'What the hell does that asshole think he's doing... what the fuck is he...' Daniel Hartley thought to himself, pressing his lips together, tasting that sweet cherry flavor from the cheap lip gloss which, damn it, he had picked himself not long ago, because... because, fuck, it was better than that empty stupid taste from the lipstick that came in the package from the "Correction Department" along with all the other crap for the image of "Nicole Cox – a junior intern in the marketing department." The department that Daniel himself had been heading just six months ago, and now.
Now the heels perfectly, with a sharp even sound, clicked out each of his steps across the glossy office floor, while his wide hips, tightly wrapped, swayed smoothly from side to side, feeling how the skirt barely dragged along the tights. Every step made his huge firm tits bounce heavily under the thin white shirt, which barely held on to the unbuttoned top buttons. The fabric stretched so tight that the outline of the lace bra, bought from the mandatory list of the "Correction Department," clearly showed through it. Long pink nails tightly gripped a stack of documents, the other hand curved gracefully in the air, emphasizing the feminine line of the wrist.
— Nicole, baby, what do you think will happen if I tell everyone you sucked me off? — Greg Wilson said five minutes ago right into his ear, while Daniel was making those stupid photocopies.
At that moment Daniel felt like he was going to collapse, it was so unexpected, that threat that had nothing to do with reality. He hadn’t even touched that fat cocksucker.
He immediately turned to him, forgetting for a moment that he had been living in this stupid body for three months now, which was shorter even in heels. A fat, sweaty mid-level sales manager, with a red face and a constant smirk, stood way too close.
— Greg, you... — he started sharply, but the sound came out completely wrong. Instead of a rough male growl, a high, sweet, slightly husky female voice with a soft breathiness slipped out of his throat, which the collar forced automatically, according to its settings, — ...are you fucking insane?
Greg only stretched his lips wider into a satisfied smirk, his small eyes immediately drilling into the deep cleavage between the huge bouncy tits, where the bright green collar with blinking diodes and the badge "Nicole Cox, intern" dangled. Greg's sweaty palm immediately, as if by accident, slid over the buttock, squeezing the soft flesh through the thin fabric of the black mini-skirt.
He jerked forward sharply, almost instinctively, but the movement didn’t come out rough or threatening, it turned into something smooth, controlled, with a slight twist of the hips, like even an attempt to pull away turned into a display. The wide hips swayed side to side, the black mini-skirt rode up even higher, tightly hugging the round ass, and the massive, heavy tits jiggled and strained against the thin white fabric, threatening to spill completely out of the dangerously low neckline with every breath.
— Take your hands off, — he hissed again in that soft, velvety voice and immediately glanced around, either to call for help or to make sure no one was here and no one saw how “Nicole” was being hit on with methods that even Daniel himself used only on those girls who clearly showed him interest
Greg just snorted and sank his thick fingers deeper into the plump, yielding ass-cheek, kneading the soft flesh greedily through the thin skirt and tights. His sweaty palm was hot, heavy, and Daniel felt how his body, against his will, slightly arched in the lower back, pushing the ass right into that hand.
— Damn, what a hot bitch, — Greg rumbled right into his face, spraying saliva. His red mug was so close that Daniel could see every pore and drops of sweat on his forehead. — And what are you gonna do to me? Tell everyone you got groped? Really?
Daniel froze.
For a split second he imagined the faces of the people he would go to and start complaining about harassment from one of his former employees. The faces of the same people who took complaints from women who worked in the marketing department and whom Daniel himself used to corner in similar ways, making them smile, agree... sit on his lap or bend over the desk, spreading their legs and sticking their ass out so he could calmly hike up their skirt and fuck them right there in the office.
Complain to them?
— Greg, did you completely forget who you’re talking to? — he squeaked, pulling his ass free from the grip and yanking off the blonde wig, feeling how short, neatly cut hair immediately sprang back on his head, — I’m your boss, not some fucking whore!
Greg froze for a second.
And then… he laughed.
Not loud, not hysterical, but low, with some kind of lazy satisfaction, like he had just heard exactly what he was waiting for.
— Boss? — he repeated, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes a little, and his gaze slid again over the face, over the lips, along the line of the neck where under the light of the lamps the LEDs of the collar softly pulsed, and dropped to the tits. — Are you serious right now, Nicole?
Daniel opened his mouth, but immediately closed it again.
He knew, he knew too damn well that he had no cards. That he just needed to somehow survive this damn year, at the end of which the jury would only “review” his case to decide whether he had changed or not. And if something went wrong during this year then...
Greg kept laughing, low and satisfied.
— Boss, you say? — he dragged out, leaning even closer. Hot breath hit Daniel’s face with the smell of coffee and cigarettes. — You’re not gonna be a boss anymore, Nicole. The sooner you accept it, the better it’ll be for you, dummy.
These words, spoken almost gently in that exact condescending tone he himself used to use, hit so hard that heat exploded in Daniel’s chest, rushed straight down between his legs and humiliating flush burned across his cheeks.
— Are you fucking stupid? I’m a man! — burst out of Daniel, but instead of a rough male growl the collar once again forced out a high, breathy, almost moaning female voice — sultry and dripping with unintended invitation, as if “Nicole” wasn’t protesting, but begging to be put in her place.
And at that moment the door to the copy room suddenly flew open, slamming into the wall with a dull thud which, oddly enough, sounded to Daniel almost like a saving gunshot, cutting through this thick, suffocating scene where he was already starting to lose control not only over the situation, but over how his own body reacted to what was happening.
— Nicole, where are you stuck th— — a voice rang out, and Linda from HR appeared in the doorway, abruptly freezing on the threshold as if she had run into not a normal office scene, but something that didn’t fit into the usual frame, and her eyes, quick and sharp, first slid over Daniel’s face — over those brightly painted lips, over the slightly smudged eyeliner, over the glasses behind which narrowed eyes were still trying to hold onto the remnants of former toughness, — and then dropped lower, to the tits, to the unbuttoned shirt, to the blinking collar, and only then to Greg, whose hand at that moment still hadn’t fully moved away from the hip.
A pause hung in the air.
Greg, surprisingly, didn’t jerk away, didn’t start making excuses — on the contrary, he lazily pulled his hand back, like he wasn’t doing it because he got caught, but because he decided to, and smirked, stepping slightly to the side.
— Well, Nic, we’ll continue later then? — he tossed out calmly, like they were talking about some work issue, not what had just happened, and without waiting for an answer, he turned and headed for the exit.
— Hold on a second! — Linda stopped him with one sharp motion of her palm, her eyes narrowing, but not at Greg — straight at Daniel — at this ridiculous mix of a strict male face with short brown hair, bright red lipstick and eyeliner, at the huge tits barely covered by the unbuttoned shirt, and at the green collar blinking between them.
— Nicole, — she finally said calmly, almost dryly, — is everything okay?
Daniel froze, still feeling the lingering heat of those unfamiliar fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thigh, the way the tight skirt stretched obscenely over his hips, and how his body remained standing there — back slightly arched, shoulders lowered, massive tits heaving noticeably faster with every uneven, shallow breath. Even now, when he could finally put that idiot in his place, he didn’t look like someone who had just been groped. He looked like someone who had just been interrupted.
— I… — he began, but that soft, husky voice — the one that turned every word into something shamelessly suggestive — made him falter.
His teeth instinctively sank into his plump lower lip.
Linda slightly raised an eyebrow. Greg followed, as if mocking her, lifting his eyebrow too, but with a smirk.
And at that moment, inside Daniel, a memory suddenly surfaced painfully clear — one of many, but right now especially fitting: how he himself, sitting in his office, looked in exactly the same way at one of the employees who, stumbling over her words, tried to explain that “it wasn’t entirely voluntary,” and how he then, leaning back in his chair, calmly asked:
— It was all consensual, right?
God. How badly he wanted to just sink into the ground. Disappear. It felt like it couldn’t get any worse.
— Everything’s… fine, Linda, — a high, velvety voice with a slight breathiness sounded, as if “Nicole” had just been breathing heavily from arousal, not anger. — We were just… discussing work stuff. Greg helped me with the copier, that’s all.
It was noticeable how at that moment the corner of Linda’s lips twitched, and she, apparently, felt some kind of strange satisfaction from all of this.
— So, I’m free to go? — he asked Linda, but looked straight at “Nicole”
— You’re free, — Linda answered immediately
Greg snorted, lingered for another fraction of a second, like on purpose, to let that look between them fully settle, then turned around and walked out.
The door slammed behind him, and for a few seconds silence settled in the copy room.
— I see, — Linda finally said after a short pause, letting out a light breath. — Well, since everything is fine, then, Nicole, I should probably remind you that “discussing work matters” in the copy room is not the most efficient use of working time.
Daniel felt his cheeks burning again. He started nervously gathering all the papers, the copies he had been preparing here for the last twenty minutes, noticing right away how feminine and graceful his hands moved, how the slender fingers with long glossy pink nails delicately picking up each sheet, aligning them with graceful little movements.
— I… I understand, Linda… ugh, I mean… Miss Carter, — he forced out, stumbling slightly, with that same sultry voice that seemed to deliberately wrap around every word, turning even a simple apology into something ambiguous.
Linda didn’t answer right away. She stood there, tilting her head slightly, watching how the “intern” nervously, but so femininely, gathered the papers into a stack, until “she” finally finished and headed for the exit.
— Prepare the meeting room by twelve, — Linda added in a tone that had not a single hint of the recent scene, only dry, precise businesslike focus, as if everything that had happened automatically fell into that same category of “work matters” that required neither discussion, nor documentation, nor, especially, consequences.
Daniel froze for a second at the exit, feeling everything inside tighten from that shift, as if that very humiliating moment in his life had never even existed, replaced by another humiliating, but already somehow routine “work” moment.
— O… of course, — he exhaled, passing by her, feeling how even this simple turn of his body was accompanied by that imposed, overly smooth sway of the hips, how the bra straps tightened, holding up those unreal heavy tits, and how the green collar on his neck faintly pulsed, converting neural signals from his head into this artificially created body for him, while his real body, without his head, lay in an incubator.
— Nicole, — Linda stopped him right at the exit in a tone that held neither a shout nor a threat, — don’t mix up the folders for the meeting with the ones you dropped in the archive yesterday this time, please. And… — she paused for a second, her gaze lingering slightly below eye level, where the shirt had stretched tighter again than it should have in a “business setting,” — fix yourself up.
Daniel froze for a fraction of a second, feeling how that last phrase, said almost casually, hit somewhere deeper than everything before, because there wasn’t even a hint of what had happened in it, no judgment, not even hidden irritation — just a dry instruction, like she was talking about a poorly formatted document.
— Y-yeah… of course, — he exhaled, and that “of course” sounded so soft, so obedient that it made him twitch for a moment. The damn collar knew its job.
He stepped out into the corridor and immediately felt the looks that had become normal over the past months. Not as openly crude and rude as Greg’s, but those sideways, sliding ones, when people pretend to be busy with their monitors, but still watch, evaluate, think God knows what, even though everyone, absolutely everyone, knew the truth!
The heels started striking that sharp rhythm again, and with every step he felt more and more clearly how this body, under the collar’s control, moved differently, how the hips rubbed against each other inside the tight skirt and swayed, how the breasts, heavy and firm, responded to every step, how the straps dug into the shoulders, reminding of their weight, and how that damn collar faintly warmed up, adjusting, correcting, making everything “right.”
— Fuck… — he hissed under his breath, passing by a glass partition and for a second catching his reflection, — The wig...
is fingers, on their own, with that practiced, almost overly precise grace, lifted to his head, but met only short, springy hair sticking out in different directions. His gaze focused on the faint reflection.
More feminine shapes, soft lines, those damn heavy tits, and over all of it — his face, which was still his, but now smoother because of the lack of facial hair, with bright lipstick, eyeliner on the eyes, and large hoop earrings in HIS earlobes, which had to be pierced to show that he was repentant and ready for anything.
He lingered for a second, looking at the reflection, and that moment stretched out, as if someone deliberately slowed down time, letting him not just see, but literally break down into layers what he had become — how the male face, painfully familiar, with that same crease between the brows and that hard, evaluating gaze, was now framed by a thin line of eyeliner, emphasized by bright lipstick, and how those details, alien and hateful, in some twisted way were starting to work together, creating an image that didn’t fall apart, didn’t look like a caricature, but, on the contrary, seemed too complete, too… convincing.
He tilted his head slightly, and at that same moment the hoop earrings swayed, barely clinking, and the tits — heavy, massive — responded to that movement with a delayed, soft bounce, and this simple, almost accidental coincidence suddenly knocked a quiet, through-the-teeth exhale out of him.
— Fuck it all… — he hissed, but even that didn’t sound like a threat, more like tired, slightly broken dissatisfaction, and because of that something inside painfully tightened.
The collar on his neck blinked shortly, as if recording the emotional spike, and he felt how the body was subtly adjusted — the shoulders lowering again, posture straightening, the chin lifting slightly, and the expression on his face becoming less like Daniel and more like… Nicole.