From mingling contemporary office culture, a comic about a teenage girl growing a penis, and an extra dollop of lewd.
Seeing as how Randoms have nicely cemented themselves 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 media… while also actively indulging in whatever tropes, concepts, and general dressings that fit my liking.
This story began as a vaguely detailed female to male TG story, as those are only explored on occasion across most avenues of TG media for… 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 TG stories where a man becomes a woman, does a sex, and becomes addicted to vagina orgasms. So it was a good starting point, but I was in need of a setting and characters.
For that, my brain drew upon my own 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, I spiced things up a little bit, and the end result wound up being an absurdly long (9,000+ words) sexually-charged story that goes into some pretty wild directions, even by my standards.
Disclaimer: This work contains adult materials including sexually explicit activities, depictions of rape, and coarse language. This work is not suitable for minors. Reader discretion is advised. Any resemblance to any persons or companies is purely coincidental.
Random #006: 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 the very beginning.
As always, my day began by subjecting my ears to 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, in digital red characters, 6:00. Once the contraption had been silenced, I subjected myself to the sight of my bedroom, a plainly decorated living space connected to the rest of my condominium, all of which was 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 as to what day it was, and if I could justify spending another hour resting. But no, I was not quite so fortunate. If anything, I had to hustle my ass off, because of what day it was. The Thursday the week before Christmas, also known as the day Zeta Realty routinely held their holiday party. And guess what lucky bitch was put in charge of ordering lunch, getting everyone’s orders, 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 yeah, that’s because I was. Yes, I went above and beyond this company whenever I was asked. Not because I was paid particularly well— I wasn’t— but because I didn’t have anything else, and at this point in my life, I simply wanted to work a job that I could retire in comfort once I hit age 70.
I momentarily mused over this as I lurched my right arm beyond my clock to a lamp, hoping that a bit 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 light, and I began to escape from the comfort of my bed. In doing so, I darted my eyes over my blankets in an effort to not ruffle them too much, 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, trying to swipe this crumpled fabric into something smoother. In performing this passive swipe, my hand stopped, having touched something firm, and I immediately felt a strange sensation in my lower regions.
Eyes widened, I looked towards the protrusion once more, noting how tall and vertical it was, like a small tower poking from under my blankets. Wanting to investigate further, I attempted to grab this object, but as my hand wrapped around and began tugging this… thing, I realized that it was attached to my person.
My mind moved fast enough to reach a conclusion about what this was, and one I desperately wanted to disprove with firm discernable proof. So I cast away my blankets haphazardly, revealing a tent that had formed in my sleepwear sweatpants. Still refusing to accept things until I knew them for certain, I 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 bollocks at the end of it, and no signs of a vagina anywhere throughout my lower regions. How could something like this happen? I did not have any behavioral or dietary changes this past day that would precedent such a change— not that there exists any precedent for growing a dick overnight— so I could only assume this was due to a matter far beyond my comprehension, and that I was incapable of figuring out on my own.
Well, I say that like I was calm and cool about this whole thing, but that’s a fucking lie. 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 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 and 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 situation. …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 do need to get this thing off my body… eventually.”
“I’m in charge of the holiday party. 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 on 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, trying desperately to do my usual morning activities, and find 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 never knew a man who preferred to pee sitting down, I knew it was possible for them to do so, but apparently, that was under the criteria of not having an erection. I could jam and shove it against the toilet bowl, but I quickly realized that if I wanted to pee and not make a mess, I was going to need to do so ‘like a man’. That is to say, standing up, and aiming for the toilet bowl.
My face twisted into a disgusted scowl as I lifted the seat up 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 person, forcefully striking the water below, causing a considerable splash on impact. Desperate to avoid causing a mess, I swiftly adjusted my aim away from the center to the rim, which I continued to fixate on as the stream continued without any pause or break for a solid 20 seconds. For a moment, I thought that I was doing something wrong, but eventually, the piss began to reduce 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 was able to 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 sighed 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 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.
It was typically the place where I truly woke up, but today it only served as a constant reminder of what I now had, as with every drop that my body was doused with, it all seemed to be drawn to my penis. I attempted to ignore it as I went about my routine, 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 once everything had been put away, I reached my breaking point. With every passing second, I could not ignore that which rested between my legs, calling out for attention, and only growing more insatiable with every passing second. Eventually, it all became far too much for me to tolerate, and I took a hand to it once again and began thrusting.
I gave enough handjobs in the past to know my way around a dick, three, yet nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of having an erect member that is being sensually massaged. At first, I tried to compare it to my own sexual experience, a time where I tried to satiate my desires wither by myself or with the aid of a man. These efforts were historically fruitless, as I found myself struggling to enjoy the acts beyond the intimacy, feeling a degree of awkwardness and discomfort whenever things escalated to penetration. This, despite relying on the same nerves and general muscles, was something completely different. I found myself getting lost in the motion, the small wave of euphoria that came with each and every rub, so much that I began to forget where I was or what I was supposed to be doing. My mind had become clouded, and it remained so until it happened.
It was like a cannon firing off into the distance, filled with pressure, force, and being paired with a projectile that sprayed itself onto the shower wall, where it was slowly washed away by the water flowing overhead. 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, I returned to reality, I realized what I had just done, and I hung my head in shame, switching the water to cold as a means of punishing myself for such an action. I had a penis for less than an hour, and I lacked the restraint to so much as get dressed before I found myself ejaculating in the shower.
Once the shower was quelled and my sorrow blossomed into a rage, I resumed getting ready for this undoubtedly 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 and look at my tired face once more… or so I thought. I gasped as I saw my reflection, a visage that was undoubtedly my own, but with fewer creases adorning my facial features, fewer grey 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 was then greeted 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. Following the clearly detailed instructions, taking a scissor to both of them, and pairing them together into something that resembled a sling and 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, involving 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 hell 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 bit 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… despite the fact that I could not ignore the sensations steadily building in my crotch for more than 5 seconds at a time. It was a persistent nuisance that I considered addressing during the entirety of my drive to the bakery to procure the desserts for today’s lunch and made this routine trip to a nearby shop one of the most stressful 20 minutes of driving I had subjected myself to in a good decade.
After letting out an exasperated sigh and crossing my legs together in some vain attempt to numb the throbbing sensation coming from my crotch, I mustered up the resolve to get out of my car, shakily walking through the slush that adorned the parking lot to the 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 the next day. Normally, I would have, but today I instead flared the sweet aromas out of 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 woman 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 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 wanting her to take off her clothes, exposing her breasts, and shoving them against my penis. I had never seriously had any sexual attraction towards, let alone a desire to have sex with, 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 this, so I shut my eyes and began taking several deep breaths, trying to mentally unpack these 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 game 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, and then shut her eyes and started breathing deeply. Based on the perplexed look she gave me, I figured she was trying to decide whether or not I was a bread fetishist or somebody so socially inept that they did not understand how stores worked. Hell, maybe she thought I was a little of both.
Regardless, 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 three seconds to gawk at her plump butt before she left me alone for 40 seconds. She returned with three sizable boxes of single-serving 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 cross between a groan and a roar. My penis was throbbing, pulsating, and begging for my undivided 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 f-word, imploring me to do something about this relentless arousal of mine once more. Not wanting to get back on the road and risk my life yet again, I decided to drive to the corner of this shopping plaza, away from any onlookers, and indulge in my desires with a hint of discreteness. Accordingly, I took off my pants, underwear, and gaff, causing my penis to unfurl itself, and releasing a distinctly male aroma throughout the car.
I found myself stunned by the scent of my sweaty genitals, reveling in it before my attention was drawn to my penis. I began caressing it, 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 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 vile and undeniably male desire and one that I recognized before reaching the apex of my pleasure. Instead, I began to think of something else as a means of distracting myself from rape fantasies and began thinking about cakes.
“Soft, moist, and cream coated delicacies,” I said 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 lather myself in their cool creamy embrace, heated only by my body. Just going from cake to cake, lathering myself in the frosting, the body— I can try just one. They won’t mind 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 having sex with cakes, I ejaculated into my grocery bag, spraying a deluge of semen into it, while hoping that there were no holes in the bag that would make the entire point of cumming into something completely pointless. Thankfully, there were not, but that also meant I now had two shots worth of a salty and smelly white liquid in my hands, and I certainly did not want it stinking up my car more than my sweaty bollocks already had. So I tied it up, flung it out the window, and proceeded to re-orientate myself after such a reckless indulgence.
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, where I parked, grabbed the sweets from the trunk, and proceeded to make my way to the elevator and the third floor office of the building. It was all a fairly normal process, but I began to notice something a bit… off about myself as I walked. My clothes felt too tight in some places, too loose in others, and the process of walking felt considerably different than what I was used to. I choked this up to me being out of sorts, my center of gravity having changed on account of my penis, and the fact that I was carrying not only my work messenger bag and my purse but also a tower of boxes.
I stuck to this theory as I made my way through the 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 those burdens, 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.
Locking the door and pulling out a small mirror from my purse, 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 a number of obvious differences. It almost looked like I had undergone facial surgery to make myself look more youthful, idyllic, and more… 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, growing 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 to my hands.
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, with my shoulders broadening, my hips shrinking, and my general body becoming more rectangular. I began to fixate on my current form, focusing on all the differences that arose in my being and growing such unrest that I cast off my top, camisole, and bra. Taking photos with my phone once again, I stared 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 the span of 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 was be so thoroughly shattered right before my eyes, it 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 due to a simple vain fact that gestated throughout my consciousness.
“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, my regained youth, and a cavalcade of minor changes to my form more enticing to me, it filled me with a sense of vanity, a pride in my appearance that I never once experienced, and made me question what I was to do with myself going forward. 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, embrace these changes, 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 retained 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 began to focus on what I should do for the time being. After donning a fleece jacket in an attempt to hide the more masculine features of my body (I kept it around the office in case it got too cold), I made the decision to just leave work after the holiday party was done, using some excuse about having an upset stomach, feeling nauseous, and needing to leave early. By limiting my commitments, and having a plan to fall back on, I was able to ignore the myriad of things going on with my body in order to regain some sense of normalcy.
After a matter of minutes, I was opening up my email, which greeted me with a deluge of things to address, prioritize, and generally manage, in addition to the assorted stacks scattered across my desk. All of which was a bit too much for me to tackle in a single day, let alone half of one, so I simply discarded it from my mind, and focused on the inbox in front of me. 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 then that 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 was recently brought into the company as an intern, and was tasked with aiding me in a project that had been stewing about for several months, never being important enough for me to invest dozens of hours into, and organizing data via Excel. He was a smart kid, quite timid, and incredibly sheltered, but also kind, respectful, and receptive to new experiences. I really 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 certainly appreciated having an assistant 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, in addition to my little penis predicament …Well, not little as in the penis was little, since it was pretty big in all actuality. I meant little in the sense that the predicament itself was little, which I said sarcastically, as a way to deemphasize— screw it, you get what I’m trying to say.
The point is that I was not expecting him today and 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 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 ass. I knew that I lacked the resistance to keep up such a mental struggle for more than a few minutes, so I started thinking of some excuse for him to stay out of my office for the remainder of the day while making sure to greet the boy.
“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.”
“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 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, 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 somebody’s got to answer these emails, and I am in desperate need of something regular and boring at the moment.”
I then proceeded to immerse 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 through with these tasks, my clock read 11:27, meaning that the food would be arriving soon for our 12:15 lunch. I briefly contemplated my plan on staying for lunch… only to decide that I wanted to get out of here ASAP, and through whatever means necessary. 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 a cheap plastic tarp over the tables. A rudimentary preparation, but it made the room vaguely presentable, which was good enough by Zeta Realty’s standards. Right as I looked ever over everything, and began getting out the desserts, the door to the break room was opened by a scruffy looking rotund man carrying several metal trays of food. I, thankfully, was not immediately filled with a desire to anally penetrate this man and was able to go about the process of taking the trays away from him and arranging them out throughout the room.
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? …Goldarn it, I just made a pun, didn’t I?
Opening the door out of the break room put me face to face with Justin, centimeters away from one another, close enough that I could look into his pores. While I had been thankfully been blessed with a tempered libido these past two hours, just the sight of this man was enough for it to begin crying like a canary caught in a vise, begging me to satiate my thirst for sexual activities by ramming myself into the virgin male before me.
“Hey, Caroline. 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 dear. Now if you could just lie down and— if you could just… let me f— 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.”
With Justin still consumed into a stupor, I pulled him into the break room, slammed him against the countertop, jammed his head into the sink, and yanked down his pants, before thrusting mine down. My penis flipped upright as it was freed from the clutches of my gaff, rising high and at the perfect angle to be shoved into Justin’s scrawny stretch-mark-filled 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 began to 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, trying her darndest to impart her wisdom and experience onto him.
“P-Please stop… stop,” Justin whimpered, his voice weak and drenched with fear.
“I would if I could Justin. You were like the son who was taken from me far too soon. 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 his orders are a lot more simple. Fap! Fuck! And most 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 masturbation ends in an orgasm. I discarded any degree of decency that was screeching at me as I decisively kept my penis planted into Justin, unleashing my load and thoroughly filling his bumhole with cream that drizzled out of his anus and onto the floor.
The sensation left me cackling, high off the sexual delight and the sense of power and might found in raping another person for one’s perverse pleasure. Yet, like every instance of postorgasmic 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, breaking 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, as a means of satiating 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 mines, 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 refrigerator, or more specifically, a small mirror magnet that was placed on it.
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 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… this 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 in the span of six 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 man before me in this tiny-ass mirror, stripping himself down to nothing…. I had no regrets.
I found 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 and 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 really 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 unclothed them by lifting their sweat and cum stained sweater over their head. In doing so, I revealed a pair of sizable breasts adorning his chest, and a pair of slim and slender arms, free from hair, and 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. A woman.
Much like myself, the only remnant 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. But at the same time, I still found myself all-too compelled by the beauty they had obtained.
Justin had always been an attractive young man, but now he was an even more attractive young woman. It very well may have been the male hormones rushing through my, most likely, completely male body, but I found my desire to penetrate him only stronger than it had been minutes ago, and my penis was unwilling to seek a brief respite, being as hard as it could be, and begging me to rape Justin yet again. Just as my bodily impulses became overbearing, Justin’s eyes began to flicker 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.”
“Heh. Maybe just plop an e at the end of that.”
“You’re a fucking scumbag, you know that? But this body… I like it. I really do, and I think I’m going to 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 managed to do 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.”
“Heh. I guess we should leave here before the crowd comes in. We’ve still got… about five minutes until lunch.” Justine commented, looking over 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 began to rationalize what was happening before my eyes. My internalized desires, my wish for forgiveness and for consensual sex… were both being answered. 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 already fully furnished, with computers set up and everything, with nobody working on or moving anything as far as I could tell. 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 fair office and dropped our sullied clothes behind some random desk.
“…My lord 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—”
“You sit down in 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 all of the office, but I suppose the trappings of the setting hardly mattered when the only thing my eyes would be focusing on was in the midst of twirling about in a large chair, looking down at her person, curiously fondling her chest, and smiling.
I leaned in towards her, latching her lips against mine as I began rubbing the two of our bodies together, darting my hands across her slender back, while she embraced the light 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, shoving the chair about with every vigorous thrust, and causing her to let out a deluge of moans. There was a fear in her voice, an 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 both were truly bewildered by the events that have transpired over the past day, but in the heat of the moment, as we graduated from a 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.
Justine gradually gained the 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, it freed me of all greater awareness, and I wound up remaining within Justine’s warm embrace, unleashing myself inside her once again, except this time, it was in her 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 early 20s, 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! 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.”
“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?”
From there, we kissed once more. While we had made a proper mess of our lives this past day, we were filled with the sensation 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 think I might have sprayed some of my… my cum into the… the tahini sauce, and on the chicken. I didn’t think of 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 that 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.”
“I’m not going to become known as the ground zero for a global epidemic because I woke up with a penis one day. 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 actually 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 hell.”
“…This is why I love you, Cain,” Justine said as she leaned up to plant a kiss on my cheek.
While I had statted 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 become a wildly new and different world.
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 Randoms 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 decided to pursue 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 implied incest. Yet in the end, I decided to have the characters throw up their hands, say screw it, go home, and eat pizza, ignoring any and all problems that remained lingering in their wake.
Will those problems boil and manifest into something else? Will it be a proper sequel to this story? A Random #006-2? Well, let’s just say that I’m considering it. However, that’s a subject for another day. For now, I’ve been Natalie, this has been a Random, and I hope you enjoyed reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it.