by Sophie Pert
Instead she ground herself into me even harder, not just bouncing up and down on my cock but back and forth as well, taking her time to squeeze me as she rode me and let me feel the full sensation of her wrapped around my cock.
I began to feel it bubbling up and whispered, “I’m close.”
She bounced off of me, her hands releasing mine as she wrapped her fingers around my cock and stroked me until I exploded. Great spurts came pounding out of my cock and I watched them arc in the air and fall on my chest and stomach as I sighed with satisfaction.
I didn’t even get a chance to bask in the afterglow. Just as soon as I laid back and closed my eyes she was up and pulling back on her clothes.
“Where are you going?” I asked with a smile.
She sighed and turned to me and said, “We need to talk.”
Turns out, as would come out during the fight that ensued, this was her way of letting me down easy. She wanted a final send off, but us, together, we were done before she ever walked through the door.
She said she liked me, but that she didn’t feel satisfied anymore. That it wasn’t just about my lack of money or a job, that it was about the way I made her feel. How I didn’t seem interested in her anymore.
That it seemed like I had something else on my mind, something else I wanted from this that she couldn’t give to me. I had no idea what she was talking about.
I told her that her expectations were unrealistic, that she was hoping for too much. She told me that I was sad to accept so little.
The fight lasted for hours, which is why the next day I found myself exhausted and sitting in a waiting room about to go into yet another job interview I would likely fail out of.
The worst part is that this job wasn’t even in my speciality. I had taken a job outside of my education just to try to pay the bills. I knew that my landlord was seriously considering issuing me my eviction papers and at that point I would be an overeducated, unemployed, single loser living with his parents again.
I couldn’t deal with that.
So I put in an application for anything that even remotely seemed like I could do it. Even the fast food places never called me back but this place did.
It was a secretarial position at a pharmaceutical company, and I was honestly surprised I even got called in for an interview. Truth be told this was one of the jobs where it was probably stretching it a bit to say that I was qualified but I figured I’d apply anyways. I mean how hard could answering phones really be and wasn’t that like 90% of the job of a secretary anyways?
When I’d showed up they had me fill out a questionnaire and it was about that point that I realized that I was definitely not qualified. They mentioned shorthand and dictation and scheduling flights and hotels and managing schedules and all sorts of things that I had never done before. Go figure, yet another job interview I would not succeed at. Guess I was going back to my parents.
It didn’t help that I wasn’t dressed appropriately either. I wanted to wear a suit but the only one that I have is threadbare and stained so I settled on a white dress shirt, my one tie, a pair of black slacks that were two sizes too big and brown running shoes because they were the only pair that looked even remotely dressy.
I was screwed.
I don’t know why I didn’t just get up and walk out the damn door. I knew that I wasn’t going to be getting this job but still I felt the need to go through this stupid exercise just to get that rejection in purpose.
I was just staring at my hands while I waited but the moment he stepped in the room it was as if there was the supernatural draw pulling my attention away. I had to look, and I saw the man standing in the doorway for the first time.
He was handsome and older, probably in his mid- to late-fifties. He had that sort of look that you always figure executives of massive and powerful companies have. You know the look, well dressed in a fine suit that is perfectly matched. Broad shoulders with the sort of muscular build that only comes from a personal trainer and nutritionist on staff. Steel gray hair and steely eyed look to him where it seems like everyone he sees is appraised for their personal value to him. The sort of strong stature that only came from being king of whatever castle he happened to be in.
He caught the eye of the receptionist who nodded politely towards me. I swear I think I saw a single eyebrow raised when he finally caught sight of me. I must have looked like a mess to him.
He crossed the room towards me and I stood up, getting to my feet just as he got within reach of me.
“Ashley?” he asked, hand outstretched.
Yes I said, putting my hand in his as he shook it with a firm and steady grip. He towered over me as he pumped his arm perfunctorily a few times and then released my hand and mightily bruised ego.
He gestured back towards where he came from and I walked with him, politely staying a few feet behind just like you would do for any other monarch. We passed through an office that was really indistinguishable from the countless others I had been in since graduating. A series of cubicles with massive closed offices on the outer side of the building where the windows were. We walked to the far corner of the floor, to a corner office with a small, empty desk out front.
This was obviously his office, it suited his personality. The room was almost sparse, but what few decorations there were seemed to fit perfectly into the aesthetic. There were shelves on all of the walls with a large selection of books on them, some small and stereotypically manly decorations like a model ship and sports memorabilia were scattered throughout the room. In the center, as if imposing its will on the room, was a massive and ornate desk. It hulked in the midst of the space looking like it weighed so much that a crane would be necessary to move it. A tall leather chair sat behind the desk with a much smaller and shorter one on the other side.
My interviewer moved smoothly behind the desk and I found myself sitting in the small chair across from him.
He pulled a folder towards him, flipping it open and reviewing the single sheaf of paper inside of it. It was my resume, that much I could tell at a glance.
We sat in silence for a short while as he read one side and then the other. Once finished he placed the paper back in the folder in front of him, steepled his fingers, and looked at me.
“Ashley is an interesting name,” he said.
It was something I had found myself dealing with so often since I was born. A subject that my school tormentors particularly seemed to love to pick at. I tried to respond as courteously as possible with a thin smile crossing my lips.
“Yeah,” I said, “I know. Everyone thinks it’s a girl’s name, but it is technically unisex. You can call me Ash.”
“Of course,” he said returning my smile, but his was broad and open by comparison, “I am Samuel Richardson. Nice to meet you Ashley.”
I tried not to wince at that.
We lapsed into the usual interview patter. Him asking a whole bunch of vague questions meant to suss out my personality while I tried my best not to turn him off of me. I tried to be as eager to please as possible. I got the impression that he would appreciate that.
Samuel, sorry Mr. RIchardson as he lightly corrected me, seemed to me the type of man who wasn’t used to being told no. He struck me as the sort of person who appreciated unconditional obedience. I wasn’t qualified to do this job and I’m sure he knew it, so I might as well try to make a good impression by being as willing as possible to please him.
He sat back and listened while I laid out a very poor explanation of how my experience as a barback would help me do the job of a receptionist. The expression on his face showed that he really wasn’t buying this.
When I finished there was an awkward silence between the two of us.
He broke it with a surprising statement, “So I want to give you the job.”
I was shocked, and I think I actually might have shook my head slightly as if I was hearing things.
When I recovered I managed to stammer out, “Really? That’s grea
t!”
“There is just one thing,” he said, leaning forward in the chair, “There is a certain degree of importance when it comes to appearance with this job.”
Of course my dress shirt and oversized pants wouldn’t do. I was going to be disqualified from this job just because I couldn’t afford to dress better… fantastic.
“You see,” he continued, “Appearance is important and, especially in the business world, appearances matter. There are certain opinions that are held by individuals we do business with, certain expectations. Unfortunately these opinions can be a bit outdated or stereotypical, but nevertheless these are vital business partners who we need in order to keep this company thriving.
“These people have traditional view, and would feel uncomfortable with you sitting behind a secretarial desk. To be blunt, they would take issue with the fact that you are a man.”
Everything started to fall into place, his comment about my name, the fact that I was called in even though I wasn’t qualified. Mr. Richardson was looking for eye candy, someone to fill the role of looking the part of an attractive secretary. No wonder he had asked me in, as unqualified as I was.
“I don’t want to give you the wrong impression,” he said, perhaps sensing my displeasure, “I’m not looking for someone to just be pretty and sit behind a desk. I need someone who is capable of fulfilling the traditional role of a secretary while still looking the part as well. Which is why I asked you in today.
“You definitely aren’t traditionally qualified to do this job. In spite of your interesting and unconventional talking points you don’t have the experience necessary to even fulfill an entry level secretarial position, nevermind a top-level executive assistant.
“Still I have a feeling about you. A gut feeling that tells me that you will be able to handle this job and that I should take a chance on you.”
“But,” I said, trying to process everything he just said but not quite absorbing it, “I’m not a woman.”
“Exactly,” he nodded, “Which brings me to my final point.”
Mr. Richardson reached over and opened a drawer of his desk. He withdrew a small box and placed it on the desktop between us.
It looked almost like a ring box or a small jewelry box, hinged on one side. He opened it up and showed me a small pink pill inside of it.
“Tell me Ashley, do you know what we do here?”
I looked from the pill back up to him and answered, “You’re a pharmaceutical company.”
Nodding he continued, “This is one of our products. This small pink pill turns a man into a woman. There is also a blue pill to turn a woman into a man.”
I shook my head and stared at him in disbelief. I’d never even heard of anything like this before. Such a breakthrough would be absolutely remarkable.
“It’s new,” he said, “But quite safe. Testing is completely done and we have finished human trials. We’re in the process of preparing to go to market with it and get all of the final approvals. Which brings us to this point.”
He leaned in, placing his hands palm down on either side of the small box.
“Here is the offer, take this pill and you will become a woman. You can work here as a woman for the day and then take a blue pill when you get home to turn back into a man. The process is entirely painless and will only take about 15 minutes.
“If you agree to this we are prepared to draw up a contract for you to sign when you come into work tomorrow. I promise you our salary and rates are extremely competitive, and we can even offer you a bonus for this slight inconvenience.”
He quickly wrote something on a piece of paper and then folded it and passed it over to me.
“That would be your yearly salary including the bonus for the pill,” he said, “In addition to that you would of course have all of the regular benefits. Full health coverage, vacation and sick days. All of those regular benefits.”
I opened the paper, trying to stifle a gasp at the large number he’d written down.
“What do you think?” he asked.
I want to say I just accepted the job then and there. I mean I’d said that whatever offer came along I would take it because I was desperate. But never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined a job with these sorts of strings attached.
I was a man, I thought to myself, I’d liked being a man and I pretty much figured I always would be a man. The thought of pretending to be a woman just for a job. That was a step over a line I never thought I would have to contemplate.
Still it was a job, and what’s more it was a very well paying job. If I played my cards right I could be debt free within a year and looking at putting this weird place behind me. Then it would just be an odd blip in my career path. Just an anomaly that I could chalk up to being a little bit of an odd choice I had to make in order to have a better future.
I nodded, “Yes I’ll take the job.”
“Fantastic,” Mr. Richardson snapped the box shut and handed it over to me, “This is for tomorrow. When you get into the office I’ll have a full set of pills, including the blue pills, set aside for you.”
He stood up and continued talking, ushering me to the door with the box clamped in my hands, “One more thing, you’ll need to dress the part obviously and I’m assuming you don’t have any ladies office attire in your house. I’ll have a car sent for you tomorrow morning to pick you up and will be sure there is an outfit for you to wear. It will be there around 7 in the morning, which should give you plenty of time to get dressed and be in the office for nine.”
He walked me through the office to the front reception. Putting out his hand to shake mine he grasped it with a firm grip once more and said, “Congratulations on getting the job. I’m looking forward to working with you Ashley.”
Then he turned and left me in a whirlwind of confusion in the middle of the reception.
I looked at the receptionist, an attractive brunette with a vaguely amused look on her face. She winked at me and for a brief moment I wondered what gender she would be outside of the office, whether she was just like me.
This was going to be an odd place to work.
---
I sat at home staring at the box on my coffee table. It was open and the pink pill was sitting in the middle of it.
It seemed to shine even in the darkness of the room, like a beacon calling out to me and telling me exactly what I had agreed to. It was making me uncomfortable.
It was sticking in my mind so much because I had made the decision to bite the bullet and take this pill tonight. I had chosen to do this because frankly I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
It all seemed so crazy to me.
I was going to take this pill and then I was just going to wind up being a woman.
That was madness.
But I had to do it, I had to get the money. The money was just too good to give up.
Just as I’d predicted my landlord found me as I was walking in the door. He was a young guy, only a few years older than me and this place had been kind of given to him by his dad. He stopped me right outside my place and kindly let me know that I was behind on the rent.
It took everything I had to convince him to give me a few more days, to just get a little bit more time to get together the money. I’d explained to him my new job, how I’d be able to take care of everything.
I don’t know if he had believed me but he had given me a chance, a small extension.
So now I have no choice, I have to do this.
I closed my eyes and reached out. I took the pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
Pill in mouth, and I drank the whole glass of water.
I felt the effects instantaneously. It felt like my whole body weighed about 4 times as much as it just had. I slouched in my couch and the empty glass slipped from my hand and rolled away.
I just lay there, hearing my heart beating heavily and slowly in my chest as I took deep breaths. It was like I was instantly put into a trance while still b
eing fully aware of everything happening around me.
I tried to move, tried to just even wiggle my toes and found that I couldn’t.
I was stuck.
But I wasn’t panicking. Somehow I felt comfortable and comforted by the sensation of being weighed down. It was like falling asleep under a heavy blanket, almost soothing in its sense of security.
Bit by bit the weight receded from me. Starting in my center, at my heart.
With each steady beat it spread further, freeing me up. It made me feel lighter than I ever had before.
And warm.
In the place of the weight there was a burning that dimmed to a comfortable warmth almost immediately.
It traveled down faster than it travelled up, so my toes and fingertips regained control before my eyes. I wiggled them and lifted my limbs, feeling lighter than I ever had before.
Finally my eyes, my sight returning to me as I blinked and squinted at the harsh light of the room.
I felt my vision adjust and could make out the familiar settings of my living room. My coffee table in front of me and my television facing me.
I saw a difference in my reflection but I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just my mind playing tricks on me, so I stood to make my way towards a mirror.
Almost instantly I had to adjust, it felt like my whole center of balance was completely different. Like I was a completely different person, though I suppose that was the idea.
I adjusted quickly, though my feet were still somewhat unsteady as I made my way into my bedroom to look at myself in my full length mirror.
I had been wearing a baggy pair of jogging pants and an oversized long sleeved shirt, both in flattering nondescript grey. It was my general ‘lounging around the house’ wear and it was so big on me that I ordinarily looked like I was lost in it. The first thing I noticed about the changes was that now I looked like I was positively swimming in the clothes.
Apparently whatever this pill had done it had made me quite a bit smaller. The legs billow at my feet, so much fabric that it’s a wonder I made it all the way over here without tripping on it. The sleeves slip right over my hands, obscuring them completely so I look like I’m wearing a straight jacket. I can’t see anything about my body, I look like an amorphous sac wearing these clothes.