Friday, May 12, 2017

The Wererock - Chapter 12 Part 1 of 2 – The Second Swap

The Wererock
By Guest Writer:  Mike
Chapter 12 Part 1 of 2 – The Second Swap

There were fourteen pairs of eyes staring at Cynthia and I. Most of them wore looks of worry, though two people seemed to be gazing at us with a little more interest. Maybe they knew what was really going on. Carley was sitting to my right with Cynthia sitting to my left. I was wearing one of my suits not knowing then that it would be the last time that I’d ever wear men’s clothing again.
                Cynthia had spent the night, making sure both of us had gone to bed desperate and horny. She seemed to take great delight in it. There had been a moment when I thought she was going to tell me the rules to her game; I was disappointed when she didn’t and a little bit relieved to. It was weird, I wanted to both know and be kept in the dark. Just playing the game was frustrating when you didn’t know the rules and that’s what her game was all about.
                We woke up, showered, and dressed for the day. I wore a navy-blue suit and Cynthia wore a burgundy colored dress. She looked professional and classy and way out of my league. I was lucky to latch onto her. Or maybe it wasn’t luck. Maybe the Werestone steered me to her. Under my suit, I was wearing one of my bras and a pair of matching bikini panties. Cynthia went pantiless just to fuel my desperation.  Cynthia had taken my breasts away and had returned my hair to its normal length, promising me that both were temporary. “My girl needs a nice rack,” she’d taunted.
                We drove to the office together. Cynthia had the Wererock in her purse. Carley had greeted us when we arrived, offering to get us coffee. We both accepted and an hour later I called the meeting with all my employees. Now, they were staring at me, wondering not about my future but their own. Change was never easy in the business world and hearing their boss is retiring and “selling” the company to a stranger was a little disconcerting to all that were there to hear the proclamation.               
                “Nobody is losing their job. Nobody is taking a pay cut. Nothing is going to change except for the person at the top.”
                There were murmurs, but if people were concerned they kept their opinions to themselves.
                “I’ll be here for two weeks, overseeing the transition and then I’ll sail off into the sunset.”
                Cynthia spoke next and she was impressive. She set out her goals, the same ones we had discussed the night before, and even spoke up about gaining the McClintock group as new customers precisely because of the change we were making. That brought a new round of murmurs and a few smiles to my programmers; that’s a nut they’d wanted to crack. She opened the floor to questions and I let her answer them. She handled the staff with ease. She held a confidence that was inspiring and by the time the meeting ended, she had convinced me that I would be making the right choice even if selling the company to her wasn’t just a ruse. She had been amazing.
                “Does this mean I don’t have to call you Mr. Orlinski anymore?” Carley joked after the meeting broke up.
                “I guess not.”
                “Good, then maybe you can get my coffee,” she joked.
                Cynthia and I settled into my office and spent all morning going over the legal details. By lunch the appropriate paperwork had been signed. I officially gave my company to Cynthia for one single dollar which she paid me from the change from the bottom of her purse. There were safeguards built into our contract that would only go into place if we ever broke up but that seemed as unlikely as finding the Wererock in the first place. Everything seemed to be landing precisely where it was supposed to. That’s the best way I can describe it. It seemed right. I never once got the impression that I was doing anything other than what I was destined to do.
                We went to lunch, stopping at a local hamburger joint that sold thick, meaty burgers and some fantastic bison chili. After we ate, we went to the bathroom and locked the door. Cynthia stripped and had me do the same. She used the Wererock to become me and I became her. She dressed in my suit and I donned her burgundy dress. I carried her purse over my arm and left the bathroom wearing her heels. I laughed when we returned to the table, pulling out Cynthia’s wallet.  “Lunch is on me,” I joked, paying with Cynthia’s credit card.
                We returned to the office where I spent the rest of the day explaining the day to day operation of the company that used to be mine. Cynthia’s plan to have me go as her was brilliant. To every one of my employees, Cynthia was teaching me, telling me exactly how things were run. By the end of the day one of my programmers, a man by the name of Hadley, approached Cynthia and I. “Boss,” he said. “I’ve watched her all afternoon and I’m impressed. You made a good choice.”
                Cynthia nodded, “I did indeed. Cynthia is brilliant. I’m pretty sure the only thing that’ll change around here is more business.”
                “Thanks,” I said. To Hadley it had been Cynthia that had said it.
                The rest of the week went the exact same way. Cynthia, posing as me, learned how we did things and offered up improvements that I hadn’t seen. Sometimes we get so caught up in the now that we fail to peer towards the future. Cynthia worked towards that future. Friday afternoon, looking exactly like Cynthia and wearing a fancy business suit with a skirt that hobbled my steps, I told Carley that I had hired a new secretary and that she’d be in on Monday to start her training.
                “That’s great,” Carley said. “What’s her name.”
                The rest of Cynthia’s plan fell into place. “Amy. You’ll love her. Make sure she knows how I take my coffee.”
                “Will do, boss.” But I wasn’t the boss. Cynthia was. Carley had, with that simple sentence, made me feel a bit diminished. And that feeling somehow excited me. Why was that?
                Friday night, standing in my kitchen, Cynthia used the Wererock and became herself, the owner of my company. I used the stone to turn myself back into me except for my large breasts and longer hair. Everything else was me, au natural. Cynthia stripped off her clothes and had me do the same. Naked, both of us desperately horny, Cynthia dropped to her knees and took me into her mouth. My cock was hard in a flash.
                She sucked my cock with a wild abandon, her hands moving just as fast as her mouth. She brought me to the blissful edge, hovering on that razor thin precipice between frustration and completion. “Do you want to come?”
                What a stupid question. “Yes!”
                She licked the tip of my cock. “Are you sure?” With each word, she gave my cock another languid stroke. I was there, on the edge, ready to come and she was teasing me. Toying with me like a cat plays with a frog or mouse or lizard.
                “What about the game?”
                That barely registered. “I don’t care. You win. God, you win.”
                “Okay.” And with that she finished me off, taking me into her mouth and swallowing what I offered without hesitation. In fact, she was smiling.
                “My turn.” She stood up, grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bedroom like a mother yanking an errant toddler. I felt dizzy and weak and stumbled after her. Cynthia fell onto my bed, parted her thighs and pushed me between them. I kissed her legs, slid my tongue upward from her knees to her pussy. I tasted her gently and then devoured her. Her pants and moans became screams of passion. She came and after a few more minutes came again.
                She pulled me up and guided me into her. My second orgasm accompanied her fifth or sixth. Afterwards we lay there, both of us sated. “That was fun,” Cynthia said. “And it’ll keep being fun.”
                The game. She was talking about her game. She set me up. That was simple when only one player knew the rules. “Yeah,” I said, cupping her right breast as I lay face down, my arm draped across her. She was rubbing my ankle with her foot. Both of us were just enjoying the feel of the other’s warm flesh. “Now can I know the rules?”
                Just like before she popped off a playful, “Yep. The timer just reset. We won’t get to come for another week. But,” Cynthia giggled. The giggling turned into laughter and soon enough she was clutching her side. “The one of us that comes first has an extra week added to their sentence. I get to come in a week; you have to wait two of them.”
                “That’s not fair. You set me up.”
                She laughed a little bit harder. “I know and it gets better. In two weeks, when both of our time is up, who do you think will come first?” She reached underneath me to rub my cock. “If I come first, we’ll both be on two week cycles, but if you come first,” she stroked me a little more, “it’ll add a third week.”
                I groaned, rolling over to give her better access, but I didn’t know if was from her game or her hand on my dick.
                “The game resets when one of us goes a full six months without coming. That’ll be some record.”  Now that I was on my back she could stroke me a little bit faster, adding fuel to my lust. “I wonder, will you ever win?” With that she let go of my dick. “Don’t worry, we can always change the game if you don’t like it.”
                But I did like it. Or I liked how much Cynthia liked it and truthfully, they were the same thing. “It’s fine,” I said, leaning up to give her a kiss. “I’m hungry, want to get dinner?”
                The cliché happened, of course. Cynthia answered the door wearing nothing but a towel that she innocently dropped as she was taking the pizza box from the collage-aged kid that rang the doorbell. He stammered out something appreciative that sounded like his mouth was full of cotton. Cynthia paid for the pizza, leaving the towel at her feet. She was laughing when shut the door. “I’ve always liked doing that,” she said. I knew from one of our earlier conversations that she could handle herself, but I still felt better being there to back her up.
                “Don’t worry,” I smiled, “You’ll never wear clothing when we order pizza. Pretty soon every pizza place in town will look forward to us ordering dinner.”
                “Goody!” She was as giddy as a child rushing to see what Santa brought on Christmas morning and I loved her all the more.
                We ate dinner, both of us naked. Cynthia accidently dropped a mushroom in her lap. I bent forward and ate it off her thigh. After dinner, both of us still naked, we crawled into bed and watched a little T.V. It was sweet and innocent and it felt like we were a couple. Everything we’d done up to that Friday night had been fueled by the Wererock and sexual tension. That night I felt like we were a couple, just staying in.
                “Move in with me,” I said, voicing exactly where my thoughts had led.
                Just like that we had weekend plans. But Cynthia had some of her own.
                Saturday morning, we awoke, showered together, and got dressed. Cynthia wore the same burgundy dress I’d worn to work on Monday and had me put on a jean skirt with white leggings and a camisole top. My cleavage was on full display thought most of my breasts were covered. I fixed my hair as Cynthia ran a brush through hers. I stood at the bathroom mirror and made up my face. Satisfied, we took my car to Cynthia’s house and together we packed up most of her clothes. She changed, putting on something a lot less dressy.
                It took three trips to get all the things she needed. I gave her a spare key and told her the alarm code. Coming back from the second trip, we stopped at a small, outdoor bistro that sold Cuban food. Eating, Cynthia began training me to be her girl.  “Women don’t sit like that,” she’d scold me when my legs were parted. “Do you want everyone to see your panties?”
                I crossed my legs, finding the position a bit unnatural.
                “Don’t put your elbows on the table,” came next. “Take smaller bites. You’re my girl now. Right?”
                I nodded. “Right.”
                “So I’m going to teach you how to be a girl. Pay attention, okay?”
                And she did. She taught me how to sit, how to talk, how to walk, how to carry a purse. She taught me fashion dos and don’ts. Every time I got one of her surprise questions right, or did something in a girly way, she’d reward me with a little kiss. When I did something wrong, which by Cynthia’s definition was anything manly, she gave me this little look that physically hurt. I wanted those kisses. I carried my purse the way she showed me, no longer embarrassed by it. Why should I be? I looked like a woman from my giant cleavage to the heels on my feet. The only thing manly about me was the penis tucked into my panties and that was only for Cynthia to see.
                We went to the bathroom together, Cynthia making sure that I sat to pee; I would never again stand to use the bathroom. That was a thing of the past. We would talk about fashion; she would point out what other women were wearing and tell me why it worked, or more often, why it didn’t. I absorbed it all, vying for those little kisses.
                Sunday was spent at the house, practicing how to sit, making sure I straightened my skirt before I sat. Cynthia had me walking in my highest heels, promising me a new dress code at work. Just hearing her talk about what I’d have to wear was exciting in a way I didn’t understand. She had me practice moving my hands in smaller, more delicate movements. She had me practice painting my fingernails with bright, feminine colors, only to take the color off and do it again. She had me practice makeup, even though I had it down pat, Cynthia showed me how to touch it up. She had me check my lipstick every twenty minutes, just so it would become second nature. “It’ll come off during the day, Amy,” she told me, “so you have to keep on top of it. Smeared lipstick looks tacky and my girl is high-class.”
                “Yes, mistress,” I said, compelled by the rock or my own desires I couldn’t say.
                By Monday morning I was ready to face my first day of work as Amy. I woke up, giving Cynthia a gentle kiss on the forehead as she slept. I made coffee and buttered a piece of toast. I was a girl now, and one of the things Cynthia told me was that women didn’t eat as much as men. I’d have to “watch my figure” she had said. “Unless you want a corset.”
                “No thank you, mistress,” I replied, thinking that maybe I did want one. Just to see.
                Cynthia had smiled. “Well, I think we’ll get a couple just for fun then.” I knew then I’d be wearing one in the future.
                I brought Cynthia her breakfast and while she ate I took a shower. I dried myself as she taught me, with dabs and not swipes. I wrapped the towel high, around my tits, and not across my waist as I’d done as Adam. I wasn’t Adam anymore. I was Amy. Cynthia’s girl.
                I did my makeup, touched up my fingernails with a gentle salmon color, and dug through my closet for something to wear. I selected that pinstripe skirt with matching jacket. I chose a white, low-cut blouse to accentuate my cleavage while still leaving most of my body covered. I dressed, bra and panties first. They matched, like all my underwear. “A girl feels sexier when she’s wearing nice lingerie,” Cynthia had taught me.
                The last thing I slipped on was a pair of black, 4-inch heels. “The bare minimum height for the office, Amy,” Cynthia had instructed. I was learning that I had a lot to learn.
                Cynthia dressed in a black power suit. Unlike me, her blouse buttoned to the collar.  “You’re eye candy,” Cynthia laughed. “I’m the boss.”
                Cynthia drove to work; she had an eight o’clock meeting with some prospective new client. I wasn’t supposed to meet at the office until nine. I fretted over the mirror, making sure I looked perfect. This would be the first time I’d be at the office as Amy. The only thing about me that wasn’t real were my breasts and the length of my hair and as Cynthia had pointed out, the hair was only something she accelerated. It would have grown out in time. My employees knew me, Carley most of all. I’d worked side by side with her for years. How could she not notice it was Adam she was training? If she did notice I wondered what would she think of me? The thought was terrifying.
                I drove to the office, stopping to get a cup of coffee on the way. I sipped from the cup and felt an odd tingle seeing my lipstick print on the rim of the cardboard cup. It looked so familiar and alien at the same time. I’d seen the same marks made on other women’s cups and now I was the one making that stain. Now I was the woman. Men don’t leave lipstick prints and since I was, did that make me a woman? It certainly didn’t make me a man. That little stain seemed to put me in my place. Seeing it made me feel like a girl more than just about anything else. Maybe because it wasn’t intentional. I hadn’t clutched the Wererock to make a change. No, this was something that just was and that made it more powerful.
                After fixing my lipstick, I walked into the building and rode the elevator up to the floor I leased. Well, not me anymore, the floor Cynthia would continue to lease using the funds from the company. That thought made me feel a little less powerful. I wasn’t scared, the contract protected me, but knowing Cynthia handled those items now, with the power of attorney I’d signed, diminished my ownership just a bit more and that was a bit emasculating. Like my breasts and the lipstick stained coffee cup, everything being done to me seemed to strip away what little but of masculinity I had left. Sure, I didn’t lose my company, but I didn’t own it any more, either. A man’s self-worth is tied into his job and now I wasn’t the owner of a multi-million-dollar company; I was important to the company, but just a tiny cog in a much bigger machine.
                “Hi,” Carley greeted me, holding out her hand. “I’m Carley. I take it you’re the new girl?”
                I shook Carley’s hand. Something I’d done as Adam so long ago. “Yes,” I said, flashing a smile. “I’m Amy. Amy Brower,” I reverted to my mother’s maiden name. Why not; I was the maiden now.
                “It’s nice to meet you.”
                “When are you due?” Adam knew; Amy did not.             
                Carley beamed and spent five minutes talking about her son. I’d heard it all before, but now I wasn’t me. I was Amy. Cynthia’s girl. I cooed when I should and for the first time I touched Carley’s stomach just to feel the baby kick. “I’ve never had a baby,” I said. Was that regret I heard?  “Now, I’m probably too old.”
                “Bologna,” Carley muttered. “It’s not too late.”
                “Thanks.” The way she talked it was like she’d never seen me before. If I could fool Carley, then the rest of the staff would be easy. While I’d interviewed all of them, it was Carley that I had worked with the most. If she didn’t see me as anyone other than a pretty girl, then my secret, at least at work, was safe.
                Carley looked in on Cynthia, “Cynthia, your new secretary is here. Shall I send her in?”

1 comment:

sarah penguin said...