This choice: You watch the chairman for the first effects. • Go Back...Chapter #7You watch the chairman for the first effects. by: Mr. George   He sits on the edge of the bed, as the girl eases herself forward on her knees. She coyly lifts his baggy burgundy jumper up, smirking at the chairman. As if she'll need the space for his immense cock. Licking her lips in anticipation, Bill looks off over her head and out the window. He doesn't want to disappoint the girl. His gaze taking in the pool in the garden, the high wall, and the jungle that surrounds the compound.
It's ideally situated, two miles from the city edge. Close enough to be convenient, but isolated enough that noise, isn't a problem.
The whore goes to work, her hot lips wrapped around Bill Buckman's stiffening cock. A flash of confusion flickers across his face, erasing his strained joy, as she starts to tickle him.
A look of loss, and puzzlement spoil his enjoyment, even as the whore works his cock, he cums.
"Who... Who... are you?..." the words spill from his lips, as he looks down at the girl. Her lips glistening with his jizz. "Who... Who am I?"
Even as Bill softens, he plants one hand on her head. Not holding her in place, merely holding himself steady. His free hand rises towards his forehead, the room starts to spin, and Bill slumped back onto the bed. Already unconscious, the whore at her feet almost as confused.
You check the other screens, a similar story plays out on each of them. With the executives, slumping over the sun loungers, or clutching their heads as amnesia erases their recent memories.
The whores seem to be unaffected, the effect not working on them for some reason you don't understand. But you see the tension spread through the brothel, as all their customers are now unconscious. A few of the girls check for pulses terrified they've just witnessed a mass-murder... a poisoning of some kind.
You nod in amusement, it is poisoning... of a kind.
Zooming the camera in on his face, you see the drug starting to take effect. Bill's face softening, smoothing, rounding out. It loses it's rugged square jaw, and you practically bounce in your seat as his nose shrinks too. A surge as his hair lengthens forming a cloud.... a pillow around the former chairman's head.
But it's when you zoom out, that you see how rapidly things are progressing.
A belly laugh erupts, as you see Bill will need to ask someone if she's wearing matching shoes. Her bust already gargantuan looks like it's pinning her to the bed. You have to assume, that he's now fully a woman in those jeans too.
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Her breathing continuing, but now it's visible even on camera. A chest that large is always going to shift as she breathes in and out. You note that the other executives are also the head of IT, eases himself up from the tiled alley aside the house.
Her pale blue T-shirt stretched to breaking point by her transformation. The same confusion on her face, as she struggles to understand who she is, or where she is. But her curiosity is caught and held by her lavish bust, and those ripe nipples that top them. Experimentally, the same systematic approach that he brought to error diagnosis, she applies to exploring her body. A gasp rips from her lungs as hormones flood her blood. The teasing tweaking touch almost too much to bear.
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But, also addictive, too. Fingers trembling in anticipation, afraid she'll both get and not get the same response. Ted's feminine fingers once more grasp those so sensitive, so large, so joyous nips gripping them. The same rush fills her veins, her jaw twitching rapidly, beyond her control. As the rush of heat washes through her body, a hunger.... a need... an unquenchable greed fills her.
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Prying her fingers from her bust, Ted goes hunting for what she needs.
- - - - -
Back in one of the bedrooms, Bill's transformation continues. As if all her male weight has shifted, migrated from her arms and legs, her chest has grown even larger.
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You wonder how she can even breath with that weight of tit-flesh pressing down on her.
- - - - -
Jack. Well, you think she was Jack from Sales seems to have been affected differently. Well, mostly the same. Sat in a chair, she looks out the French windows across the pool, to the high compound walls. Her eyes blink in confusion, the same amnesia taking her name, her history from her. But she sits there, calm as she can be.
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She resists the urge, the teasing itch from her chest that demands attention. Even as she sits there, her bust still swells larger. Her bemusement extending even to her ongoing changes. But as her brows furrow, you can see she's trying to work it out. It's the suitcase of crumpled male clothes that unsettle her more than anything. Is a strange man about to walk in on her. She felt pinned to the chair, afraid that if she left the room, she might run into him in some other room.
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- - - - -
In another of the bedrooms, Steve is pacing restlessly. His reluctance to visit the brothel shown in his more staid clothes. As the head of finance he was always more focused on the spreadsheet than anything in the real world. He too, like Jack is trying to work out who she is. The plain white shirt, that he'd have worn to work, looks out of place in a brothel. Not just because of the immense bust straining the buttons.
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A snorting laugh emerges, as you see that Steve has worked out that she's female. Or at least that she fits panties now. The top drawer of the whore's bedroom lies half open, and a pair of quite sparkly, and rather revealing cut cleave to Jack's flat crotch.
But she doesn't like her conclusions. The stench of sex hangs in the air, and she's a busty woman. There's also the vague, but persistent sense of arousal in the air. Shaking her head, she tries to resist the logic.
This is a brothel...
She's in the brothel...
She's a whore?..!..?
- - - - -
In a different bedroom, Robin is fighting the same conclusions. Her whorish body, and the setting, all tell her she's a whore in a brothel. But she shakes her head, resisting it. A vague... distant... perhaps false memory of an office intrudes.
Grasping that with both hands, Robin decides she must have been a secretary. A sad, half-convinced smile forms on her face, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards in amusement. Probably not hired for her secretarial skills, but she ripped through the drawers until she could assemble something vaguely secretarial.
Every seam strained as she pulled the top into place. The pencil skirt felt alien and unfamiliar, too. But she dismissed it as part of the amnesia. It was probably she just wore a pant suit to the office.
But she stood admiring her reflection. The women sleeping on the loungers were just a busty as herself. Though she hoped she looked the most professional of them.
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Tears of joy run down your face, as the whole board seem to come to the same conclusion one after another. A couple of them, even look to be happy with that.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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