From mingling contemporary office culture, a comic about some experimental sisters, and an extra dollop of the lewd.
Disclaimer: This work contains adult materials including sexually explicit activities, depictions of rape, and strong language. This work is not suitable for minors. Reader discretion is advised. Any resemblance to actual persons or companies is purely coincidental.
Notice: This installment of TSF Series was originally written on 1/8/2020 and has since been re-edited. Typographical errors and grammatical mistakes have been corrected, certain sections have been rewritten, and minor aspects of the story have been altered.
Foreword
Seeing as how TSF Series has nicely cemented itself as a recurring segment on this site, I have been thinking of ways to keep the process of writing monthly short stories interesting for me for years to come. My preemptive solution to this dilemma has been to make the stories really weird, bizarre, and generally out-there in terms of their concept and execution, falling between the cracks of what I often see when perusing the usual places for TG/TSF/Gender Bender media.
This story began as a vaguely detailed female to male TSF story, as those are only explored on occasion across most avenues of TSF media due to… assorted reasons. When perusing my mental catalog for inspiration, I recalled Experiment Sisters by Sanagi Torajirou, a 30 page erotic manga about a young woman who wakes up with a penis and becomes consumed by the male sexual desires that she can neither restrain nor temper. I thought this was a nice parallel to the deluge of dime-a-dozen TSF stories where a man becomes a woman, does a sex, and becomes addicted to the mythical vagina orgasms. This was a good starting point, but I needed a setting and characters.
For that, my brain drew upon my personal life, where I work an office job and spend a lot of time around middle-aged women. So, naturally, I got to thinking: “What if this story centered around a middle-aged woman who grows a penis and needs to go to work while dealing with her penis.” From there, the concept mutated and the end result wound up being sexually-charged story that goes into some pretty wild directions, even by my standards.
TSF Series #006-1: Office Party Panic – Amorous Indulgence
Today was… strange to say the least. Almost hard to believe that my life went from something so banal and ordinary into something like… this. How did this happen? Well, I guess there’s no better place to start than at the beginning.
As always, my day began with the mechanical blaring of an alarm clock, an incessant whining that pulled me out of the respite of nothingness and blackness that was my slumber, trusting me back into both the waking world and the routine grind that had consumed my life. My eyes shot open, nostrils flared in frustration, and I instinctively lunged my right hand out of my sheets, pawing for the petulant noisemaker that read 6:00. Once the contraption was silenced, I subjected myself to the sight of my bedroom, a plainly decorated living space connected to the rest of my condominium, all drenched in the darkness that defined winter mornings.
Sitting upright, with my blankets still covering my lower body, I closed my eyes and clenched my face as I went through my mental calendar, reminding myself what day it was, and if I could justify spending another hour resting. And I groaned as I remembered what day it was. December 17th, 2015. The Thursday the week before Christmas. Also known as the day Zeta Realty was holding their holiday party. And guess what lucky bitch was in charge of getting everyone’s orders, placing the order, setting up the lunch room, picking up desserts on her way to work, and organizing everything? That’s right, it was me. Caroline Steticks.
I wasn’t anybody too significant, just the 52-year-old corporate busybody at an understaffed company going in a dozen directions at any given time. A person with no accurate job title to call their own, but as the CEO liked to say, I was the glue that kept everything together. And that’s because I was. I went above and beyond at this company, and not because I was paid particularly well— I wasn’t— but because I had nothing else. No husband, no living children, and a social circle that I’ve been drifting away from for decades. I had nothing else to devote my life to, so I latched onto what I could, and the only thing within reach was a job I could retire from in comfort once I hit age 70.
I momentarily mused over this as I lurched my right arm beyond to a lamp, hoping that a burst of light would be enough to wake me up and inspire me to get on with my morning routine. A few blinks later, my eyes adjusted to the newfound brightness, and I began to escape from the comfort of my bed. In doing so, I darted my eyes over my blankets and I noticed something most… peculiar. There was a protrusion in the blanket, one located between my legs, and near my crotch. I blinked twice before taking a hand to this bump, assuming that it was just a crumbled lump of cloth, only to have my hand abruptly stop, having hit something firm and solid. Something that sent an unfamiliar sensation throughout my lower regions.
Eyes widened, I looked towards the tuft once more, noting how tall and vertical it was, like a small tower poking from under my blankets. Curious, I wrapped my fingers around this object and tugged at it… only to realize that it was attached to my person.
I haphazardly cast away my blankets, revealing a tent that had formed in the sweatpants I wore to bed. I frantically lifted the waistbands for both my pants and underwear, thrusting them downwards and over the sizable protrusion between my legs. Before I could even get them halfway to my knees, I stopped. My jaw was agape, my eyes were nearly bursting out of my head, and I could feel the blood drain from my face as I saw it.
A penis. An erect penis. The genitals of a man were coming out of my groin, a 25-centimeter-long shaft of skin and muscle, a pair of testicles at the end of it, and no signs of a vagina anywhere throughout my crotch.
“How the fuck is this possible?” I asked myself.
There exists no precedent for growing a dick overnight under any circumstances, so I could only assume this was due to a matter far beyond my comprehension, one that I was incapable of figuring out on my own.
If I was a calmer woman, I would have accepted this and moved on, but I just woke up and had a dick between my legs, so, of course, I was screaming my head off into a pillow and damn near hyperventilating at the same time. There is no proper way to react to something as absurd as this, so all I did for a solid 5 minutes was vent out my panic before I gained the mental and emotional wherewithal needed to approach this situation in so much as a vaguely rational manner.
“Okay,” I thought to myself, “This is fucked beyond belief, and completely without reason. I could call the hospital, try to have somebody— I don’t have any clue who— look at this and get rid of this thing between my legs. I have every reason to. This is an emergency by any definition I can think of. …But this isn’t something that happens, they might not be able to fix this, and if they can, they might not want to. They might want to experiment on me, try to replicate my condition. …No, no. This needs to be addressed, this isn’t something I can ignore, I need to get this thing off my body… eventually.”
“I’m in charge of the holiday party,” I continued. “Nobody else will figure out what needs to be done if I’m not there. I could just call in sick, take a PTO day, and say screw it, I need to look out for me. I still have… three PTO days before year-end, so I can justify it… except the entire office will be pissed if they don’t get their food, and who will be blamed for ruining the event? Caroline of course! I just… literally any day but today, and it would have been fine. Well, not fine. Nothing about this situation is fine. It’s all beyond terrible. But if… if I can just go one day with a huge penis between my legs… then I may have a job after I’m taken to some obscure testing lab where they poke and prod me… and my penis. Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck me. Fuck everything.”
And so, with my clock reading 6:20, I finally decided to begin my morning proper, to try and go through my usual morning routine while also finding a way to stuff this nuisance away for 11 hours or so. But the first thing on my agenda was, surprise surprise, using the toilet. I made my way to my bathroom, took great care in stretching my pants enough to avoid touching my penis, and attempted to sit down. While I have never known a man who preferred to pee sitting down, I knew they could do so, but as I sat on the toilet seat and found my penis rubbing against the toilet bowl, I realized that if I wanted to pee and not make a mess, I would need to do so ‘like a man’. That is to say, standing up and aiming into the toilet bowl.
My face twisted into a disgusted scowl as I lifted the seat and placed a hand onto my penis, pushing it downwards as I aimed for the watery hole. After taking a moment to calm myself as best I could, a burst of urine erupted from my new appendage, where it slammed into the water below, causing a splash on impact. Desperate to avoid causing a mess, I swiftly adjusted my aim away from the center to the rim where my stream continued without pause or break for a solid 20 seconds.
For a moment, I thought I was doing something wrong, but eventually, the piss reduced itself from a torrent to a mere drizzle. I sighed and momentarily shut my eyes as I saw this, relishing in a piteous form of pride that I could pee without causing a mess… only to open my eyes and see stray drops of urine scattered across the toilet seat, and dripping onto the floor, from my penis. I groaned as I reached for the diaper wipes.
Once I blotted away the stray pee and cleansed my relocated urethra, I let out a disgruntled sigh and took a moment to wash my hands while staring at the mirror before me. I had aged decently, but I looked especially terrible today, with bags under my eyes, my face devoid of what limited liveliness it usually held, and my blonde hair being frazzled and unkempt. As if I had been rustling about on my pillow throughout the entire night. I groaned at the sight of my face before plopping out and rinsing my yellowed night guard, stripping out of my clothes, and getting into my shower.
My showers were how I truly woke up most mornings, but today, it only served as a constant reminder of my current predicament. As the water doused my body, it all seemed drawn to my penis. It stood valiantly, retained its erection, and as it was coated with water, it only became harder and harder to ignore. It called out to me, begged for my attention, and on some level, I wanted to touch it. I bit my tongue as I suppressed this feeling and got on with my morning routine. That is to say, dousing my hair, lathering about my shampoo, letting it sit as I washed every familiar part of my person, adorning my hair with a layer of conditioner, and scrubbing my face.
By keeping my hands preoccupied like this, I was able to resist the sensations that resonated throughout my penis, but only to an extent. As my shower drew to a close, the intensity of my desires only grew, and as I was a rinse away from being done with my shower, I reached my breaking point. I drifted a hand towards this insatiable part of my person once again, and as I relished in the release I felt by simply giving it a hardy grip, I began to thrust my hand to and fro.
I’ve given three handjobs in the past, which is enough to know my way around a dick, yet nothing could have prepared me for this. The feeling of having an erect penis as it is sensually massaged. At first, I tried to compare it to my own sexual experience, a time where I tried to satiate my desires either by myself or with the aid of a man. These efforts were historically fruitless, as I struggled to enjoy the acts beyond the intimacy, feeling varying degrees of discomfort whenever things escalated to penetration. This, despite presumably relying on the same nerves and general muscles, was something completely different. I found myself getting lost in the motions, the slight wave of euphoria that came with each and every rub, so much that I forgot where I was or what I was supposed to be doing. My mind was clouded, and it remained so until it happened.
It was like a cannon firing off into the distance, shooting through my mind and body as a viscous white liquid sprayed itself across the shower wall. All the pent up pressure that had been accumulating within me was released, as represented by a white liquid that coated the shower wall before being washed away nary a moment later. I smiled as I looked at it, still holding onto my penis with my right hand, and wallowing in the afterglow of an orgasm.
I instantly understood why men were so lustful, why they were so perverse, and why my ex-husband wanted to have sex with me all the time. Because holy fuck did that feel good! At least until a solid minute passed, when I returned to reality, realized what I had just done, and hung my head in shame, switching the water to cold in order to punish myself for such an action. I had a penis for less than an hour, and I lacked the discipline to get dressed before I started submitting to my urges by ejaculating in the shower.
Once my shower was complete and my sorrow blossomed into a rage, I resumed getting ready for this exceptionally horrible day, drying myself off, including my now flaccid penis, and plugging in my hairdryer to tame my shoulder-length blonde hair while the fan gradually cleared the condensation off of the bathroom mirror. Given the number of things racing through my mind, I was not paying too much attention to this routine process until my hair had been thoroughly dried, the mirror was clear, and it was time to apply my makeup.
I looked forward, ready to see my tired face, only to gasp at my reflection. I was met with a visage that was undoubtedly my own, but with fewer creases adorning my facial features, fewer gray hairs poking out from my scalp, and a softer touch to not only my face but my hands as well. Wiggling my fingers, the creaks and early signs of arthritis were far less noticeable, and I felt like I had just finished an incredibly productive session with my chiropractor.
“Did… did this happen because I jerked off in the shower?” I asked myself, dumbfounded by the change, and searching for an answer.
However, I lacked the time needed to pontificate over matters such as these, as I had to get dressed for the day and, most importantly, find some way to hide away my penis. Desperate for an answer, and not wanting to improvise something stupid, I grabbed my smartphone from my bedroom and Googled “how to hide away a penis.” I met with a multitude of articles describing how crossdressers and the like hid away their penis using something called a ‘gaff,’ a specialty article of clothing that, in a pinch, could be made using a pair of old underwear and a tube sock. I followed the detailed instructions, raided a drawer for an old sock and panty, took a scissor to both of them, and paired them together into something that resembled a sling. Something that would, supposedly, keep my penis and balls inconspicuous as I went throughout my day.
The sensation of ‘tucking’ away my bollocks and pressing a semi-erect penis against myself was about as unsettling as anything else that happened this morning. It involved a lot of condensed pressure and a slight stinging sensation as I shoved the testicles into some bodily canal that I inexplicably had. I wasn’t sure how the hell any of this was supposed to work, but I chose to put my faith in the internet, as I sure as shit didn’t have any better ideas. With that all out of the way, I got dressed in my pre-selected top and pants, both of which were a tad dressier on account of it being a holiday party, and looked at the clock to see that it was already 7:30.
Having some time before leaving at 8:00, I went about my remaining morning routine by eating my fruit, making my coffee, and trying to reassure myself that everything would be okay. With everything situated, my unwanted member tucked away, and some degree of confidence restored, I got into my car, ready to drive to the bakery to procure the desserts for today’s lunch. It should have been a routine 20 minute trip to a nearby shop on my way to work… but right as I started driving, it started acting up again. Not a minute went by without my attention being torn away from the road to the appendage tucked between my legs, yearning for my attention for the entire drive. The fact that I didn’t get into an accident while dealing with this tenacious bodily menace can only be described as a small miracle.
Once I finally reached my destination and parked my car in front of the bakery, I let out an exasperated sigh before crossing my legs together in a vain attempt at providing myself with some bodily relief. It didn’t work. If anything, it just made the sensation all the worse. With a guttural groan, I slammed my car door open and walked through the slush-filled parking lot up to a quaint storefront. The smell of sugary treats and fresh bread wafted through the air as I walked in, imploring me to indulge in dietary mistakes that would leave me bloated for a day at the least.
Normally, I would have succumbed to such a vice, but today I expelled the sweet aromas from my nose and directed my attention to the counter attendant. I had expected it to be the same older gentleman who had been at this bakery for decades, but in his place was someone completely different. A young Latina with hair shaped into a tall bun, wearing a low cut red shirt beneath an apron.
Ordinarily, I doubt I would have thought too much about this woman beyond some slight disdain for the provocative way she was displaying her ample cleavage. But because nothing about today was ordinary, I thought a lot about this woman. A lot about how I wanted her to take off her clothes, expose her breasts, and shove them against my penis. I had never seriously had any sexual attraction towards another woman, yet just a glance at her person from the waist up had my dick thrusting against my gaff, desperate to be unleashed. I became terrified of what I would do if I approached her like this, so I shut my eyes and began taking several deep breaths, calming myself so I could mentally compartmentalize the vile thoughts plaguing my mind.
“Okay— no, this is not okay. This could not be less okay! Just… calm down, look her in the eyes, and complete the transaction. Get the cakes, go to your car, and then take it from there. It will only take a single minute. You are not like this. You are better than this. You can keep your fucking cock in check for at least a minute.”
Once I had a loosely defined plan to get through this mundane transaction, I returned to reality. …Where I quickly realized that, from the attendant’s perspective, some middle-aged woman just walked into the store, took three steps, shut her eyes, and started breathing deeply. Based on the perplexed look she gave me, she probably thought I was a bread fetishist or somebody so socially inept that they did not understand how stores worked. Maybe a little bit of both.
I tried my best to recover from such an embarrassing display and began asking her about the order, giving her my boss’s name, and inspiring her to sway her way to the back of the store, giving me a solid 3 seconds to gawk at her plump ass before she left me alone for nearly a minute. She returned with three sizable boxes of mini cakes, along with a smaller fourth box containing a deluge of cookies. I grabbed the wide tower of sweets while thanking her under my breath, unconsciously stealing one last glance of her chest as I waddled out of the bakery, opening the door with my hips.
After I securely placed the goods in the trunk of my car, I planted myself into the driver’s seat and let out a mix between a groan and a roar. My penis was throbbing, pulsating, and begging for attention yet again. I buried my face in my hands and spouted a deluge of muffled obscenities as the sensation only seemed to grow stronger with each utterance of the word ‘fuck,’ imploring me to do something about this relentless arousal of mine.
Not wanting to get back on the road and risk my life yet again, I drove to the corner of this shopping plaza, away from any onlookers, so I could indulge in my desires with a hint of discreteness. I took off my pants, underwear, and gaff in a single motion, causing my penis to immediately unfurl itself, where it released a distinctly male aroma throughout the car.
I found myself stunned by the scent of my sweaty genitals, reveling in my newfound bodily musk before reminding myself of my objective. I began caressing my penis, rubbing its rock hard body, filtering my fingers across the veiny shaft, and preparing to massage it yet again… until I realized that I was not in the shower, and would need to deal with the clean up. So I improvised using a spare plastic grocery bag that I had in the car, which I loosely positioned over my penis as a receptacle for the spunk I was going to inevitably unload.
As I masturbated, my mind went back to the woman at the bakery. Her smooth brown skin, her youthful face, her plump lips— plump everything, really. I truly and deeply wanted little more than to return to the bakery and to show her my goods, to test out my new bodily hardware in the most natural, pure, and primal manner possible. To dominate her, to pleasure her, to make her beg for more and more, before either defiling her body or conceiving my second child. It was a malevolent and undeniably male desire. One that I recognized before reaching the apex of my pleasure. In response, I forced my brain to think about something else. Something I could get off to other than rape fantasies. And, for somewhat sensible reasons, I began thinking about cakes.
“Soft, moist, and cream-coated delicacies,” I mumbled to myself, “They’re sweet, they’re delicious, and… god, wouldn’t it feel great to just fuck one of them? To ram my cock through one of those cupcakes, to pierce their squishy bodies, to slather myself in their cool creamy embrace, heated only by my body. Just going from cake to cake, covering myself in the frosting, the body— I can try just one. They won’t notice if just one of these cakes is missing. Wait, what if they’re too soft? I’d need something bigger and thicker to accommodate my cock, wouldn’t I? Like a pound cake. So soft and buttery, so malleable, while offering just enough resistance. It’s even the right shape, being long and thick enough to support me, yet light enough for me to support it. I just need to go back in, buy one, and then I can just go at it, just go and go and go, and then eat the remains, drenched in my own juices, giving it a distinctive contrasting flavor. My raw, untested, and enigmatic flavor. My manly zest. Wouldn’t that be so— so— ooooohhh! Oh fuck, that’s the ticket.”
As I concluded my incessant ramblings about cake fucking, I ejaculated into my grocery bag, coating its inside with semen. I looked over the bag as I held it away from my face, making note of the excessive amount of goop that laid before me, and examining the bag for any holes. Thankfully, its seams were watertight, which was good for obvious reasons, but I still had to dispose of two fingers worth of salty and smelly white liquid in my hands. I certainly did not want it stinking up my car more than I already had, so I tied it up, flung it out the window, and proceeded to re-orientate myself after such reckless indulgences. It was littering, but the planet could take one for the team.
With my penis tucked, pants on, composure regained, and a very oppressive cloud of shame looming overhead, I embarked on another 20 minute drive to work. After a trip free from any penile interruptions, I parked, grabbed the sweets from the trunk, and made my way to the elevator and the third-floor office of the building. It was all a fairly normal process, but I noticed something a bit… off about myself as I walked in. My clothes felt too tight in some places, too loose in others, and the process of walking felt considerably different from what I was used to. I choked this up to me being out of sorts. My center of gravity changed on account of my penis, and I was carrying my messenger bag, purse, and a tower of sweets with me, so obviously my balance would be at least a little off, right?
I stuck to this theory as I made my way through the Zeta Realty office suite, saying passing hellos and good mornings to my familiar co-workers and as I made my way to the break room, where I moved around the overstocked soft drinks in the fridge to make space for both the cakes and the inevitable leftovers from lunch. Now free from that burden, I reassessed my discomfort as I made my way to my personal office, and reached the conclusion that, oh no, something was most definitely wrong with me and my body… and not just the thing dangling between my legs.
After locking my office door, putting my bag down, and taking off my coat, I pulled a small mirror out from my purse, where I was greeted with a face that was both more youthful than anything I had seen in a good 15 years, and looked far more angular than my face ever had. I still looked like myself. You could tell I was the same person by looking at me and then looking at my driver’s license, but there were several obvious differences. It almost looked like I had undergone plastic surgery to make my face look more youthful, symmetrical, and… masculine.
However, that was far from the only component of my person that had become more male since I masturbated for a second time. Looking down at my body, I immediately noticed a reduction in my breast size, which shrunk from my fairly average-sized chest to something… inadequate by comparison. While the cups of my bra prevented the reduction from being too obvious to a casual onlooker, it was all too obvious as I stuck a hand down my sweater.
Further panic and unrest set in as I pulled out my phone and began looking over my person through its camera. I winced as I saw my reflection, snapped a picture, and immediately went into my photo library to find an image from two months ago. The changes to my body and proportions were drastic. My shoulders were broader, my hips were smaller, and my general body became more rectangular. But I knew that the changes would be more obvious if I stripped, so I took off my sweater, camisole, and bra. I took photos of my topless self with my phone and stared at the images that displayed on the screen. At a body that, while still possessing distinct breasts and a trim waistline that I worked daily to maintain, was one that I could not view as anything other than a man’s.
This was my body, the body of a woman, and over just 3 hours, it had mutated and transformed itself into the body of a man. If my hair were shorter and my clothes less feminine, I had no doubt that I would be seen as just that by any onlooker. This revelation, this sight of seeing everything I once was so thoroughly shattered right before my eyes, filled me with a sense of dread… for about five seconds. Afterward, I found my views on the matter inverting themselves, blossoming from cold despair to a burning breed of bliss. All because of a simple vain thought that gestated throughout my consciousness, rising to the forefront of my brain.
“Holy fuck do I look hot.”
It was true. While I had seen some beauty in myself in my youth, as I grew into my current age, I struggled to truly see myself as more than moderately above average. Yet now, looking at myself, I was filled with a sense of vanity, a pride in my appearance that I had never experienced before, and it caused me to view this situation in a different light. I asked myself if I should simply allow these changes to continue if I should trigger them intentionally. If I should say fuck this job, fuck my life, cash out my IRA and 401K, become fully male, and start life anew. …But then I punched myself in the gut for being so impulsive when there was so much work to be done.
“Damn that smarts!” I shouted in a voice that kept a distinctly feminine cadence, “Did my muscles grow as part of this transformation?”
As I recovered from the impact, I took several deep breaths, dressed myself once more, and focused on what I should do for the time being. My plan was to wear the fleece jacket, something I kept in my office in case I was cold, in order to hide some of my more masculine features. To leave work right after the holiday party wraps up by making some excuse about having an ‘upset stomach.’ And to not worry about getting this or that done today, as it will be impossible for me to do everything that comes my way. However, that did not mean I intended to slack off all day, even though I very well could have.
After starting with the most vital task of sending the finalized lunch menu to the caterers, I adopted a familiar groove of replying, redirecting, answering questions, and gathering information as I attempted to clean my inbox. An ordinarily mundane task that I found to be rather pleasant after having gone through the most bizarre morning of my life. It was normal, predictable, and allowed me to almost forget about my current situation as I could immerse myself in my work.
However, just as I was easing into this groove, I heard a knock on my office door and found my eyes glancing at the clock on my desk, which read 9:30. Opening the door revealed the familiar face of Justin, a young Vietnamese man who joined Zeta Realty as an intern and had been assigned to me as an ‘assistant.’ He took care of projects I had on the backburner, did things in Excel, and while he spent most of his time helping others, he was there when I needed him.
He was a smart kid, quite timid, and incredibly sheltered, but also kind, respectful, and receptive to new experiences. I liked him; I enjoyed being able to impart the tricks I accumulated over my life to someone a generation or two younger than me, and I definitely appreciated having someone who I could handle my filing, mailings, and other busywork.
Normally he only worked Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but since he finished his most recent college semester, he was temporarily working for Zeta Realty full-time. Which was great… but I had somehow forgotten about that important little factoid when planning my day, meaning that I now needed to deal with him, besides my little penis predicament …Well, not little as in the penis was little, since it was bigger than any dick I’d ever seen in my life. I mean little in the sense that the predicament itself was little, which I said sarcastically, to deemphasize the fact that it is a huge problem that— fuck it, you get what I’m trying to say.
The point is that I was not expecting him today and I now had to think about how I would manage him until the holiday party began. Normally, this would involve me throwing minor tasks his way, offering a brief explanation, and letting him get to work. But… remember how after just getting a look at that Latina woman at the bakery was enough to make me develop an insatiable desire to masturbate? Well, as it turns out, seeing this fairly short, skinny, and overall average looking 20-year-old Asian man was more than enough to stimulate my lust, and I immediately began fighting a desire to whip out my goods and ram them up his limber li’l heiny.
I knew that I lacked the resistance to keep up such a mental struggle for more than a few minutes and began wracking my brain for an excuse to separate me from this boy as I greeted him.
“G-Good morning, Justin. I forgot that you were going to be in today.”
“Oh, I could have sworn that I told you that I was coming in full-time for the next month,” Justin said, his voice deeper than his short stature would imply.
“You did, you did. It’s just that I… I really need the office to myself today, so if you could take what you need from your desk and work someplace else— wait, I know. Could you be a dear and do a quick audit of the current year files? I know you already got the folders ready for next year, but we really should make sure everything is in place if we need it.”
“If that’s what’s the priority for today, then sure. Let me just take my coat off, and I’ll stay out of your hair.”
“Thanks, Justin. And remember, today’s the holiday lunch!”
“Yes, I remember, Caroline. I’ll see you later!”
With that, Justin placed his coat on the rack in my office, and made his way out of my office, with his backpack in tow. Once the locked door behind him shut, I let out a heavy sigh of relief as I sat myself down into my desk chair, thrusting my face into my palms.
“What the fuck’s wrong with me?” I murmured to myself. “He’s old enough to be my son, and I want to… rape him. I feel like I should be thrown in jail, out a window, or in a goldarn asylum. But no, no, no, no, no. I’m the one who decided to go into work today, and so long as I avoid interacting with people, and bail from the office party ASAP, say hello and then immediately fuck off, I should be okay. Then it’s off to the hospital, the examination table, and the special place for people with conditions that science can’t explain. …God, my life is just fucked now, isn’t it? …But that is for later Caroline, you crazy dick-having lady who enjoys talking to herself! Right now, you need something boring and normal to do, so reply to your goldarn emails!”
I then immersed myself in work, replying to what I could in a very curt and flippant manner, and arranging what I could on my desk in a semi-coherent manner, while scribbling an assortment of notes onto everything I could, before taking out a pad of paper and writing down a list of things that I need to do before year-end. By the time I was done with cleaning my inbox and my list, my clock read 11:27, meaning that the food would arrive soon for our 12:15 lunch.
I briefly contemplated my plan on staying for lunch… but if I was that riled up being around Justin, who knows how my body would react when surrounded by dozens of people? It would be a quantifiably bad move to stay and risk becoming a rapist, so I shot a quick email to Paz in HR informing her that my mother was hospitalized just minutes ago and that I needed to take the rest of the day off to see her. It was a lie with a snippet of truth, as I hoped to be leaving for a hospital in the next 30 minutes. …But before I could do so, I had a kitchenette to decorate, and some food to accept.
After avoiding much eye contact with my co-workers out of fear that I would want to rape them, I made my way to the break room once more, using the sullied sponge and hand-searing dish soap to wipe off the tables and chairs before laying out the cheap plastic tarp. A rudimentary preparation, but it made the room vaguely presentable, which was good enough by Zeta Realty’s standards. Right as I looked over everything, and began getting out the desserts, a scruffy looking rotund man carrying several metal trays of food opened the door. His arrival, thankfully, did not immediately fill me with a burning desire to sodomize, and I was able to take the trays away from him and arrange them out throughout the room with relative ease.
By 11:40, the break area was pretty much ready to go, with everything laid out in a somewhat cluttered manner, because we at Zeta Realty have this nasty habit of over-ordering for lunch, and are too cheap to expand our break room to properly accommodate our staff. I let out a sigh as I looked over all of this, thinking that my work was just about done here, and planning to skedaddle before anybody came in. But I guess that just wouldn’t have been a climactic enough conclusion to this day, now would it?
Opening the door out of the break room put me face to face with Justin, centimeters away from one another, close enough that we could look into each other’s pores. While I had thankfully been blessed with a dormant libido these past two hours, just the sight of this man was enough for it to wake up and start crying like a vise-bound canary, begging me to satiate my thirst for sexual activities by ramming myself into the virgin male before me.
“Hey Caroline,” Justin said with a chipper look on his face. “I just finished going through the files and was wondering if you needed any help getting things set up for the holiday party.”
“N-No… Everything is ready, my d-dear,” I said as my body tensed. “Now if you could just lie down and— if you could just… let me fu— I mean to say that I—”
“Are… are you okay, Caroline? You’ve seemed… off all day. I understand if you don’t want to talk about personal issues with me, but if—”
“Justin!” I shouted as I grabbed his shoulders. “I am so, so, so very sorry about this. But I need to fucking rape you.”
“I… what?”
As Justin struggled to understand my words, I pulled him into the break room, slammed him against the countertop, jammed his head into the sink, yanked down his pants, and thrust mine down. My penis flipped upright as it was freed from the clutches of my gaff, rising high and at the perfect angle to shove itself into Justin’s scrawny, stretch-mark-riddled ass. The rush of euphoria I felt as I placed my cock into his anus was well and above any pleasure I had experienced in my half-century of existence. A pleasure that only intensified as I thrust in and out, moving my hips about, gripping onto Justin’s torso, and listening to him whimper and cry, completely befuddled, perplexed, and horrified by the situation. Being anally raped by a middle-aged woman who often doted on him like a child.
“P-Please stop… stop,” Justin whimpered, his voice weak and drenched with fear.
“I would if I could Justin. You remind me of my son before he took his own life. I cared for and appreciated you as a person, and I would never wish this upon you. But ever since this morning, I’ve had a dick. And that dick has barked orders at me… not unlike how I bark orders at you. Except my dick’s orders are a lot simpler. CUM! FUCK! And right now… RAPE!”
“…Why? Why is this happening to me?” Justin asked before his words devolved into a series of incoherent sobs.
His cries only made me pound him harder, faster, and more viciously, treating him like a living fuck hole as I too shed tears on my face, crying while I drooled in pleasure. I simultaneously wanted to be free from this heinous situation and wanted it to subsist for all eternity. However, all good things come to an end, and all proper penile stimulation ends in an orgasm. I discarded any degree of decency that was screeching at me as I decisively kept my penis planted inside Justin, unleashing my load and thoroughly filling his bumhole with a thick cream that drizzled out of his anus and onto the floor.
The sensation left me cackling, high off the sense of power and might found in raping another person for perverse pleasure. Yet, like every instance of post-orgasmic bliss I had experienced today, this one was also followed by a sense of dread and disgust. As I freed myself of Justin’s body, I looked down at his face as it rested in the sink, bearing a vacant expression, and stained by tears. I had done something unimaginably horrible to this man. I had defiled and abused him. I had been cruel, malicious, and downright evil to him by using him as a tool, to satiate my sex drive.
“…The fuck kind of monster am I?”
As those words escaped my lips, I reached a possible answer to that rhetorical query. My voice was deep, having dropped by at least one octave since this morning, and gained a distinct unfamiliar cadence. Within a matter of minutes, I went from sounding like myself, but with a cold of sorts, to someone completely different. Looking down past my undisturbed shoulder-length hair, I saw women’s clothes adorning a body that, from my current angle, looked indistinguishable from that of a young man. My skin was free from wrinkles, my joints felt immaculate, and my chest was flatter than it had been in 42 years. Letting out a hoarse laugh, I went over to the small mirror magnet placed on the fridge.
What I saw was the face of a familiar stranger. One who resembled both sepia-tone photographs of my father when he was younger, and the man I expected my son, Jad, to have grown into. I could have only imagined that this is what I would have looked like in my early 20s if I were born as a man. And now… that man was me. This is who Caroline Steticks became after waking up with a penis, masturbating twice, and raping somebody who could barely be considered an adult, all over 6 hours. This is what I was. I had lost a lot to get here. My femininity, my pride, my decency, and likely my job. But as I saw this sexy young blonde man before me in this tiny-ass mirror, stripping himself down to nothing, with muscular arms, visible abs, and a huge-ass cock…. I had no regrets.
My attention diverted away from my reflection as I heard the pitter-patter of a liquid, along with the familiar sound of sexual gushing. Turning my head, I saw Justin. His head hung low and body sprawled half across the floor, half propped against some cabinets. It was a sad sight, seeing a young man so defeated and distraught, and all because of my vile desires. I had scarred and harmed him deeply, and while I could not undo my misactions, I at least wanted to try to apologize to him.
“Justin, I… I’m sorry. I’m sick. There’s something wrong with me, there has been since I woke up, and… I took it out on you. I did something terrible to you, and for no good reason— because I was supremely fucking horny. And now I… is that a vagina between your legs?”
As Justin laid before me, still limp, I examined his body in closer detail. I pulled his sweater over his head and through his hands, and as I did so, I revealed a pair of sizable breasts adorning his chest, and a pair of slim and slender arms that were soft to the touch. His legs were in a similar state. And as I leaned his head back to get a good look at his face, it was clear what Justin had become. What I had turned him into. He was now a woman.
Much like myself, the only indication of his former sex was the hair adorning his head, with his short masculine cut still remaining the same length, much like how my blonde strands continued to dance across my shoulders. I briefly pondered taking a pair of scissors to sever myself of my only remnant of femininity, but instead, I found myself fixated on Justin, wishing to wake him up and to explain this situation to them as best I could.
I brought a hand to his face to wake him up, only to pause as I began to truly take in and recognize the beauty Justin had obtained. They had always been an attractive young man, but now he was an even more attractive young woman. A woman who, despite having creampied just minutes ago, I wanted to dominate all over again. I bit my tongue, frustrated at the insatiable lust that ran throughout this male body of mine, and just as my bodily impulses became overbearing, Justin’s eyes flickered open.
“Who… are you?” Justin asked in a weak tone, their voice as feminine as their body.
“I was Caroline, but now… I don’t think that name is very appropriate. I think I’m more of a… Cain now.”
“…You raped me. You… transformed me,” Justin said as they lifted themselves from the ground.
“That I did, Justin. I’m sorry.”
“Heh. Maybe just plop an e at the end of that.”
“P-Pardon?”
“You’re a fucking scumbag, you know that? But this body… I like it. I really do, and I think I will go by Justine now.”
“Wait, so are you a transsexual or something? I mean… Sorry, this isn’t the reaction I expected.”
“The word you’re looking for is transgender. And while I’ve been happy living as a male up until now… I feel like embracing this new body that you gave me. I’d ask you how you did this, but I kind of doubt you have an answer.”
“I… don’t. I just woke up with a penis this morning and, well, one thing led to another. You saw what I looked like yesterday, and you can see what I look like now.”
“Heh. I guess we should leave here before the crowd comes in. We’ve still got… about five minutes until lunch.” Justin— Justine commented, looking at the microwave’s clock.
“…Y-Yeah. Let’s head to the office on the second floor. The one that another company’s moving into. We can… talk there.”
“Talk, my dear Cain, or fuck?”
A daze overcame me as I heard those words and rationalized what was happening. Justine forgave me, I was being offered consensual sex from a person I just raped. Despite everything awful that had happened today, things were, in a sick, twisted sense, turning out well.
“Heh. Probably the latter… Justine.”
Wanting to avoid encountering our co-workers for all too obvious reasons, Justine and I gathered up our clothes, rubbed them across the floor to pick up traces of cum because, well, they’re already drenched in this stuff, before skedaddling out the break room. We dashed through the miraculously empty hallways, past the security camera that nobody ever checks, and down the stairwell before anybody else could see us.
It was terrifying, and also kind of thrilling to be snooping about such a familiar locale, avoiding any sights from prying eyes, while being completely naked beyond a wad of clothes we placed in front of our crotches. Yet this moment of tension really only lasted for just that, a moment, before we were met with the open doors of an unoccupied office. I was more than a bit surprised that anybody would leave such a place open, considering how the office was fully furnished. There were computers, printers, oodles of office supplies, and thousands of dollars worth of stuff, all left unattended. Literally anyone could walk up here from the streets, snag one of those mini-desktops and a monitor, and leave.
But that was merely a momentary observation from me as Justine and I made our way deeper into this office and dropped our sullied clothes behind some random desk.
“..Goodness, there are so many things I know we should be doing right now, but all I can think about is your dick,” Justine commented as she ogled my still-erect manhood.
“Well,” I began, “let’s quell that desire, and then we’ll begin the first step of the rest of our lives. Sound good to you?”
“Sure thing… but how are we going to… you know, do it? We don’t really have a bed or anything, and I—”
“Chair.”
“…What?”
“You grab a chair, push it against the wall, sit your nice little tush down and I’ll do all the work for you, my dear.”
“…Heh. You know, Cain, I never considered you the kinky type. But sure, that sounds about… ten times better than getting railed next to a sink.”
With Justine’s approval of my suggested method of coitus, we set about to find a nice leather chair inside what looked to be the CEO’s office, which was free from the assorted chachkies that one would have expected to find. It gave the room a bit of a vacant look, much like the rest of the office, but I suppose the trappings of the setting hardly mattered when the only thing my eyes were focusing on was twirling about in a large chair, looking down at her person, fondling her ample chest, and smiling.
I leaned in towards her, latching her lips against mine as I began rubbing our bodies together, darting my hands across her slender back, while she embraced the musculature that I had inexplicably developed since my latest transformation. After mingling our tongues together for a minute, we leered into each other’s eyes for a scant few seconds, only for Justine to spread her legs open and raise the chair to my dick’s height.
With my cue given, I penetrated Justine once more, moving the chair about with every vigorous thrust, and causing her to let out a series of moans. There was a fear in her voice, unrest pertaining to her new body parts, but I could still see my own joy mirrored in her face. She was young, inexperienced, and most certainly confused. We were both bewildered by the events that have transpired over the past day. But in the heat of the moment, as we graduated from a dirty fuck to what felt like true lovemaking, we did not care about finding an answer. We just cared about us, the bodies we had been blessed with, and anything that would make them feel good.
As we continued, Justine gained enough comfort and confidence to match my movements, gyrating her person along with mine to maximize our shared pleasure. We were steadily approaching our apex, but the sensations that were flowing through my body, the euphoria I was wrapped in, freed me of all greater awareness, and I wound up remaining within Justine’s warm embrace, unleashing myself inside her once again. Except instead of her boy ass, it was her womanly vagina.
As I wallowed in the sensation of a male orgasm yet again, I briefly condemned myself for this misaction, the duty I had thrust onto this person, taking away their youth by bestowing them with the responsibility of a child. It was something I had narrowly avoided in my teens, and would not have wished upon anyone, especially a person who I had developed a great deal of intimacy with over the past hour or so… and had a penis between their legs about 30 minutes ago. I stammered out loud as I searched for the words, thinking of a way to apologize for, most likely, impregnating Justine. Only for her to let out a hearty laugh.
“Ahahaha! Fuck, dude! That was great. Thank you, my dearest Cain.”
“I… I came inside you.”
“I know, and the warm gooey sensation is still coursing through my person.”
“I think you might be pregnant.”
“Heh. Just like everything else that happened today, that’s something that I need to worry about, and will change my life dramatically. However, given everything that’s been going through my body, it would’ve only been a matter of time before some dude knocked me up.”
“You could start taking birth control …I don’t mean to sound morbid, but this is your life we’re talking about.”
“I could and, well, maybe I will. But at the same time, and this could just be because of the hormones, I think I want this. I think I now want a whole lot of things I would have never even considered… yesterday. Cain, I’ve always admired you. Your control, your dedication, and your sociability. You were always a mature and strong individual, and now… well, now I’m physically attracted to you.”
“…Are you saying that you love me?”
“Is the feeling not mutual?”
“…It is.”
From there, we kissed once more. While we had made a proper mess of our lives this past day, we felt that no matter what happened, we could handle anything. Whether it be youthful confidence, sheer adrenaline, or an erotic high, we could not say for certain. All we knew, all we needed to know then and there, was that we could handle anything that came our way.
“So, um, I just had a thought,” Justine said as we finished our kiss.
“What is it, dear?”
“If I transformed after having sex with you and we exchanged bodily fluids, does that mean this is all contagious?”
“Probably… Wait, did you—”
“When I transformed, I came. A lot. It went flying everywhere, and I think I might have sprayed some of it into the… the tahini sauce, and on the chicken. I didn’t think about it at the moment, and given how long it’s been since we left, I’m sure they’ve started eating. So do you think they —”
“—They’re probably all fucking like rabbits down there, changing their sexes, spreading this around like an STD, and before too long, it may very well affect… everybody considering how fuck-happy this transformation makes people.”
“Oh goodness, should we—”
“Nah, we’re getting the fuck out of here.”
“Huh?”
“I’m not going to become known as the ground zero for a global epidemic because I woke up with a penis one day. I was going to go to the hospital at first, but now that I know this is contagious, and now that I have you, I ain’t fuckin’ with that! We’ll sneak into my office, grab our coats, get out of here, get some clothes at my condo, order a pizza, have sex, go shopping for some clothes that fit us, chill, get wine drunk, have sex again, then we’ll take care of everything tomorrow, assuming the world hasn’t already gone to fuck-hell.”
“…This is why I love you, Cain,” Justine said as she leaned up to plant a kiss on my cheek.
While I announced my plan with confidence, I truly was unsure as to what the future held for us, and for everyone. Today has been preposterous, absurd, and far too much for me to reasonably process in greater detail at this point. There were simply too many questions to ask, too many things to consider, and while I knew what was the right thing to do, I strayed away from the moral path several hours ago and was now only concerned with myself. Well, myself and Justine.
Following my makeshift plan and saving the contemplative thinking for later, the two of us left the unoccupied office, hand in hand, ready to take the next step in our new lives, and into what would assuredly become a wildly new and different world.
Das Ende
Afterword
See, I told you that things were going to get weird, wild, and sexual. Maybe even a bit too sexual, but considering the subject matter, I guess that was kind of inevitable. I mean, this story was, at least to some extent, all about glorifying the penis. Anyways, this was one of my more flippantly written TSF Series so far, being a story that I built around a central concept, planned around a few scenes, and just sort of started writing rapidly in order to get the project done before my self-imposed deadline.
As such, I think the end result wound up being a bit lopsided and rushed. I can see room for a more fine-tuned narrative structure, better theming, and possibly a more developed decline into depravity that would turn the protagonist into a genuine monster. Instead, I pursued something of a happier conclusion for the characters, ending things on an optimistic note with a hint of a looming disaster of sorts through casual observations and characters piecing together something that, while pretty obvious, is easy to miss in the heat of the moment.
However, that very much was not my plan when I first started writing, as I, once again, became overblown with ambitions, and wanted to keep the story going well after Justine’s impregnation. I actually wrote and half-wrote several variations on what could happen, including one that jumped ahead several days, one involving an office of transformed middle-aged people, and a variation full of incest involving Justine’s family. Yet in the end, I decided to have the characters throw up their hands, say screw it, go home, and eat pizza, ignoring all problems that remained lingering in their wake.
There is definitely a lot of room to go with this story concept, which inspired me to create an indirect sequel in the form of TSF Series #006-2: Old Person Pandemonium – Anarchistic Incident.