This choice: You read the contents with growing despair. • Go Back...Chapter #7You read the contents with growing despair. by: Mr. George   Spreading the letter out on the bed, you read it as you squeeze into the dress.
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Eventually, after much tugging and adjusting you sigh. It's covering as much as it's going to, you can only curse the git who designed this body as you bare your taut tummy. Your full butt is tightly wrapped, and makes it look spectacular. You only wish you were the observer rather than the wearer. Your hands adjust the top too, again it fails to make your bust disappear or even minimise it.
Scowling down at the letter, you steel yourself for bad news. Still hoping there might be some good news, an early release clause, or some cooling off period. You don't want to be this bimbo secretary for the duration of this humiliating experiment.
- - - - -
However, as you read further, your heart sinks. Apparently the medical team claim they put you into a medical trance to question you. The letter continues on to tell you, that this is your fantasy body. Not the one you wanted to wear, but the one you most objectified. A shudder races down your spine.
You think of...Susan, and her fantasies of being the boss, of being Robert Silverman. You shudder again, and wonder if she's as well endowed as yourself. The image flashes into your mind, and you blush at the very idea. Shaking your head, you try to dismiss the thought. Instead, your imagination turns against you. In your head, the cock swells, stiffens and grows and grows.
No! You protest, cocks shouldn't... cocks don't interest you. They're dull and familiar. You had your own... Maybe not as big, or veiny, thick or long. Your tongue darts out moistening your lips.
You scrunch the letter in your hand, cursing the doctors for not explaining what the experiment involved. Your head pounds as you try to think of your day ahead. An alarm on your phone reminds you it's time to head off to work. Silencing it, you steel your nerves and head outside.
The world feels a lot bigger, scarier and yourself more vulnerable and exposed. Reaching the street, you don't see your normal car. Pressing the fob, the lights of a cute open-top car flash. You curse your life once again. It's a girly-girl car, and far cheaper than the one you had... as...
Your cheeks flush, mortified, and another wave of terror and loss wash through you. You've forgotten your name... your real name, your original name, your guy name! Your heart races, pounding in your ears as you struggle to recall it. Hating the idea of having to introduce yourself as Iris Candy Biggins.
- - - - -
You're not getting any nearer the end, by standing in the street feeling sorry for yourself. Starting the car, it sounds weedy and weak, the engine sounding more like an egg beater, than the throaty roar you'd heard before. It doesn't handle very well, or accelerate fast, or reach a great top speed, but it takes you to the office.
The sour, cold ball of nausea settling in the pit of your stomach intensifies. Here, you're going to see your boss, Robert Silverman. Formerly your assistant Susan. You slap the steering wheel in frustration, how can you remember her name, but not your own. It's just not fair, you mutter, catching your pouty frown in the rear view mirror.
Checking your hair and make up for damage you head upstairs, for your first day as a lowly secretary. Naturally, you have to look up Robert's name to find where you're working.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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