This a bit more .....erotic .....then most stuff i write, hope it is still enjoyable this was inspired by a caption I read a long time ago i couldn't find again
I walked into the office confident—maybe even a little cocky. My name’s Caleb Harper, twenty-five, six foot two, broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, and proud of it. I knew I had this job in the bag. My résumé was airtight, my suit crisp, my hair freshly cut. The receptionist had even shot me a quick glance of approval.
The man sitting behind the desk—Mr. Dyer—didn’t look up immediately when I entered. He just tapped a pen against a thick stack of paperwork, his eyes reflecting the sterile light from the ceiling. When he finally met my gaze, I felt something… off. His eyes were too sharp, too focused. Hungry.
“Please, take a seat, Caleb,” he said, voice smooth but commanding. “Your résumé is impressive, but we have a unique process here. Company policy requires an interview to assess how you’ll best serve us. Just a formality.”
“Of course, sir,” I replied, settling into the leather chair. It creaked under my weight.
“Excellent. Before we proceed, I’ll need you to sign this agreement.”
He pushed a thick document toward me, pages soaked in fine print. I skimmed it, but none of the legal jargon stuck. My eyes kept drifting back to his pen, a sleek thing that seemed to shimmer in his fingers.
“This is just a standard waiver,” he added, almost like he was reading my thoughts. “Protects us both. And you agree to comply with all interview procedures and instructions.”
I hesitated. Something about the way he said "comply" twisted in my gut. But I wanted this job.
I signed.
“Perfect,” he murmured. His smile was small, but there was a flicker of triumph in it. “Now, let’s confirm the basics. Name: Caleb Harper. Age: 25. Male. Six foot two.”
“Yes, sir.”
He clicked his pen. The sound echoed louder than it should have.
“First question. How do you handle orders from senior staff?”
I leaned forward slightly. “I’m a team player, but I like to evaluate tasks—”
He clicked the pen again.
“I’ll just put… ‘eager to follow orders. Submissive under pressure.’”
I blinked. That wasn’t what I said. My tongue felt thick. “I… well, if that’s how you see it, sir.”
“Good. Speaking of address—‘sir’ is polite, but here, we prefer our juniors to use ‘Master’ or ‘Mistress’ for their superiors. Does that make sense?”
Something twisted inside me, but my mouth moved on its own. “Yes, Master.”
A wave of warmth unfurled in my chest. The word felt… right. Like it fit a place I didn’t know was empty.
His eyes gleamed. “Excellent. Now, your IQ?”
“Uh… 110, I think?”
He wrote ‘130’ with a flourish.
The number echoed in my head. Wasn’t I smarter than that? Smarter than most?
“You’re intelligent, Caleb,” Master purred. “Smart enough to know that obedience is the wisest path. What’s the smartest thing you can do here?”
The words spilled out like syrup, thick and sweet. “Obey the commands of my Masters and Mistresses.”
“Yes. That’s right.”
A chill crawled along my spine. The chair felt softer beneath me—too soft. My suit… no, not a suit. I looked down.
Lace.
Black lace, stretched tight over my crotch, barely containing my hardening cock. My jacket was gone. My shirt vanished. My tie replaced by bare skin, smooth and pale. My chest was… wrong. My pecs looked softer, swollen.
“What… what the hell?” I whispered, but my voice sounded thin. Higher-pitched.
“Relax,” Master soothed. “You wore your best panties to impress me. You’re proud to show off your body.”
A war erupted inside me. The truth—my body was wrong. But the voice, his voice, pressed against my thoughts like fingers massaging clay. The words rewrote the facts. I remembered standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the lace against my hips, admiring how the delicate material framed my curves.
No. That wasn’t real. That never happened.
But I could feel it. The cool slide of fabric up my thighs. The heat pooling between my legs.
“Yes… Master,” I breathed.
“That’s a good girl.”
The words throbbed in my skull. Girl. I wasn’t a girl. I was—
I gasped. The pain was sharp, like fingers digging into my bones and twisting. My hips cracked wider beneath me. My waist cinched, my stomach flattening to unnatural smoothness. My legs elongated, muscles reshaping into lean, shapely curves. My cock throbbed painfully—too hard, too sensitive.
“You’re feeling warm, aren’t you?” Master’s voice was honey now, rich and heavy.
I nodded, breath shaky. My nipples stiffened against the cool air. There was more flesh there—too much. I touched my chest.
Soft. Heavy. Real.
Breasts. My hands cupped them, fingers trembling. They were sensitive, painfully so. My touch sent jolts straight to my groin, where my cock twitched against the lace.
I should have screamed. Fought. But the pleasure coiled tighter, strangling my panic. My thighs pressed together involuntarily.
“You love being admired,” Master said. “Exhibitionism suits you.”
The word wrapped around me like a collar. My cheeks flushed. The thought of being seen—being watched—made my clit… no, my cock throb.
Clit?
I looked down. My erection pulsed against the panties—but then it softened. Deflated. The flesh retracted as if sucked inward. My heart pounded.
“No—please—” I gasped.
My shaft split. The skin folded inward, reshaping, pulling me open. A slick, new heat bloomed where my cock had been. My balls tightened, then drew up into me. The skin sealed, leaving smooth, sensitive lips.
A pussy.
Tears pricked my eyes, but they blurred as pleasure surged through me. My breasts, my hips, my bare skin—they weren’t wrong. They were mine. I was… hot. Fuckable.
“You’re a woman now,” Master whispered. “And a straight one. You desire men.”
I wanted to scream “no,” but the word got tangled in the rising moan in my throat. A phantom warmth pressed against my new sex—a memory that wasn’t mine. Strong hands. Hard cocks. Being filled, used, adored.
Arousal soaked my panties.
“Yes… Master.”
My voice was sweeter now, delicate. Feminine.
“What’s your name?”
The wrongness flared, but I couldn’t hold it. The name slid into place like a key.
“Maya.”
“Good girl. What’s your sexuality?”
I whimpered. “Straight, Master.”
The war inside me ended. The walls crumbled. I saw my reflection in his eyes—long black hair cascading over my shoulders, lips painted deep red, dark eyeshadow highlighting sultry almond eyes. My petite body was wrapped in lace, breasts full and heavy, hips wide, ass round and heart-shaped.
I was a woman. I had always been a woman.
“And what do you want, Maya?”
My pussy ached. His gaze stripped me bare.
“You, Master. I want you.”
I was bent over the desk before I finished the sentence. He filled me—thick, hot, stretching me wide. My body welcomed him, greedily clenching around his cock. Each thrust hammered away the last fragments of Caleb.
Maya loved this. Loved being watched. Loved serving.
When he finished inside me, I lay panting, legs trembling. My pussy leaked his seed onto the floor. I felt complete.
“You start today,” Master said, tossing a bundle of clothes onto the desk. A short skirt, tight blouse, stockings, no bra.
I dressed, nipples pressing visibly through the fabric. My heels clicked as I stood, my body humming with pleasure.
“Ready for work, Master,” I purred.
He smiled.
I smiled back. I was his now.
I had never been anything else.