Tuesday, March 28, 2017

The Wererock - Chapter 6 - Part 1 - Playing at Work

The Wererock
By Guest Writer:  Mike

Chapter 6 – Part 1
Playing at Work

Cynthia arrive at my house just before seven the next morning. She looked refreshed and beautiful, wearing a simple yellow sundress decorated with bright orange piping. She was wearing stockings again; a quick twirl proved that. Sadly, she didn’t twirl enough to flash me her panties.
“How’d you sleep?” Cynthia asked, giving me a kiss as she entered my house. I grumbled something incoherent that made her laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know what I did was a little mean, but do you remember the story I told you? The one at the mall with the scissors.”
I was horny, still feeling a dull ache in my crotch, but I wasn’t daft. I nodded in response, not trusting myself to say something hurtful. She had left me in a state and I was still feeling it this morning. When I awoke, I found one hand inside my panties, absently stroking the wet flesh I found. The first thing I had done was masturbate, caressing the velvety folds and rubbing my hand furiously over my extended clit. Nothing helped; no at a single swipe, or twist, or caress could send me teetering over that frustrating cliff. I slammed my fists against the mattress in frustration before taking cold shower number four.
“Remember, how sometimes my mistress doesn’t allow me to come? I wanted to show you what that would be like. I’ve done this to myself. More than once. The only difference is thanks to the rock, you really had no choice.” She kissed me again. “It’s something I’m really into and I suspect,” she hitched her shoulder into a tiny shrug, “We’ll both go through what you’re feeling many, many times. I’ve given it a lot of thought.”
I pursed my lips in thought. I knew she was telling me the truth; there really wasn’t any reason for Cynthia to lie to me. I recalled her story; she had said that sometimes she denied herself. I gave that some consideration. How much harder would it be to be denied when it was only your willpower to keep you from caving? The Wererock had made it physically impossible, no matter how much I tried to fight against the power of the stone. How much harder would it be to stop when you could drive yourself over the precipice of pleasure? Somehow, thinking about it made me forgive her even if there really wasn’t anything to forgive.
“Are you okay?” She asked, taking in the flush on my cheeks that was more frustration than anger.
I nodded. “I’m horny.”
“Good.” She looked at my boobs, “The silver kept you from changing, I see?”
Cynthia took my hand and led me to the couch.  “Remember when you said you wanted me to make you wear your heels to work?”
Had I said that? Yesterday was such a blur, but there was a faint glimmer of truth in what she said. I wasn’t sure I said the words but I had intimated that I found the thought exciting. Wasn’t that the same thing? I nodded, not sure I could find my voice.
She smiled, “Go get them.”
I returned a moment later with the black shoes with their blocky four-inch heel. I donned them as she commanded. She had me walk in them and satisfied that I wasn’t going to go crashing to the ground, she had me take the seat next to her again. I bowed me head so that she could remove the necklace and a moment later, with the Wererock clutched between our hands I watched as she made my tits disappear. She kept the copy of her pussy between my legs.
“Are you ready for today’s fun?”
“What are you thinking?” The way my voice cracked I thought I was going through puberty again.
Bend forward. With that she took of her grandmother’s necklace and wrapped it around her own throat. “Grab my hand again.” The Wererock was already there. She was peering into my eyes as she made her change. I didn’t feel any different but by the smile on her lovely face I knew she’d done something. The thought of it scared me a little and excited me even more. I felt my thighs press together; I hadn’t meant to move them, they just shifted on their own to try and ease the frustration I felt in my burning pussy.
“What did you do?”
She smiled, “I programmed you, my little puppet.” She laughed, full and hearty. “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen until you get to work. I’ve got to get to work, too.” She made a disgusted little sound. “I want you to call me as soon as you get to your office. Bring your heels. And don’t forget your purse. A girl always carries her purse.”
We kissed good bye. “Hey,” I said. “When do I get to play with you?”
“Oh, you want to toy with me, little girl?” She was mocking me and I found that exciting too. With how I was feeling, just about every innuendo shot straight to my crotch.
“Well, yes.”
“Good.” She kissed me again. “Tonight, I’ll cook us dinner and we’ll discuss it. I promise, by this weekend, you can do what you want to me.” She smiled, “if you’re my mistress.” She shrugged, “I love men,” she admitted and I was happy about that, “But, for some reason, my internal owner is always a woman. So, I guess you’ll have to be a woman for me to be your plaything.”
The drive to work was easy. It felt good to be mostly myself. Those boobs had been distracting and heavy and I was glad to be rid of them even if it was just until I saw Cynthia after work. She liked the boobs on me. I know the reasoning and somehow that knowledge made feel even closer to her. That shared secret revealed a level of trust that seemed to bind us as a couple more than two individuals. Isn’t that what couples were? People bound together by a shared intimacy? Isn’t it the people closest to us that can hurt us the most because they knew our biggest secrets and couldn’t those secrets be used as weapons? I trusted Cynthia far more than I should; we hadn’t known each other that long. Still, I felt confident that she wouldn’t hurt me just like I had no intention to wound her at all. We were growing together; I felt that just as much as I felt that tinging need inside my panties.
I called Cynthia the moment I shut myself into my office. She sounded delighted. “Are you ready to know what I did?”
“Do you have your shoes?”
Shit. “They’re in the car.”
She giggled. “Too bad. You can come. You’re so horny I bet you want to come, right? I want you to come. I really do.”
I did, and as soon as she said I could I found my fingers traipsing through the soft, wet folds hidden by my panties.  I let out a little moan as two fingers slipped inside my pussy. My clit throbbed so hard I could time my pulse by its measured cry. I rubbed it gently, gasping in pleasure, before slipping those fingers back inside my body.
“Amy,” Cynthia was saying. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I said, more distracted than anything else.
“Don’t you want to know what will happen if you come?”
That got my attention. My fingers stopped plunging into my sex; I set my feet flat on the floor with my legs wantonly splayed. There was more and it sounded important. I was panting, holding the phone in one hand with my other still cupping my hot mound. “What?” I whimpered, feeling the heat against my palm. “What will happen?”
She let out a little moan. She was doing it again, rubbing herself at my expense. I promised I would do the same thing when it was my turn to program her. It wasn’t vindictive, I just wanted to feel the power she felt. She gasped and I felt my pussy lurch. She moaned and I moaned in response. It took her a few more minutes and then she came calling out my name. “Oh,” she cooed. “That felt so good.” She was panting into the phone, trying to get her breathing under control. “Just wait until you do that. Of course,” she paused and I could see her smiling when I shut my eyes, “As soon as you come the programming kicks in.”
“What programming?” My voice was tiny.
“Simple. Do you know that everybody has a little internal clock?” I muttered something in response. “Well, after you come your little internal clock will keep track of you and if you’re wearing your heels then you have nothing to worry about. For every ten minutes you go without wearing those pretty heels of yours then your breasts will grow half a cup size. I’m sure you can go ten minutes without a problem; who would notice if you just had some tiny bumps under your shirt.” By the sadness in her voice I knew she was speaking from experience. “After an hour, though, well, could you hide some C-cup titties?” She giggled. “Imagine how big they’d get if you went two hours without wearing your heels? Would you even be able to walk?”
My shoes were in the car. Shit, shit, shit. I had to go get them. Cynthia was right, I could go ten, maybe twenty minutes without a problem. Any more than that and things would get exceedingly difficult.
But she wasn’t done, “Do you have your purse?”
That, too, was in the car. I couldn’t carry it or my heels with me into the office. How could I explain that to the rest of the staff? This game was between Cynthia and I; I wasn’t ready to play with the rest of the office. “It’s in the car,” I admitted.
“Didn’t I say a girl always carries her purse?”
“And aren’t you my girl?”
I was and I told her so. She said something that I couldn’t quite understand. A moment later she told me goodbye. I hung up the phone. My hand was still in my panties and I could still feel the burning need from the night before. In fact, it was far too warm in my office. I took off my suit jacket. That helped; it was cooler wearing just my white dress shirt than the whole suit. I took off my red tie and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt; that was cooler still. It didn’t sate the hunger in my pussy but I did feel a little bit cooler and a little bit more exposed.
My fingers trailed along the lips of my sex and my stomach lurched at the touch. I was horny and I wanted to come but something would happen. What had Cynthia said. Shit, my heels. If I came I’d have to wear my heels or my boobs would get bigger and bigger and bigger. I couldn’t let that happen. My heels were in the car; I had to get them. No, I reasoned, I didn’t need them unless I masturbated. I just had to keep my hands out of my panties.
I pulled my hand out of my slacks and tried to get some work done. I could feel the need in my body, a tingling in my crotch and a tightening in my stomach. My mouth was dry and every second that passed was one where I knew eventually I’d lose. I was horny and I was allowed to come. Why wasn’t I playing with my pussy?
Because of the heels. I needed my heels. I looked at my office door. Carley was sitting at her desk just outside my office not knowing the turmoil I was enduring. What would she say if she knew I had a pussy between my legs and that I was as horny as humanly possible? Should I send her to my car for my heels and my purse? A girl should always carry her purse. Where had I heard that?
I spent ten minutes looking over a few lines of code and then I spent an equal amount of time caressing my pussy through my black dress pants. This wasn’t working. I wasn’t going to get anything done if I didn’t just satisfy that need that was making my body tense and my panties wet. I could come and then go get my heels. I’m sure I could hide them in something. It wouldn’t take that long to go down to my car and come back. Surely it would be less than ten minutes. And, as Cynthia had said, who would notice a slight swelling in my chest.
I locked my office door. If Carley heard she gave no indication. I unbuckled my belt, slid my pants and panties to my knees and rubbed myself with the ferocity of the Tasmanian Devil from those old Bugs Bunny cartoons. My fingers were a blur, stroking my clit in huge, rapid circles. I felt my toes curl and my heart race as my orgasm overtook me. I shut my eyes, seeing stars and feeling my pussy hungrily grab my probing fingers. I came, panting into my hot office. The intensity waned but a slight tingling remained. Maybe one more. Women would do that far easier than men. The second orgasm took a little over five minutes. The third another five after that. I came just as I felt my breasts grow. It wasn’t subtle; I felt a tingling, like when your arm falls asleep because you laid on it for too long, and then they were there, two soft bumps rising from my chest.
I looked down, seeing the gentle swell. They weren’t really noticeable. I was certain that nobody else could tell that I was like a twelve-year-old girl just getting her breasts, but I knew they were there. I glanced around my office. I didn’t see my jacket. Of all the days to forget to wear a suit jacket. Heels. I needed my heels. The clock was ticking.
I looked around my office, trying to find something, anything, I could use to hide heels while I carried them from the car. The only thing that would work was the little round garbage can sitting next to my desk. I picked it up and raced out to my car. Carley called after me, causing me to mutter something about running to the car.
My suite of office was on the third floor of a six-story building. Starting out I had simply worked from home but as the business took off I found myself with more work than I could do. That led me to expanding my workforce to me and two other programmers, all three of us working from home. Still, as our name recognition grew, so too did the staff and by the third year of business I had had to rent, first a half floor and then a full floor of office suites and cubical space. I was the only one with a secretary though I was sure, as the business grew, I’d need to add more secretarial staff, too. I now had a total of fourteen employees, including a full time human resources direction and another full-time payroll manager who had the fortunate last name of Cash. Now, as I was rushing down the stairs from my third-floor office I was acutely aware of each passing second. Ten minutes isn’t that much time when the consequences were so great. Why hadn’t I worn a jacket? In all the years of going to the office I could not recall a day I had not arrived professionally attired.
I dashed to my car, throwing open the passenger side door. I fished my heels from the floorboard and threw them into the garbage can. With my shoes now with me I ran back to my office, only slowing when I was passing any of my employees. I couldn’t let them seem me so frazzled and how many minutes had it been? I had to get those heels on in a hurry; without a jacket, anything larger than an A-cup would mostly likely be noticeable.
I shut myself in my office and donned my shoes. I hadn’t felt that tell-tale tingle so I thought I was safe. Now that my heels were strapped to my feet did the ten-minute timer reset or would it continue if I had to take the shoes off my feet. It felt deliciously naughty to be wearing the heels in my office. So much so that I found my hand once again snaking into my panties. I didn’t masturbate, I simply caressed the soft flesh between my legs, shivering at my touch.
I paced my office, enjoying the feel of my heels almost as much as I savored the daring excitement of wearing them. This was the riskiest thing I’d ever done and I didn’t have a choice. Just that thought made me caress my pussy again.
I sat at my desk and got some work done. I kept my heels flat on the ground, savoring the erotic feel of my feet held in their delicious arch. Carley came in once to have me approve a letter and just talking to her while hiding my heels under my desk made me excited. I felt like a teenager that got away with sneaking some whiskey from their parent’s liquor cabinet. That feeling seemed to lead to some naughty thoughts. I could stay trapped in my office all day; I didn’t have to leave and since I was the boss if anyone needed to check in with me, well, they could come to me.
Feeling daring and already thinking I was getting away with something kinky, I slipped off my heels. I sat at my desk, waiting for the buzz to come. I kept glancing down at my chest, waiting for what I knew was coming. I looked at the heels and at my naked feet, I looked at my chest inside my thin dress shirt and then glanced back at my heels again. Cynthia had done it; she had found a way to force me to wear my heels at work all day. By setting the triggers with the Wererock she had made it so that I had to perform some task or face the consequences. Once again, I was floored by the power of that icy stone.
A tingling in my nipples announced the next ten-minute mark. The timer hadn’t reset when I donned the shoes; I couldn’t have slipped off my heels more than three minutes earlier. I felt the tingle and then watched as my breasts expanded. They were not that noticeable unless you knew to look for them but I knew they were there and that was enough. I quickly donned my shoes again.

1 comment:

sarah penguin said...

Fun :)