By Guest Writer: Mike
Chapter 12 – Part 2 of 2
Carley shut the door behind me. “How do I look?” She was sitting at my desk, the keyboard in front of her and about two dozen file folders stacked haphazardly to her right. A cup of coffee sat on the desk and I spotted Cynthia’s one lipstick print. It was something inherently feminine and it was something else Cynthia I now shared. She looked like she belonged exactly where she was sitting.
“Good enough to eat,” I joked.
“It’s going to be so much fun working with you. Did I tell you I have a meeting set up with Marcus Newlford? I think he’s going to have us write the new inventory management software for Publix here in the southeast.”
“That’s huge.” If I sounded impressed it’s because I was. Huge was an understatement. I should have hired Cynthia years ago. She laughed when I told her that.
“Well, Amy,” Cynthia said, turning back to business. “Welcome to the team. Carley will show you the ropes. She’s leaving us in two weeks; don’t let me down. She’ll be hard to replace but I have faith in you.”
“Thank you, mistress.”
She shooed me away dismissively with the back of her hand, setting the stage for our working relationship. She was the boss. I was the subordinate. Had I ever done the same thing to Carley. Probably. Although I couldn’t point out a single instance, I was sure I had taken the same attitude with her. Was that something that the people above you just did or was it something Cynthia did to me just to have some fun? My money was on the former.
Carley showed me everything that I already knew. I knew our filing system and our computer system; I knew how Cynthia took her coffee and where the break room was. Carley was complimentary, telling me that I was born to be a secretary. It’s what I was; exactly as Cynthia had planned.
All afternoon I sat at Carley’s desk fielding phone calls and typing up memo’s. Cynthia would buzz the desk and have her fetch me some files or a fresh cup of coffee. I think she did most of it just to see me scurry about as she directed. As the day ended Carley gave me a hug and said, “You did perfect.”
“Thanks.” It was the first time Carley and I had hugged.
The rest of the week went the same. I’d go to work, arriving before Cynthia to make sure she had her coffee and to take care of any tasks she needed me to accomplish. After work we’d go to my place, my feet protesting the heels, where Cynthia would have me keep practicing all the little movements and mannerisms that would convince anybody who saw me would only see a pretty girl with brown hair and big, bouncy boobs.
At night, we would fondle each other, and play with each other, just to make us hornier and increase our frustration. Cynthia took great delight in seeing my cock bounce like one of those little air filled tubes with elongated arms you’d spot outside a used car dealership. I’d eat her or she’s suck me. Nothing we did overcame the power of the Wererock.
Friday morning, while Carley was out having lunch, I sat at her desk, which would soon be my desk, and tried to log into the computer system to check on the progress Cynthia had made. I typed Adam’s username and password and was rewarded with an error screen telling me that my username was invalid. I tried again, assuming I’d mistyped, but received the exact same error. I easily logged in as Amy, like I’d done all week, but didn’t have access to the files I was trying to review.
I knocked on Cynthia’s door. “Mistress,” I started, being alone I had no choice, “I couldn’t log into the system to check on how things are going.” I explained what I was trying to do.
Cynthia just smiled. It lit her face. “Oh, and why does a secretary need to access those privileged files?” Cat meet mouse.
“I guess a secretary doesn’t,” Carley wouldn’t have access to what I wanted to see, “but I’m the owner.” My voice sounded small; did I believe my own words?
Cynthia didn’t. “No. I am, remember. You sold the company to me for one itty-bitty dollar.” Her smile got even bigger; truthfully, I didn’t think that was possible. “You don’t need to see those files, you’re just a secretary.”
Dammit if I didn’t get aroused by the way she spoke down to me. The word “just” sent an electric current to the cock tucked into my panties. Is that how she saw me now, just a secretary or was she toying with me? I felt small, like the bottom rung of a ladder or maybe the part of a totem pole that was buried underneath the ground holding up the rest. “But.” But I didn’t have an argument. I was nothing more than the junior secretary at the company I had founded. None of my previous employees had seen me as anything other than I appeared to be. We tend to believe exactly what we see, remember? Finally, feeling defeated, freshly emasculated, and a little bit hurt I whispered, “yes, mistress.” Like any other secretary in any other business in any other city, things that happened above my paygrade wouldn’t have a thing to do with me.
“How about a fresh cup of coffee?”
I filled Cynthia’s cup with coffee, making it just the way she liked it. “Thank you, Amy.” She handed me a stack of papers, “Files these for me.”
Not even a please. “Yes, Mistress.”
Or a thank you.
I got back to work. Carley came back and asked me what’s wrong. How could I hope to answer that question? Things were starting to feel all too real. Maybe that’s what it was. The Wererock was this powerful thing, or maybe it was a powerful creature, and playing with it had been empowering and fun. Now I’d lost all my power. I was a secretary in an office, in my office, and I no longer held the power I once held. I felt diminished and I guess that’s what Carley saw on my face when she walked in. “Nothing,” I finally answered, thinking I’d taken too long to even respond, “It’s been a long week.”
“Most of them are, but you’re doing great. I was worried about leaving, especially with a new boss being brought in, but she’s doing great and you’re a natural. Now, honestly, I can enjoy being a stay-at-home mom without wondering if the world is falling apart at the office. The best thing I can tell you is to take ownership of the job. It’s not glamourous work,” Carley gave a little chuckle, “but it’s important. You may not think so, but it is.” She looked at me, “What am I thinking; you’re a natural. You know it’s important work.”
The one thing I got out of Carley’s speech is how perfect she had been. At that moment, I wish I had the authority to up the bonus I’d given her from five thousand dollars to ten. But I couldn’t. My username, my name, had been taken away. Replaced with the one Cynthia had given me. What’s in a name? Everything. And my name was Amy.
Friday night, Cynthia and I dressed up, each of us wearing tiny little black dresses. Cynthia and I each had about a dozen of them of varying lengths. Cynthia’s were all a bit shorter than mine, but she was the showoff. We went to dinner, holding hands and acting like the couple we were. I kept the office at the office and Cynthia did the same. I asked about the Wererock; it had been over a week since I’d even seen the thing.
“It’s at home in my panty drawer,” she said, stroking my hand with her thumb. “We don’t really need it anymore.” While I was filled with doubt, Cynthia seemed to be growing in confidence. From where I sat it made her damned sexy.
While Cynthia felt that we didn’t need the stone, I wasn’t sure I felt the same. Still, knowing where it was made me feel a little bit better, like my life wasn’t totally spiraling towards something I couldn’t control. I’d lost control at the office, I needed something that gave me a sense of power and that was one thing the Wererock could do. It was my lifeline, needed or not. It was the security blanket I could focus on if things became more than I could handle.
After dinner, we went dancing. Cynthia had more to teach me. During dinner she’d been all smiles, telling me that I was doing well. While dancing, strange men hit on us and offered to buy us drinks. It seemed obvious that Cynthia and I were a couple. Didn’t it? Did they think maybe we were just two friends having a good time and seeking the companionship of other men? Cynthia batted them away easily while I fumbled for the words. It felt awkward to be hit on; I was a man no matter how I looked on the outside. I had to laugh at myself; nothing about me was masculine. I had large breasts that bounced with each step I took in my four-inch heels. Both my finger and toenails were painted the same pink hue. My makeup was impeccable; my dress so short that when my arms hung straight my fingers touched the bare skin of my thighs. No, I was a hot girl out in a loud club. If I was a man I’d hit on us, too.
I looked at Cynthia, feeling a sadness I couldn’t name. Had I really just thought of myself as a girl?
“Let’s go,” Cynthia took my arm and pulled me out of the club. The music had been too loud, the place too crowded. I’d felt hot and my face was flush. Mostly I felt confused. If I was a man. Had that really been my thought? I was a man, why would I think otherwise? I caught my reflection in the window of a parked car. The answer was there for all to see. How could I think of myself as a man when there wasn’t a manly thing about me?
“Amy,” Cynthia said when we were far enough away from the club that only my teeth ached from the music instead of my whole head. “What’s wrong. Tell me what’s wrong?” She sounded as concerned as I was confused.
We walked further from the club. Eventually the sounds of the music disappeared to be replaced with the music of the night. I heard cars driving by and the occasional car alarm. I heard some cat caterwaul off in the distance. We walked by a restaurant where all I heard as the low mumble of intimate conversations. Everything seemed normal. Everything but me.
“Amy, what’s wrong. You looked so pale.”
“I don’t know who I am.” Just saying it made me feel better. If I could share my problems with Cynthia maybe they’d only hold half their power.
“You’re my girl.” She said, giving my arm a squeeze.
I explained what I was feeling, how it seemed I was losing myself and becoming someone I didn’t recognize.
“Do you trust me?”
That one was so easy that it didn’t require a single thought, “With my life.”
“Then trust me.”
I didn’t have anything to say to that so I just nodded.
“It’ll get easier. You’re Amy. My Amy. Forever. Got it?”
I nodded a little harder. I did trust her and so what did I have to lose if I kept right on trusting her? Myself? I think I’d already lost that. “Okay.”
“Let’s go home.” She nibbled on my earlobe, tugging on the little golden hoop I had dangling there with her teeth. “I’m horny.”
We went home and an hour later only one of us was left denied. Cynthia’s week had elapsed; I still had a week to go. And if I didn’t want to make it three weeks next time I’d have to find the strength to hold out longer than Cynthia. How was I going to do that? By the time Friday came again I’d have gone two weeks, a new record Cynthia was delighted to hear, and she’d have only gone one. It wasn’t fair. I guess that’s how Cynthia wanted it.
Monday morning came and with it another work week started. It was Carley’s last but as the week progressed Carley did less and less. By Thursday, Carley just milled about the whole office saying goodbye to all her coworkers. I did all her work and by the time Friday morning rolled around, I was the full-time secretary at the company I’d founded without any power and only minimal real responsibility. That added to my sense of doubt but I trusted Cynthia so I pushed my uncertainty aside.
Friday morning, we had a sendoff party for Carley. I picked up an ice cream cake from the grocery store on the way into the office. Afterwards, Carley cried and gave me a hug. We’d grown closer in the two weeks I’d trained with her than we had at any time during the years she’d worked for me. That fact made me feel small. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be the boss if I diminished my employees so readily.
“You’ll do great,” she reminded me, leaving for the last time that Friday afternoon. “Tell Adam he was a good boss and thank him for that bonus check. That was unnecessary but appreciated.” She kissed my cheek. “Oh, I already did.”
She knew and my face flushed red. I felt a surge of humiliation like an electromagnetic pulse. I thought my heart would stop.
“Bye, Adam,” Carley said, leaving the office for the last time.
Cynthia and I went home an hour later. Cynthia put dinner in the oven while I went to take a shower. Cynthia came in five minutes after I started to bathe and rubbed her naked body against me. I responded; two weeks was such a long time to go without an orgasm. Since I found what rubbing my cock could do when I was twelve I’d seldom gone more than three or four days without rubbing one out, or having sex with whatever woman I was dating at the time. A week was unheard of. Two weeks was a marathon to a fat man: unheard of.
Cynthia washed her boobs. I enjoyed the view of the suds washing over her breasts. Cynthia stated to shave her pussy and then paused just long enough to hand me the razor. I dropped to my knees, razor in hand and gingerly whisked away the stubble. Putting the razor down I brought my mouth to her cunt and lapped at the wet folds as the water rained down. Cynthia grabbed my hair, holding my face against that velvety softness. I tasted her, lapping and probing. I sucked her flesh into my mouth and toyed with her clit. She responded, forcing my mouth against her pussy until I thought I’d pass out.
She turned off the water and pulled me by my erection into the bedroom. Soaking wet we flopped down onto the bed. She rolled onto my cock as the two of us became one. We made love, taking our time. Cynthia moaned and nibbled my ears. I nuzzled her throat, licking her neck from her nipples to her chin. We rolled and rutted. I felt my body growing tense; two weeks of denial threatening to erupt in a flash. I tried to hold back, I truly did. I wanted to put Cynthia and I back on the same schedule, but Cynthia tightened her sex, squeezing from below and that was enough. I erupted, ending two weeks of denial.
Barely a moment later, with my hips still pounding, Cynthia came. She had held out just a tad longer; her week would be easy. My three weeks an eternity.
“It’s not fair,” I said, lying in bed an hour later, cuddled together as the loving couple we were.
She simply smiled.
I kept quiet. She had already told me I could change the game but did I need to? Not yet. Besides, hadn’t I been the one to admit that records should be broken. Still, the game was lopsided, but so was my life. Cynthia was the boss; I was the secretary. Cynthia was the mistress. Did that make me the slave?
We watched T.V. until Cynthia fell asleep. I lay there, thinking about my life and how much had changed. I kissed the top of Cynthia’s head as I reached for the remote control. She kept that, too. I turned off the T.V., and lying in the dark, pondering how much I had changed, I decided that it was all for the better. I hadn’t lost anything, well maybe a little social status, but I had gained so much more.
I had gained Cynthia. The woman that would one day become my wife and the mother of our two adopted boys.