for your time."
And, strangely, I realize how true it is! His spanking has made me feel
grateful and obedient and has made me understand how important it is to
be punctual. I look over at Mr. Cambridge, realizing how strong and
confident a man he is, and all I want to do is to let him how lucky I
feel to be working with him, even if only for this brief time.
"Very good. Now go file this corrective action form, the filing cabinet
is over there. The entire bottom drawer is reserved for corrective
actions, and you are the first."
I go over to file the paper, but to do so I need to reach the bottom
drawer. Knowing that he's watching me, I bend at the waist to make sure
my bottom is nicely presented (knowing now that he fancies women's
asses) as I file the corrective action. I imagine that he can see my
pink panties peaking out from underneath my skirt, with his cum
splotched all over it.
"And now do you have the budget request for me to sign?" he asks.
Oh my god, I had almost forgotten! Feeling intensely grateful, I find
the budget request on the chair and Mr. Cambridge signs it.
* * *
"Did he sign?" asks his worried secretary as I leave the office.
"Yes," I sigh with relief, "he signed. I have some updates to the
secretary manual to make."
"Whatever. I'm sure they're fine. As long as he signed!"
"But he..." I hesitated.
"What did he do?"
I lift my skirt and show her my ass, wet with his orgasm.
"Is that all? You have a spare pair in your purse, don't you?"
"I..."
Do I? I reach into my purse, and lo-and-behold, it does, in fact,
contain a spare pair of panties.
Oh thank goodness!
"I do."
"Well, get your little fanny into the little girls room and change! And
then hot-foot it over to Mr. Garrison's office. He's next on the list,
isn't he?"
"Yes, of course."
* * *
Chapter 6:
"Melissa Smith, come in."
I step into the office, feeling pleased that I am on-time. I was
fortunate to see Jacob in the hallway waiting for the elevator, so I
took the stairs so I wouldn't get delayed.
"Thank you, Mr. Garrison, I have the Administrative and Secretarial
Services budget request for you to approve."
"Very good, Melissa, but before I do..."
Oh god. I smile on the outside, but I'm cringing inside. Now what?
"There are some changes to the secretary dress code I'd like to make."
Mr. Garrison presses a button on his desk.
"Yes, sir?" Betty, Mr. Garrison's secretary, steps into the office and
closes the door behind her.
"Thank you Betty. Would you communicate the changes we discussed to the
secretary's dress code to Miss Smith, here?"
"Of course, Sir." Betty gives me an apologetic look. "Melissa, Mr.
Garrison... uh... and I, um... both feel that we can make some changes
to the dress code to encourage both a more professional look as well as
a more open and... um... 'friendly' and 'cooperative' environment."
"Of course, Betty," I reach out and gently squeeze her arm, letting her
know that it's okay.
"First, from now on, all secretaries must wear heels, and all heels
must be no less than 4 inches in height."
"Oh!" I gasp, shocked. Four inches?? "But..."
"Unless you have a doctor's note indicating that you must wear a lower
heel for health reasons," she adds.
"Oh, okay, then," I say. Inside my brain, I'm thinking about how
Melissa's entire wardrobe and all of her three-inch heel shoes are now
out-of-code. That means buying a whole closet full of new shoes. How
much would that cost? Oh, these poor secretaries!
Not to mention the pinched toes and the pain of having to walk in heels
all day long!
"And all heels must be worn as soon as one steps in the building. We
are no longer allowed to walk to our desk in flats or any other sort of
non-standard and then change to heels."
"After all, we don't want our customers to see secretaries in sneakers
when they come to work in the morning," Mr. Garrison points out. "I'm
sure you can see the logic to that, Miss Smith."
"Of course, sir," I say, my heart beating. That means most women will
have to wear heels all the way from home to work? Think of the wear and
tear on the shoes. Oh, those poor secretaries. Their salary increase
will be spent entirely on new footwear.
"Second--"
There's more?
"-- we, uh, have decided that, while sweater dresses are OK--"
"-- even recommended," chimes in Mr. Garrison, leering.
"-- Sweaters as a separate piece of clothing worn over a blouse or
dress will no longer be allowed."
"They look so frumpy," Mr. Garrison says. "We're not a college dorm,
you know."
"Yes, of course, Mr. Garrison," I say, my head spinning. But how will
we stay warm? I wonder. Jackets, I guess. Or scarves?
"And as to dress length," Betty halts for a second. I can tell this is
deeply embarrassing for her. "All dresses must now be a minimum of
three inches above the knee."
"With additional height requirements up to the discretion of the
individual manager," adds Mr. Garrison.
This seems okay. Most women at the office are already above the knee, I
noticed.
"And in terms of lingerie--"
"Lingerie??" I can't help but blurt out.
"Yes," Betty gulps, "lingerie. In terms of color, there must be no
black or dark colored bras worn with white blouses and no white or
light colored bras worn with black blouses. And the same for panties,
they need to match in color brightness with the skirts that you are
wearing."
"Further..." Mr. Garrison says, with a warning.
Betty closes her eyes for a second, building up her courage, before
continuing.
"Further," she says, "all underwear must be in good repair. No holes or
worn spots."
I look at Betty, shocked. They care about the condition of our
underwear?
Suddenly I get nervous. How will they be checking on the condition of
our underwear? How will they know that it has no "holes or worn spots"?
"And finally," she continues, "Pantyhose are no longer allowed. They
must immediately be replaced with stockings and garters. No
exceptions."
Of course, I'm wearing stockings right now, but I think back to the
drawer in Melissa's closet which is half-full of pantyhose. Those will
now all have to be thrown away and replaced with stockings and more
garters!
I am crestfallen. What will the secretaries think of all this? Do they
know what they are getting into? All of their raise and more would now
be taken up in dressing up more provocatively for their bosses!
No wonder the men are all agreeing to the raise, I think to myself.
Pigs.
"Betty, why don't you check to see if Miss Smith here is in compliance
with the new rules?"
"Oh... Okay. Yes, sir. Mr. Garrison."
Betty gives me an apologetic look, and I look back trying to be as
encouraging as I can. 'I know it's not your fault', I try to say to her
through my expression. If anything, it's my fault, I realize, since I'm
the one pushing for this raise.
Betty fetches a ruler from Mr. Garrison's desk, and bends over to
measure the height of my heels.
"Your heels are 3 inches," she announces. "I'm sorry, Miss Smith, but
you will need to purchase 4-inch heels before you come into work
tomorrow."
"Unless you want to face a corrective action," Mr. Garrison says.
I notice that he has one hand hidden underneath the desk which seems to
be moving. Is he jacking off??
"Now, Betty, Mr. Garrison has come up with a truly... ah... ingenious
method for measuring the length of our skirts, to make sure they are,
um, of the right length."
I look back and forth between them.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I need you to kneel on the ground," Betty explains. "Now, hold your
body up straight, that's it. And now we measure from the ground to the
bottom of your skirt..."
She places the ruler on the ground and carefully examines it.
"I'm going to order custom rulers with all of the proper heights marked
for easy measuring," grins Mr. Garrison. His hand is moving faster
beneath his desk.
"I'm sorry, Miss Smith, but your skirt an inch too long."
To long?? The skirt is already so short!
"You'll need to come in with a shorter skirt tomorrow," leers Mr.
Garrison, as I stand up, realizing that I'll be working at the sewing
machine this weekend to hem all of my skirts higher.
"Now, let's check your lingerie," Betty says, with a heavy voice. I can
tell this is the part she hates the most. "First, your bra."
"M-m-m-my bra?" I can't help but stutter.
"Yes, your bra. Could you please unbutton your blouse so I can inspect
your bra?"
"Uh... okay."
I slowly unbutton my blouse to expose my bra, and then shrug it over my
shoulders so that Betty can carefully check every inch of it.
"There's a bit of a worn spot here," she notices.
"Note that down, Betty, so you can check Miss Smith again tomorrow."
"Yes sir, Mr. Garrison," Betty says. "Now Melissa, your panties?"
Blushing furiously, I pull up my skirt, exposing my stockings and
panties to her inspection. Melissa carefully inspects each seam,
noticing a small tear at the top of my stockings and snag in my
panties, right near the crotch.
Oh, god, is it possible to die of embarrassment? I feel hot and flushed
and I'm sure my face is red like a beacon.
"Check her carefully!" commands Mr. Garrison, the pervert behind the
desk, his face contorted with lust. "Check again, Betty, make sure you
check every seam."
I can tell that Betty is as embarrassed as I was, but she complies,
carefully tracing a finger over every line in my stockings and panties.
"Yeah, that's it," Mr. Garrison moans, rocking back and forth, his hand
working under his desk. "THAT'S IT, MAKE SURE EVERYTHING IS PERFECT!"
Then, with a groan, he stiffens and frantically reaches for some
tissues with his free hand. Betty looks at me and rolls her eyes, and I
smirk back at her. Realizing we are all done now, I drop my skirt and
stand there patiently, while Mr. Garrison cleans himself up.
"Everything else, checks out," Betty says. "I have a list of 5 clothing
infractions."
"Very good," Mr. Garrison says, out of breath. "Miss Smith, please come
back tomorrow and we'll perform another inspection."
"Yes sir," I say. "I understand."
He dumps a big, wet wad of tissues on the desk in front of us.
"Do you have something for me to sign?" he asks.
"Yes sir!" I grasp my folder from the floor and go over to him. Placing
the papers in front of him, I give him my pen and he signs the precious
signature form.
Two down, two to go!
"Here you go," he says, handing the pen back to me. Oh god... it's
sticky... with his sperm. Oh god. I retrieve the paper and notice
there's a wet smudge next to his name. His cum is on the signature
sheet. Oh god.
"Thank you sir," I say, hiding my grimace.
"No, thank *you* Miss Smith, for being so diligent about looking after
the staff. Could you please clean that up," he nods to the tissues, "on
your way out?"
"Of course sir, thank you sir!"
I pick up the wet ball of tissues from his desk, my finger sinking
directly into a big glob of ick. Smiling, I walk out of the door,
dropping the tissues in the trash can by Betty's desk as I leave,
before heading directly to the bathroom to wash my hands.
* * *
Chapter 7:
Only two more, I think to myself. Only two more. Of course the next one
is Mr. Blacksmith, the name on what used to be Melissa's office and who
is now, I am guessing, Melissa's personal boss. What will he want?
After freshening up my makeup at Melissa's desk, I knock gently on his
door and let myself in.
"Melissa!" he says, "come on in. How is your day going?"
Mr. Blacksmith is a very handsome man. Tall and confident looking, with
bright, energetic eyes, good looking hair trimmed neatly and a noble
shape to his mouth.
"Very well, sir," I say, sitting in the chair opposite his desk and
crossing my legs. I notice how enticing Melissa's legs look extending
from the skirt. Hoping to get my boss in a good mood, I shift a bit so
he can see more of my legs.
But then I stop short. What the hell am I doing? I don't want him to be
staring at my legs, do I? But then I feel tingle, and I realize that
the answer is, unfortunately, 'yes', I do want him to stare at my legs!
What is wrong with me? Why am I feeling and acting so sexually all the
time?
"I imagine you're here for my signature?" Mr. Blacksmith asks, breaking
me out of my inner reflection.
"Oh! Yes sir, if you could sign right here," I pull out the sheet with
the cum stain from Mr. Garrison and place it on the desk.
Mr. Blacksmith makes a great show of pulling out his pen, but just as
he's about to sign, he stops.
"Before I sign," Mr. Blacksmith says, "I'd like to make a slight change
to the Secretary's Handbook."
Oh no! My heart sinks.
"Of course, sir," I say, trying to look bright and accommodating, but
feeling torn up inside. Now what? "What would you like to change?"
"Don't worry, I've already reviewed it with Legal. In the section under
personal executive assistants..."
I gulped. In this world, Melissa, my wife, who was now me, would be
classified as Mr. Blacksmith's personal assistant.
"... we're just going to strike a single word," he continues. "The word
'not'."
I feel a creepy tingle go up my spine.
"Where it says, 'personal executive assistants may not be asked to
perform personal, non-work related functions,' let's strike the word
'not' from that sentence."
"So... so... y-y-you mean..." I stammer. "That it should say... um..
that 'personal executive assistants may be asked to perform personal,
non-work related functions?'" I ask, my voice quavering.
"Yes, that's it exactly, could you make that change in the Secretary's
Handbook?"
"Yes, sir." My eyes are watering. Had I just betrayed all of the women
in the office? What will be the consequences of this change? But they
are all so intent on their 1-percent raise! They are practically
demanding that I give in to any demand. But this?
"Excellent," my boss says, smoothly. "I've already informed HR of the
change in anticipation of your acceptance, so it will be in tomorrow's
electronic handbook and notifications will go out first thing tomorrow
morning."
"Very good, sir," I am crestfallen. I feel like a traitor to my wife
and her sisterhood.
"You're a good girl, Melissa," Mr. Blacksmith says, signing the paper.
"Now, you don't mind getting started a day early, do you?"
"A... day early?" What does he mean? What is he asking?
"Yes. I know the rule doesn't go into effect until tomorrow, but you
don't mind... do you?"
My heart sinks.
"No sir, of course, sir, I don't mind."
"That's my girl. Here are my car keys. In the back seat you will find a
pile of dirty dress clothes. Be a dear and take them to the dry
cleaners, would you? Make sure to inspect the shirts for spots and have
them spot cleaned and pressed. Thank you."
Oh! A surge of relief flows through me. Just laundry? That will be no
problem! The girls won't mind doing things like that at all! A lot of
them already do laundry for their bosses anyway (somehow I know this).
It's, kind-of, an unwritten rule in the secretarial pool.
But as I put my hand on the door knob and am about to leave--
"Melissa? Before you go..."
Damn. So close!
"Yes, Mr. Blacksmith?" I turn around to face him. For some reason, I
feel it's necessary to stand up nice and straight and thrust my breasts
out at him, in case he's having second thoughts.
"Before you go, would you mind? I have a stiff neck, and it could use
some attention."
"Of course, sir."
I feel a bit of a flush having to do something so intimate, but I walk
over and, standing behind my boss, I dutifully begin to massage his
neck and shoulders.
"Here?" I ask.
"A bit lower. Oh, yes. Right there. That's it."
He moans softly with satisfaction.
"I had no idea you were such a good masseuse, Melissa."
For some reason, his compliment seems to flow into me and lift me up. I
feel my nipples tingle with pleasure. Damn this body! Am I really
getting turned on by massaging my boss? Something so blatantly sexual,
in the office? In any other office (what was wrong with this place?)
this would be an immediate call to HR for sexual harassment.
"Thank you sir," I say, paying more attention and massaging him with
more care to the muscles I feel under my fingers.
I can smell him. His shampoo, his hair, his manly, earthy musk. Even as
an executive in the office, he can't hide that he is a MAN, and as I
work on him, I can smell it... I can feel it.
What the fuck? I feel a (now familiar) slipperiness in my panties. Is
this making me horny? It can't possibly be making me horny can it?
Damn it!
I hear a zip. Wait, what....?
Oh, fuck. He has unzipped his pants. He's unbuckling his pants!!!
Oh, Jesus, he's pulling out his cock! Why did I just call it a cock?
It's my boss's penis...
But no. It's a cock to me now. I stare down, eyes wide, as Mr.
Blacksmith exposes himself as I continue to massage his neck. He grasps
his penis and strokes it. I look, entranced, as it grows.
It's beautiful.
'My boss has a beautiful cock,' I think to myself. I swallow. Was I
drooling? Was that possible? I find myself short of breath, staring at
it. I lick my lips. I'm breathing heavy. In... out. In... out.
My boss seems to be completely unconcerned as he strokes himself. It's
as if I'm not there at all, except he might go 'mmm' appreciatively as
I massage his neck.
"M-m-m-mm-mister Blacksmith, s-s-sir?" I stammer. Shit! Why am I
sounding like a teenage schoolgirl?
"What is it, Melissa?"
"I-I-I..." I take a deep breath. "I, um, I see that you're having some
issues... uh... down there. Would you like me to... um..."
I dance on my toes for a second, feeling a rush of desire and tingles
all over. Am I really going to do this? Am I really offering to...?
"Yes, Melissa?" Mr. Blacksmith asks, innocently.
"I... ah... I mean... would you like me... to... help you....?"
"Help me with what?" I swear he's stroking his cock so that it's
pointed straight at me. My eyes are riveted to it. Oh god. I need it...
"To... um... help you with your problem... down there?" I ask,
squirming, blushing bright red at being so forward.
"Oh, you mean this?" he asks, coyly, waving his cock at me. "Well, I
guess I could use some help here, I mean, if you're offering."
"Oh, I am! Uh... Mr. Blacksmith... sir."
Mr. Blacksmith swivels in his chair so that I am now standing by his
side. He reaches around my waist and pulls me closer. All I can do is
stare at the hard, naked penis in his hand.
Oh god...
I feel his hand on my bottom. He grasps one of my ass cheeks, squeezes
it firmly, then releases it and strokes me, running his fingers between
my buns. I shift from foot to foot, panting. I squeeze my legs
together. God, I'm horny!
"Mr. Blacksmith..."
"Melissa, one thing that would help, you know, with my problem here, is
if you could provide some visual stimulation for me."
"Visual stimulation?" I ask dumbly, not following.
Mr. Blacksmith grasps my ass with his hand and pulls me in closer.
"Yes," he says, reaching with his free hand and unbuttoning the top
button of my blouse. His finger dips down into my cleavage, making my
toes curl. "Visual stimulation," he explains.
"Ohhhhh," I say, with dawning realization. "Visual stimulation."
I unbutton my blouse the rest of the way and pull it apart in front. I
am just about to reach around and unhook my bra when he stops me.
"No," Mr. Blacksmith says, "leave your bra on. I like to see a lady in
lingerie."
"Oh, of course, Mr. Blacksmith." I file that tidbit away for the
future.
"Yes..." he sighs. His hand on my bottom squeezes and pulls me close
and he places his face in my cleavage, taking a deep breath. I can feel
his nose nestled in between my breasts. His hot, moist breath caresses
my chest. His hand continues to squeeze my ass, intimately digging his
fingers deep between my cheeks, making me dance. Oh god, I my panties
are getting wet. Oh god!
"Thank you, Melissa," he says finally, looking me in the eyes. "I am
feeling every so much more relaxed. And my neck is much better."
"Oh, I'm so glad!" For some reason, I am honestly happy that I can help
him like this. After all, it's a secretary's job to make everyone
around her happy and productive!
"But I still have this problem," he nods down to his cock, which, if
anything, is even harder than before. It thrusts up, as if begging for
my attention. "Maybe you could... come over here," he indicates the
space in front of him, "and take a closer look?"
"Of course, Mr. Blacksmith!" I say, cheerfully. He releases his evil
hand from my bottom and I go stand in front of him. Now, he said I
should get a 'closer look', but since he's sitting, that means...
I look around. It means getting on my knees.
On my knees. In front of my boss. I look down at the floor. Am I really
going to do this?
Am I really this submissive?
Slowly, haltingly, I sink to my knees before my boss, feeling
subservient to him. Of course, I *am* his secretary, so of course I'm
just naturally lower in the corporate hierarchy. I look into his eyes,
feeling a strange wave of desire. Kneeling down, I can feel my panties
pull up into my pussy, which is now so sensitive that I let out a
little gasp of pleasure.
"I have a pillow for you to kneel on." With his foot he indicates a
wide, flat pillow stashed underneath the desk. I pull it out and kneel
down on it. "You know, to protect your pretty knees," he smiles.
I feel a flood of gratitude for my boss. My thoughtful boss, thinking
of my poor knees! Just trying to do his best to make my job easier. I
look up at him, smiling and happy. Like a puppy. A female puppy. A... a
happy bitch. In heat...
Maybe I should reward him with a better view of my titties? I shrug my
shoulders back and forth and pull open my blouse a little further.
"Very nice," he sighs. "I want you to wear nice lacy bras which show a
lot of cleavage from now on."
Wait... what did I just do? Now I have to buy special bras for my
boss?? That can't possible be right, can it?
"And be sure to show them to me first thing in the morning, so I can
approve what you're wearing," he adds.
I have to show my underwear to my boss? For his approval? As soon as I
arrive at work??
I close my eyes and feel a wave of shame wash over me. I this what my
life is going to be like from now on? Or is this what Melissa is going
to have to suffer? Since I am in Melissa's body? Did I just condemn my
wife to wearing lingerie and having it approved by her boss?
"Ahem," I hear. I open my eyes and see his hard cock right in front of
my face. Oh, the poor thing! So hard and so aching! My heart goes out
to Mr. Blacksmith's poor, hard cock, so desperate and so in need of
attention. And his balls! So full and so in need of being drained.
After all, blue balls, I read somewhere, is an actual, real medical
condition, that all women need to help their men to avoid. It makes
sense that it's the secretary's duty when he's at work. Just perfect
sense.
I reach out to grasp his cock, carefully keeping my long nails out of
the way (I am amazed by the long nails all over again. When did that
happen? Melissa doesn't have long nails. I look at the lovely red color
of the nails as my fingers wrap around his cock. How beautiful...).
Holding it gently in my fingers, I use my other hand to tuck my hair
over my ear, and with a sultry glance up at my boss, I lean in and kiss
it.
Oh...
Oh, what a thrill runs through my body! This is where I belong, I
realize. This is where *all* women belong, kneeling in front of a man,
kissing his cock, helping him with his problem in any way that she is
able.
I open my mouth and suck it in to my mouth, the velvety skin of his
cock slipping sensuously over my tongue and lips. Oh, he tastes so
wonderful! Like a man. Salty, and musky. Tingles suffuse my body and
delicious warmth flows through me.
'It's like I'm addicted,' I think to myself. 'I could do this all day.'
I suck him deeper into my mouth, feeling the head of his cock bump
against the back of my throat. Strangely, I don't gag at all.
'I guess I'm a natural cock sucker,' I think to myself, happily. 'Like
all women are.'
Lost in the moment, I concentrate on being the best cock sucker I can
be, sucking Mr. Blacksmith's cock deep into my mouth and using my hands
to stimulate and work his balls, while occasionally looking up at him
with dewy eyes of lust. I can feel him quickly approach orgasm, after
all, there has already been a lot of foreplay and 'visual stimulation'
for the poor man, but instinctively I do my best to keep him on the
edge, until I can sense 'NOW' and I suck him hard and fast and push him
over the edge and into bliss.
"Unngg!!" he shouts, so loud I worry that the other workers outside the
office can hear (but so what? I think. Let them hear! Let them be
jealous that I have a nice hard cock to suck and they don't!). Jets of
sperm shoot out of his cock and into my mouth, filling it. I swallow
and keep sucking, getting him to spurt a second and third time.
"YESSSSSSSSS!!" he shouts, tensing up and enjoying the executive
secretary cock-sucking treatment.
After a few more spurts, eventually his orgasm subsides. Like a good
secretary, I lick him clean (including his balls) and like a good slut
I swallow every last drop. I then dry his dick with a couple of tissues
and then gently tuck his softening member back into his briefs, giving
it a loving kiss as I do so. I feel almost bereft now that the
experience is over. As if my best friend in the world is now leaving
me.
"Don't worry," Mr. Blacksmith says, sensing my sorrow. "You'll see him
again tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I ask, as if I can't bear to wait that long.
"Yes, tomorrow," Mr. Blacksmith says, ever the 'in charge' boss. "Now,
don't forget the car keys on your way out. Remember, my clothes need to
be taken to the dry cleaners."
"Yes, Mr. Blacksmith," I say, getting up on shaky legs, still coming
down from my cock sucking high. "Of course, Mr. Blacksmith."
* * *
As I walk to the garage to fetch his clothes, and then down the street
to the dry cleaners, I can taste Mr. Blacksmith's sperm on my lips and
in my mouth. Of course, I could go to the bathroom and wash out my
mouth, but I don't. Something about having the taste of his cum in my
mouth makes me feel deliciously dirty and perverted. It seems right
that a cock-sucking executive secretary should enjoy the taste of her
boss' cum in her mouth.
But what is wrong with me? What is wrong with this body which betrays
me?? I feel so ashamed. That was a horrible thing that happened! I was
abused by my boss who used his position to force me... well I did do it
pretty willingly... but that's not the point! He is in a position of
power over Melissa, and I... I...
I stop on the street for a second, breathing hard.
"I sucked his cock," I say, to myself. "And I liked it."
It is undeniable. I like sucking cock. I like it a lot. It's scary how
much I like it. Do all women who do it like it this much? Do all they
want to do is kneel before any random man and suck his dick? Somehow,
in my bones, I feel that they do. Could that be possible in this world?
My panties are sopping wet. It has been a long and erotically charged
day, and that scene with my boss has very nearly pushed me over the
edge.
My god I am so horny! I could fuck a telephone pole right now.
I should have gone at Melissa's desk to fetch a clean pair of panties
and changed. I'm sure that I smell rank. But there was something that
stopped me. Something deep and worrying. Something at the core of this
person I am now inhabiting, Melissa, but not Melissa, in this strange,
weird, off-kilter world.
That's when I realized a primary truth: 'I am a slut.'
An executive secretary slut. But what else can possibly explain my
behavior all day? My behavior in the subway. My thoughts during the
presentation? How I was undressing the men in my mind? How I teased
Jacob until he was forced to tackle me and undress me? And how I
enjoyed it? And now, how I knelt down like an obedient little secretary
slut before my boss and took his cock in my mouth and sucked him off. I
can still taste his ejaculation on my lips!
And I loved it all!
I am such a slut.
And oh god, I am so horny!! Someone, please fuck this horny slut before
she goes insane!!
* * *
Finally the laundry is complete. The day is running out and I have just
one more signature to get.
Three down, and one to go.
This is the one I am dreading, Vice President Carl Angstrom. What
terrible, degrading things will he make me do for his signature? What
horrible, degrading changes will he make to the secretary's manual to
satisfy his perverted personal pleasures?
"Hey, Mrs. Smith," he says, waiving me into his office. "Here, let me
sign that for you."
I pass over the approval sheet and he signs it at the bottom.
Just like that.
"There you go. That was a compelling presentation you gave earlier. It
was well researched. I can tell you're a rising young star in the
office."
"Thank you sir." I blush under his praise as he hands the paper back to
me. I inspect it and everything seems in order.
"Anything else?" he asks, smiling.
"Um..." I shift from foot to foot. "Were there any changes you want to
make... you know, to the secretary's manual? Or anything?" I ask.
"Anything else you... need? From... me?"
Surely there has to be something!
"No," he thinks about it for a second. "I think everything's great.
Besides, you girls have a hard enough time as is without a bunch of old
men making it worse for you."
"Yes, sir! Thank you sir!" I say, feeling happy and relieved and not
believing my good luck. "If there's anything I can help you with,
*anything*," I emphasize. "Please let me know."
"Of course, thank you Mrs. Smith. You are a peach. Now, unfortunately,
I have a lot of work to complete by tomorrow."
"Oh! Of course sir. I'll be leaving now."
And that's how I got Carl Angstrom's signature.
* * *
Chapter 8:
"Hey, aren't you one of the 'page 2' girls?"
I look at the man next to me on the Subway platform. He's dressed in
business casual with grey slacks and a dress shirt. He's clearly a tech
worker with a backpack that probably contains his laptop.
"What do you mean... page 2?"
"Look! Page 2!" He flips through the paper he's been reading and there
I am. Pinup number 4 on the "Pinup-for-a-day" contest, with a URL where
people can vote for their favorite pinup.
"Oh... g-g-g-gosh," I stammer. "I'm actually... IN THE NEWSPAPER??"
I stare at the picture, shocked. There I am, my slip caught in the
subway door that morning as the subway pulled away, frantically pulling
to free myself, my skirts up around my waist, leaning over and exposing
my cleavage for all of the New York metropolitan area to see.
I want nothing more than to hop onto the tracks and disappear down a
subway tunnel, someplace deep underground where I can hide my
embarrassment forever!
"You look amazing! You're gonna win for sure!"
"Oh, I don't think..."
"Are you still wearing the slip?"
"I... ah... yes..." I blush even more. Yes, I am, in fact, still
wearing the slip from that morning.
"Would you show it to me? Please?"
"Oh, I don't think--"
"What? What's going on?" Another man walks up. He's wearing a plaid
shirt and jeans and is holding a hard-hat under one arm.
"She's the page 2 girl! For today! See? And she's still wearing the
same outfit! Including the slip!"
"NO WAY! On my god, it *is* you!" says the construction worker. "Oh,
can I get your picture? The guys won't believe it!"
I stare as he whips out his cell phone and holds me close for a
picture.
"Aw, how about being a bit more friendly?" he asks. "Like a good girl?"
"Oh! Of course!" I say, chastising myself for my sour expression. I
smile and make a kissy face at the camera, then put my hand on his
chest and kiss his cheek as he takes picture after picture.
"Awesome!" he enthuses. "My crew, we get together every lunch and vote
on the Page-2 girls. You were our unanimous choice this week, which
doesn't happen often. You're a shoe-in for Miss Pinup-for-a-day!"
"Thank you," I say, as the subway pulls up and we all step on. "You are
too kind."
"Hey everybody!" the tech guy says, pointing to me. "It's Pinup Number
4!"
All of the men in the subway car turn, en mass, to look at me, and I
can see their round eyes undressing me in their minds as the doors
close and the car pulls away from the station.
"I voted for you!" says one. "You're my favorite!" calls out another.
"I'm voting for you right now!" says a third, pulling out his cell
phone.
"Come on, give us a show," encourages the construction worker. "Show us
your slip! Come-on, be a sport!"
Looking nervously around, I shyly pull up my skirt, showing off the
slip which was featured so prominently in my pin-up photograph.
"More, more!" they chant. My god, they are really into this! Not
wanting to disappoint, I pull the skirt up to my waist and stick out a
stocking leg to their lustful inspection.
But they keep chanting! What more did they want??
I pull up the slip as well, slowly, teasingly and when my panties are
finally exposed, I am rewarded with a car full of whistles, cat calls
and applause. They love it! Something inside me wants more... wants to
show off and get even more appreciation.
I reach a finger up to my blouse, and look at them with raised
eyebrows. Should I do it? "Do it! Do it!" they chant. I lick my lips
and then pout them as if I'm thinking whether I should or not.
I am such a tease!
"Oh!" I look at them surprised and shocked, as if the button came
undone all by itself, rather than because my fingers did it.
"Yes!" they chant. "More, more!"
Further emboldened, I use the subway pole as a stripper pole, caressing
it as if I am caressing a cock, and gradually undoing the buttons from
my blouse, one by one, until my entire front is open and my breasts (in
their lacy bra) are hanging out for all to see. This occurs over
several stops, as I pout and slowly strip for my audience.
But I can sense my stop is coming up, and I need a big finish. But
what?
"The panties!" someone in back shouts. Damn. Now everyone is shouting,
"Panties! Pan-ties! Pan-ties!" over and over, their voices getting into
me and filling my brain.
"But my stop is next!" I call out, teasing them some more. "I don't
think I have enough time!"
"Pan-ties! Pan-ties! Pan-ties!" they keep chanting.
Finally, trying to time it right, I pretend to give in to them with an
exaggerated sigh. I turn away from them and pull up my skirt and slip,
baring my pantied bottom, and then slowly, but not too slowly (because
my stop was approaching), I slip the panties down my leg, and then
shyly turn around, exposing my wet, sopping pussy for all to see, just
as the subway car comes to a stop and the doors open.
They all go wild with cheering.
I throw the panties in the air and there's a mad rush. The man who
snags it takes a big whiff. "They're soaked!" he announces, gleefully.
I wonder if they'll be sold on E-Bay tomorrow ("Certified Used Panties
from Page 2 Pinup Winner!"). Other men help me out of the car, all the
while stuffing one and five and ten (and even a twenty!) dollar bills
into my bra and between my ass cheeks (!) their hand stroking my bare
skin as I am man-handled and groped and fondled until at last I stumble
out onto the subway platform, flushed, half-naked, dropping dollar
bills and horny and desperate for an orgasm, as the doors close behind
me and the car pulls away.
* * *
Chapter 9:
I stumble home and close the door on the apartment. Finally! Safe in my
sanctuary. Now I need to freshen up and get dinner ready before James
gets home.
I peal off my dirty clothes and throw them in the hamper. They will all
have to be washed this weekend. There are stains on the blouse. Were
those from Mr. Blacksmith's cum? They must be. I wrinkle my nose in
disgust.
I step lightly into the shower and put on a shower cap. James wants me
to always smell nice and look nice for him, so I quickly scrub off the
day's activities. All those male hands, all of the slutty things I did,
all of my shameful behavior, washed down the drain so I can be fresh
for my husband.
Out of the shower and dry, I quickly do my makeup, including
foundation, blush, eyeliner but especially lipstick. Like all husbands,
he expects me to look 'put together' when he gets home. Having a wife
who takes time to look good for her husband means the world to him, I
know. Like all wives should be doing for all husbands.
I add a spritz of perfume, quickly pull on a garter belt and some
stockings, then put on a fresh pair of panties, over the garter (so
wicked) in hopes that James will ravage me later. Already my pussy is
getting wet. It's been a long, horny day of tease and denial and lust
and touching and men ogling my body.
Damn it! Need to concentrate!
I add a short floaty mini-skirt which James loves (it barely covers my
crotch) and then put on a lacy bra.
What blouse should I wear? Or maybe... no blouse at all?
"It's my husband!" I reason to myself. "If he wants to look... let him
look!"
Checking myself in the mirror (I look awesome - hot and horny and
desperate for sex) I step into my heels (4 inch sandals) and quickly
click-click down the hall to make dinner for my man.
* * *
When I hear the gate outside, I know that James is home. I quickly add
some ice cubes to his favorite drink (whiskey sour) and trot out to the
foyer to meet him as he enters the front door.
"Hi honey!" I say with my best sing-song voice, smiling and thrusting
out my breasts in the lacy bra. "Welcome home, my sweet, wonderful
husband."
He takes the drink and hands me his coat and briefcase.
It's weird seeing myself step through the door, kind of like looking at
myself in the mirror. (Since when did I start taking a briefcase to
work? I wonder. And since when did I wear a jacket and tie to work?)
But then the moment passes, and all I can see is James... my husband.
Does this mean that I am becoming Melissa? That the switch has been
flipped and that I can no longer be James anymore?
Am I stuck as Melissa now?
"Aren't you a sight for overworked eyes," James says, smiling with
pleasure. He pulls me into his body, his hands on my naked back, my
breasts pressed into his chest and I look into his eyes and melt.
Yes, I decide. Yes. This is the man I love. This is my husband. This is
the one I have given my soul to.
And that's when I know, for certain, what will be happening tonight.
I pucker my lips and James takes the hint and leans in to kiss me deep.
His lips are scratchy from his 5-o'clock shadow, but I don't mind. His
manly taste and manly smell - from a day of work and commuting, turns
me on as he holds me in his strong arms, his lips and tongue demanding
more. I moan and squirm in his arms.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this greeting?" James asks.
"Can't a girl do something nice for her husband?" I ask, batting my
eyes.
"Well, sure... but..."
"But nothing. Dinner's almost ready. Come, help set the table."
* * *
We sit side-by-side at the dinner table. James took the hint from my
attitude in the foyer and lit some candles to make it an intimate
space. The living room is bathed in a soft glow.
It's a meal of mac-n-cheese, meatloaf, and green beans, all of his
favorites. He murmurs in appreciation when I pull out the dishes, but
also I can tell he's wondering if I'm buttering him up for something.
He opens the wine and pours us both a glass.
I am still wearing just a bra on top with no blouse, and feeling self-
conscious about being so exposed. But then I see his hungry eyes look
down at my cleavage and it's clear I've made the right choice. So I sit
up a little straighter and thrust my chest out to make sure he knows I
want him to ogle.
It doesn't take long before he's doing more than staring. Sitting side-
by-side means that he can place a hand on my leg and then stroke his
fingers up my stocking leg, playing with the band at the top where the
stocking is attached to the garter. Then his fingers explore higher,
gently stroking over my pubic mound, making me gasp with pleasure and
shift in my seat.
Meanwhile, we abandon our flatware and feed each other with our
fingers, taking bits of meatloaf or a green bean or two, or a small
ball of mac-n-cheese and offering up to our mate. I gratefully accept
the food from his fingers, being sure to suck suggestively on James'
fingers and using my tongue to clean him off.
Oh my god, I am so horny!
And I could tell he is too. Everything is turning out perfectly. I can
tell that the evening will end up exactly as planned. James will be so
overcome by lust that there will be no other choice.
After dinner we clean up and retire to the couch where James reaches
for the remote, but I put my hand on his and put it aside.
"I want you all to myself," I whisper as I lay on top of him.
We lie together, necking like horny teenagers, mouth-to-mouth, all
tongues and lips, our bodies molding to each other, squirming and with
hands exploring and fingers finding their ways into intimate crevasses.
Soon, James has had enough, and with an "eep!" I feel myself being
lifted into the air. Frantically, I circle his neck with my arms,
holding on so I don't go tumbling backwards, as he carries me
(seemingly effortlessly) into the bedroom where he places me gently on
the bed.
I shimmy out of my panties and skirt, leaving everything else on. I
know that James likes to fuck a nicely dressed woman, so I leave on my
lingerie for his appreciation. I watch as he undresses, revealing his
glorious body (when I was James, did my body really look that good? I
wonder to myself, deciding that 'no', just as Melissa's body had become
more buxom, surely my body had become more chiseled in this
alternative, sexier world).
Soon, James is lying next to me and we are cuddling and kissing, hands
everywhere, until we are both so horny I feel that the time has come.
"James?" I ask, hesitantly.
"Yes, Melissa?" he asks, stroking my arm.
"I have something to tell you."
"What, my love?"
"I..." I bite my lip. "I stopped taking my birth control pills this
morning."
"You don't mean..." he looks at me, his eyes fiery with lust.
"I..." I gulp. Do I really want to do this? It's a big step. And I know
how Melissa (from the other world, and possibly this one too) feels
about it. Am I committing her to something she doesn't want? What if we
switch back?
My mouth opens and closes as I try to make the right decision. But it
feels so right! I feel so horny! I need him! I need to fuck right now!
James looks at me deep in my eyes, and I just know. I just know it has
to be.
"Yes," I breath. "I want... I want to have your baby. I want to be a
mommy. I want you to make me pregnant! Please... I can't tell you how I
know, but I just know. Somehow, I can feel it. My body... I'm fertile.
I feel so ready and so fertile, and somehow I know, that... right now,
if you... if you fuck me, please fuck me! If you fuck me, bareback,
with your hard cock, and shoot your baby-making sperm into me, then I
just know. It makes no sense, I know it makes no sense. It's completely
unscientific and maybe I'm fooling myself, but somehow I know that if
we have sex right now then you will make me pregnant. And I so want it!
Please, fuck me! Give me your cum. Make me a mommy. Breed me. Make me
pregnant so I can carry your child. So that we can start building a
family together. Please... James... please..."
James gets on top o me, teasing the entrance to my wet pussy with the
head of his cock, probing it and stroking it up and down my slit.
"You want this?" he asks, teasingly.
"Yes.... please! Please!"
"Why the sudden change of heart? Why now?"
"I... don't know! I don't know. I just... please, I am so horny! I am
so desperate! I want your baby. Please, make me a mommy. Make me
complete as a woman. Give me your baby."
He teases my pussy some more, making me arch my back and groan out
loud. The bastard! He knows how horny and desperate I am!
"Because once I start," he says, "I'm not stopping! Once I push this
in, there is no changing your mind. I will be shooting my sperm into
your unprotected pussy, and who knows? You might get pregnant."
"I will get pregnant. Do it! Do it!"
"Are you sure?"
"YES! I'm sure!!"
"Maybe we should wait?" he teases me some more, making me moan and
shiver.
"No!"
"Wouldn't you like to sleep on it? Make sure you're absolutely
certain?"
"I am certain! Fuck me, James! Fuck me now!"
"I don't know..."
"Damn you," I growl, as I desperately grasp at his hips to pull him
into me, lost in a fog of need to have him fuck me. To have him shoot
his seed into my unprotected womb. To have him give me a baby!!
But James is strong - or at least this version of James is strong - and
so he holds back. I thrust my hips up at him but his cock slides
upwards, missing the mark and instead stroking up and over my sensitive
clit which makes me gasp and sing with desire.
"I need it," I gasp. "I need it *bad*. Thrust your cock in me, DEEP. I
need to feel you filling me up. I need to feel you hitting my deep
places."
"Well, if you're sure," he says, looking me in the eyes one last time.
Then more softly, "you're sure?"
I pause for a second, looking back at him, serious now, the head of his
cock poised at the entrance to my pussy. I look him straight in the
eyes and I think he can see how serious I am. How much I want this. How
much I am looking forward to becoming a mommy. How much I desperately
want to carry his child, to start making a family together. How much
being pregnant will complete me as a woman, would be the end of my
life-long girlish dream, how much I had played 'mommy' growing up and
how now was the time to start on that journey with him - my husband.
The two of us.
"Yes," I say. "I'm sure."
And then James thrusts his glorious, hard, manly cock straight into my
hungry, naked, unprotected pussy and I scream in satisfaction. I am so
wet that just one thrust and he's all the way in to the hilt, pressing
against my cervix, massaging me deep, his pubic bone grinding against
mine, mashing my clit which throbs as I press against him gasping and
moaning and finally being fucked! Fucked hard and well! Fucked by my
husband!
"Gonna fill you up with my cum!" he gasps, pounding me, making my toes
curl. "Gonna make you a mommy!"
"Yes! Please!" I shout. "I'm ready. Please, yes!"
It only takes a few more seconds, we are so primed and ready, me after
a whole day of teasing and men groping my body, and him after a whole
evening watching his wife in a bra serving him dinner and stroke him
under the table.
I cum first. James does this thing where he pushes deep into me and
then twitches there with small, intense thrusts, rubbing against my
clit, throwing me into orbit, and it pushes me over the edge, screaming
and grasping and pulling him into me.
And then my orgasm pushes him over the edge and it happens: He cums.
His cock spurts inside of me, flooding my pussy, his cock and balls
spasming and throbbing and shooting his cum. My orgasm continues,
clenching his hard cock over and over, pumping his sperm deep into me,
clenching him to the best orgasm he had ever had. So many sperm, now
inside me, all on a single minded mission to find the egg, the egg
which I know is waiting, the egg which will get impregnated and start
to form our first child. Our first baby together. There is no turning
back now. It has happened. We are now on a one-way, nine-month journey
to starting our own family. To my becoming a mommy with James' baby.
* * *
James stays inside me for the longest time, his cock refusing to go
down, shooting and shooting, adding more sperm to the mix (as if I
needed it), until finally his spurts subside and his cock softens and
he pulls out.
"Let's put a pillow under your bottom," he says. I lift my ass so that
he can place it. "To help with your insemination."
"I love you, James," I say, reaching for his hand.
"I love you too, Melissa."
We lie like that for a while, stroking and making out, as his little
swimmers worked their way up my canal to their ultimate purpose.
"How about again?" he asks, his cock already rising back up. My god,
he's insatiable! Like all men, I suppose.
"Now? While I'm on the pillow?"
"Why not?"
I think about it.
"Couldn't hurt!"
* * *
CHAPTER 10:
"GAAH!" I sit straight up in bed, as if electrocuted. "What the fuck??"
"How was your day, sweetie?"
I look over and there, laying next to me, is my wife, Melissa. I look
down at my arms, they are my own arms. I felt my face. Stubble! I am
back to being James!!
"Oh, fuuuuck..." I say, holding my head. "I... I had the weirdest
dream. Oh my god, it was so real."
"Tell me about it," says Melissa. Something in her voice sounds off.
What's going on?
"I... I woke up as you," I say. "Actually, in your body. And then I
went to work, as you. And I had to get signatures for a new budget
increase..."
"That's funny. I did that yesterday," she says. "It went very well. We
got the 7% increase we were hoping for."
"Seven percent??" I ask. "I... um... in my dream it was only 1
percent."
"One percent?" Melissa smirks. "That's hardly worth bothering for."
"And then... I got groped in the subway, the men were... *pigs*," I
shudder at the thought of all those male hands on my body. "And then I
got home and... made dinner," I finish, not wanting to go into the
details of what happened after that.
"So, did you learn your lesson?"
I look at her sharply.
"What do you mean... *my lesson*."
"Did you learn your lesson? About not badgering me to have children? To
start a family? About not always going on and on about why I can't wear
more makeup? Or sexier skirts? My god, James, it's the fucking ME TOO
world. Wake up. You can't force your antiquarian 1950's attitudes on
women anymore."
"Did you do this to me??" I ask, hushed, looking at her, shocked. "Did
you... did you get into my dreams and..."
"Better," she smirks.
"Better?"
"On the subway the other day I met a sorceress. She could tell I was
upset and so I told her about the argument we had. The argument about
having children.
"My body is my own, James. It is not yours to order around! Not yours
to do with as you wish, to continue your precious family line!
"So this sorceress, she is in touch with the multiverse. An infinite
sequence of universes which contain every conceivable variation on
ours. In one of those universes, she found a world just like ours, only
the women behave and feel exactly as men expect them to. Think of it,
women stuck as second-class-citizens in a male dominated world,
behaving as expected. And she offered to give me a spell which would
send you to that world, as me, so you could experience what it was like
to be a woman in the worst possible situation.
"Of course I thought she was completely fake, but I took the spell
anyway, I mean, what did I have to lose? It was just a few words on a
special piece of paper. I knew there was no way it could work."
"And then you used it," I say, in hushed tones. "And it worked. It
wasn't a dream. It was real."
"Apparently so," she smirks. "Now I hope you learned your lesson, smart
ass!"
"But wait," I ask, confused. "Did you go too?"
"No, it was just you. I stayed here in our normal world, nice and
safe."
"So the James I woke up to...?"
"Was the ordinary James from the alternative world."
I think about everything that happened. It was all real? The man on the
subway? Getting my slip caught in the door? The presentation? Showing
Jacob my panties? Being inspected for wardrobe problems? Giving a blow
job to my boss?
All real, but in an alternative universe?
Making babes with James... my husband in that world? It was all real?
But now... does that mean...
"What the fuck," Melissa looks at me, seeing the emotions play over my
face. "DID YOU FUCKING ENJOY IT??"
I blush and look away.
"OH, FUCK! YOU DID! Holy shit, James, that is fucking MESSED UP! You
PERVERT! You enjoyed it? You enjoyed being a fuck bunny in some male
dominated world? Holy CRAP. I can't even imagine the degrading
disgusting ways in women are treated there. AND YOU LIKED IT??"
I look over at Melissa, not denying what she was saying. I see how she
is looking at me, like I am a freak. A disgusting freak. A pervert.
Like she can never respect me ever again.
"And what about babies? Did you have sex with him? Did you FUCKING HAVE
UNPROTECTED SEX WITH HIM??"
My mouth opens and closes. I try to deny it, but I can't. I look at her
and realize, at that point, our marriage is over. Forever broken and
irreparable.
"I always said," I mumble. "That I would be happy to have taken
childbearing responsibility, if only I could."
"Well, if that's how you feel!" Melissa said. "Then you can go right
back! FOREVER!"
She reaches over to her nightstand. "Where's that slip of paper...?"
"Wait! Melissa! Let's talk about this....!"
But she's already reading the paper and suddenly my body starts to
glow.
And then everything goes black.
* * *
Melissa completes the spell, sending James to the alternative world and
watches as his body goes limp and flops back onto the bed.
Then she waits.
It's not long before his eyes flutter open.
"Wha--"
"Hey James," Melissa says.
James sits up and looks over at the woman next to her. It's Melissa!
But that means...
James lift the sheets. There it is! Her penis! The penis is back!!
Oh god. Thank god!
James looks over at Melissa... the woman she used to be, but this one
looking so much more confident and strong than she ever did.
Which meant that she's back in James' body again. She's back!
"M-m-melissa?" James stammers, unsure of herself, worried this might
all be a dream. Unexpectedly, she feels her penis stirring. Oh god that
feels good. No wonder men always want sex, she thinks to herself.
"Hey James. Or should I say... 'the other Melissa'?"
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"It's time I came clean," sighs Melissa.
And so Melissa explains what happened. About the sorceress of the
multi-verse that she had found, about the spell, about how she had used
the spell to switch Melissa from the other world with her husband from
this world to teach him a lesson.
"I am so confused!" says James.
"It's not that hard," explains Melissa. "There are two worlds. One
where women have the right to vote and are treated with, well, at least
a modicum of respect. That this world. Let's call it the 'Women-Have-
Rights' world. The second world is the world you came from, where women
do NOT have the right to vote and are treated as second class citizens
and are completely taken advantage of by men. Let's call that the
'Women-Have-No-Rights' world."
"So I was 'Melissa' in the 'Women-Have-No-Rights' world," says the new
James.
"Exactly."
"And you have swapped me with James from your 'Women-Have-Rights'
world?"
"Precisely."
"But... but... what happened to my James? The James from the 'Women-
Have-No-Rights' world?"
"Nothing happened at all. He was there, and there he remains, even
right now. Did you love him? Will you miss him?"
James thinks on this for a long time.
"Not really," she admits. "He was such a pig. Always wanting me to look
nice and be pretty for him. But then, all men are. Or at least they are
over there. But then, who are you?"
"I'm the original Melissa from the 'Women-Have-Rights' world. I'm still
Melissa here, and I always have been. I never swapped universes or
anything."
"So... that explains my dream," says James who used to be Melissa in
the 'Women-Have-No-Rights' world. "It was amazing! You were amazing!
But now... I'm back?" asks the other Melissa - now inside James' body.
"What happened. Didn't your husband learn his lesson?"
"Oh, he learned a lesson alright," says Melissa with a sour face. "It
just wasn't the lesson he was supposed to learn."
"So... now what?"
"I'm sorry. I used the spell to swap you back. And this time... I...
ah... made it permanent."
"OH, MELISSA! THANK YOU!" shouts James-who-used-to-be-Melissa-in-the-
No-Rights-World, feeling elated. "Yesterday was the most wonderful day
of my life! When I woke up back in my old bed, back as me... in *that
place*... I mean... you... I mean... well, you know, as Melissa in the
other world? I was so depressed! Back to my old-fashioned domineering
husband and my stupid low-paying secretary job with all of those men
constantly pawing at me?? It was fucking AWFUL. Things are so much
better and more equal here. And my husband... always getting on my case
about having babies. Always with the fucking babies!"
"It may be worse than you think," says Melissa.
"Worse, how could it be worse?"
"I think she threw away your birth control pills and had unprotected
sex with your husband."
"No...!" says James, shocked. "That BITCH. Oh, Melissa! Thank you so
much for switching us back! Holy fuck. Oh god. He DESERVES to be there.
He got pregnant, he can have the children. Serves him, I mean her?
Whatever! Serves him right!"
"Yes, serves him right!"
The two high-five, and then hug.
"Thank you for switching us back."
"I just hope..."
"Hope what?" James asks, as the two roll over, with Melissa on top,
leaning over and giving her new husband a kiss.
"Well, I hope she'll be okay."
"Oh, she'll be okay," James snorts. "She'll be *very well* taken care
of."
"Really?"
"Really. Pregnant women are treated like goddesses over there. Now...
how about you take care of me?"
James glances down, where their crotches are pressed together.
"Oh, yes," sighs Melissa. "It's been so long. The old James and I
haven't had sex in weeks. But no babies, right?"
"Definitely. No babies! Never! Children is the last thing I want. I
just want lots and lots of sex."
"Excellent," Melissa purrs, pushing down her panties and impaling
herself on James' cock. "James, who used to be Melissa from the Women-
Have-No-Rights world, I think this is going to be the start of a
beautiful relationship."
* * *
I have his cock in my mouth, sucking as softly and gently as I can,
when he wakes.
"Mmmm, nice," says James, reaching a hand down and stroking my hair.
"Two days in a row. Thank you, Melissa."
"You deserve it," I sigh, before drawing his penis into my mouth again.
I can feel it get nice and hard, with a hint of pre-cum dripping from
the tip which I eagerly lick up and swallow. His skin tastes so manly
and his smell is so musky. A smell I will never get tired of. A smell
which I can smell forever and fall in love with over and over again.
"Do you think you're pregnant yet?" asks James, his voice full of love
and caring.
"Probably, it feels like it. Of course, that's ridiculous, but..." I
shrug. "Somehow it feels like it."
"It's not ridiculous. Studies have shown that women's intuition about
their pregnancy is usually correct."
"Really?"
Is this a difference in our two worlds? I wonder. Can women here really
feel that they are pregnant? Is this being in touch with our bodies...
does that explain how the two worlds evolved to be so different in
their attitudes towards women?
"Really," James says. "It's been scientifically proven."
"Well, then... I guess I'm pregnant. But... you know... just to make
sure... maybe you should..."
"Give you a booster shot?" James grins.
"Well... you know... if it's not too much trouble. Eeep!" He flips me
over onto my back and places a pillow under my bottom, elevating it,
before placing the head of his cock at the entrance to my pussy.
"Are you sure, Melissa?" he asks, pausing.
"Yes, James, my husband, love of my life. Very sure."
But still he pauses.
"How many children do you want?" he asks.
"As many as you do," I sigh, looking him in the eyes.
"That's just what I wanted to hear," James says, thrusting deep into
me, his naked cock pressing into my vagina, massaging those deep, deep
places that so desperately are wanting his cum.
THE END
Thanks to Robyn Hoode for her editorial help.
Errors which remain are entirely the fault of the author.