Office Made..

This story deals with forced feminization.. I've enjoyed this fetish ever since childhood.. You will find that current technology hasn't quite caught up with the following story, but I'm hoping that will change.. This story is very long and shouldn't be tackled all in one night.. I suggest downloading three or four pages at a time and then reading a few pages of it at bedtime.. I do hope you find it a good read..

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The M&R Corporation looms above you like a Japanese movie monster. You step out of the taxi and pay the driver with the last few bills you have to your name. This job couldn't have come at a better time. You do a quick double check to make sure you have all of your papers. The interviewer insisted that all forms of ID were required on your first day, including your social security card, birth certificate, passport ... everything. It was also requested that you bring a health department verified drug test and a physical report with a clean bill of health. A deep breath fills your lungs. You feel more organized and together than you've ever been in your life.

The claustrophobic revolving door opens up into the expansive lobby. The morning sun shines through the front window causing the M&R logo to be silhouetted on the floor at your feet. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. A premonition perhaps? If so... then a premonition of what?

At the far end of the lobby is a reception booth. A cute secretary is sitting behind the desk talking on the phone. This place is really bustling. A herd of well-dressed businessmen brush past you and into an elevator alcove. You're beginning to get excited. This job could really be a door opener for you.

You step up to the front desk.

The secretary looks up at you while talking on the phone and gives the universal hand gesture indicating she'll be right with you. You use the opportunity to ogle her obvious attributes.

She is insanely cute, emphasized even more by the "office tease" outfit she's bursting out of. Her white blouse is tight, stretched across breasts that are either fake or a divine gift. The shirt is buttoned (or rather unbuttoned) low enough to display an ample eyeful of cleavage and a hint of a lacy, red bra. The thread sticking out from where her top button used to be catches your attention as you devour her chest with your eyes.

She must have lost the button. She probably breathed in and shot the thing across the room.

The thought makes you smile. It feels good to smile and it helps to alleviate some of the nervousness that is pulsing through your entire body. You look up from the wonderful view to see that she's smiling back at you. You feel the blush on your face.

"Hi. My name is Nikki. How may I make your day better?" Her voice is musical, the words a sing-song tease. A hundred sexy images flood through your head making your blush grow deeper.

"I'm Dave Phillips. I'm supposed to check in this morning."

"Oh you're the new secre..."

She giggles.

"I mean, data entry worker. Let me get the paperwork."

She stands up and you see her short, black skirt that flares out into a pleated bottom that hits her mid-thigh. When she leans over to get papers out of the filing cabinet, you catch the briefest glimpse of a garter clasp and the smooth, creamy flesh above her stocking.

You feel the stir down below and bite your lip as a tent in your pants pops up. You press up against the desk hoping no one will notice.

What if someone DOES notice? What if she notices?

This is not the way you want your first day at work to be remembered. You try and concentrate on mundane elements of the desk: The marble top, the blinking phone, the M&R stationary stacked for guest use. The embarrassing protrusion begins to diminish and you allow yourself to let out the breath you were holding.

"Here you go, sweetie."

She plops a large stack of papers in front of you and your eyes dart down to look at them, catching sight of her wonderful cleavage again. The embarrassing protrusion returns in full and you bite your lip, pressing tighter to the desk to hide it.

"Thank you," you stammer. You drag your eyes up to hers and find she's staring at you intently as if trying to tell you something with just her eyes. Has she seen your problem?

Her eyes dart back and forth across the room and then without warning she leans forward across the desk to get closer to you. Her arms on the desk make her cleavage bulge and you fight back a whimper as your eyes find them again.

"Read it carefully," she says. Her voice is soft, her breath sweet and warm. Your mouth waters with desire and lust. Does this girl know what she's doing? Does she realize how erotic she makes each and every word?

"I will." The words barely make it out of your throat. All you can focus on is the memory of that glimpse of thigh. The feast of cleavage in front of your face. The smell of her breath, still lingering from her words. You clear your throat and try again.

"Thanks. I always read everything carefully." You smile at her, pleased that you've managed to sound a little more in control. Your brain races trying to figure out how to get over to one of the chairs without her noticing your embarrassing 'problem'.

"Would you please let them know that I'm here." You smile again. That sounded very confident and self-assured. The disappointment in her eyes catches you by surprise, but at least she turns her attention to the phone. You quickly pick up the clipboard full of papers. Holding them in front of your crotch you hurry to one of the chairs and sit. Your face is on fire. Did anyone notice? You look around and breathe a sigh of relief that no one seems to be interested in you at all. Your eyes find the secretary. She's talking into the phone again, giving you no attention. It's only as she hangs up the phone that she finally gazes over at you and smiles. The smile doesn't help the problem beneath the clipboard.

You flip to the last page of the contract and find the expected blank line for your signature. With a flourish you put your name on it. You stare at the words on the back page for another two or three minutes, giving the tent in your pants the opportunity to diminish. Nikki smiles as you hand her the contract, but the smile has a trace of sadness in it that seems out of place.

She covers the mouthpiece of the phone with one hand and whispers, "Welcome to the team. I called Miss Payne and told her you were here. She's supposed to meet you at the elevators. I'd hurry if I were you. She REALLY doesn't like to be kept waiting."

You mumble a thank you to Nikki and turn to go.

"Good luck on your first day, cutie," she says, still in that hushed whisper. You turn to make your way to the elevator when you hear her mutter three more soft words. "You'll need it."

The woman standing in the elevator alcove does not look happy. Her outfit and demeanor are a striking contrast to the secretary you were dealing with only moments before. Her suit screams efficiency. The skirt dropping down onto her thigh, emphasizing the thin heeled designer boots. Her hair is pulled back. Her makeup understated and no nonsense. She is by no means unattractive, but you'd never approach this woman in a social setting for fear of losing some vital body part in the process.

"Who the hell are you?" she barks.

You hold out your hand and she glances down with disdain at the outstretched appendage.

"I'm Dave Phillips. I'm supposed to start work today."

She stares at your hand until you put it down. Her eyes meet yours and you can only look into them for a second before you find yourself looking away uncomfortably.

"Well...you're not what I expected. You hardly look like office girl material." she growls.

You laugh. The sound that comes from you is not a comfortable sound. Even to your own ears it sounds strained and anxious. Your chuckle cuts off when you realize she's not laughing with you. You start to speak but she cuts you off with a wave of her hand and just stares at you. Time passes slowly as she eyeballs you up and down. You get the distinct impression that she's evaluating you. You smile and wait, feeling horribly uncomfortable. You don't know exactly where to put your hands and end up crossing them tightly to your chest in what you know is a defensive stance. This woman makes you nervous. Her eyes devour every inch of you and then a smile touches the corner of her mouth. It is not a pleasant looking smile.

"Where's your contract?" she demands. Before you can answer, she spies it in your hand and rips it away from you.

The woman flips the front page of the contract open and spies your signature on the back page. The humorless smile broadens on her lips and her eyes once again raise up to your face in that evaluating look.

"Looks like everything is in order," she says, tucking the contract under one arm, "Let's get you to where you need to be". She pulls from her belt a long chain that has a key card connected to the end of it. She swipes the card in a slot by the elevator and almost immediately the bell dings and the doors open.

She ushers you inside and then swipes the card again on a similar slot under the floor buttons. She presses the "9" button and the car instantly starts to rocket upward. Apparently the elevators require a key card to work. Excitement causes those stomach butterflies to flutter.

The elevator door opens and Miss Payne steps out.

"First door on the left," she barks, "I'll be there in a minute. There's something I have to take care of first." She disappears down the hallway.

Out of curiosity, you try pushing the lobby button in the elevator, but nothing happens. It takes a key card to change floors. A keycard you don't have!

With no other choice, you step out of the elevator and make your way to the first door on the left.

You start to turn the knob, when a piercing scream erupts from the door across the hall.

You open the door that Miss Payne indicated to begin with and slip inside. The room is dismal, populated only with a table, a few chairs and several rows of lockers. The table is covered in magazines like Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Today's Hairstyles and other such uninteresting items. There is a small, open door in the corner of the room, through which you can see a minuscule restroom. Before you have time to get your bearings, Miss Payne storms in behind you.

"This is the changing room. We have a very strict dress code here and to enforce that we insist that you keep your uniforms here. They are laundered in house and ensure that our employees are always presentable. Understood?"

You nod your head yes.

"Now before we continue, we need to discuss something. You have been hired for a position that we normally only hire pretty girls for. As I'm sure even you can understand, this puts us in an awkward position, since if we fire you we face accusations of discrimination. Yet the job you've been hired for requires you to work closely with the other girls and we don't want any sexual tension in our work place."

She cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

"I can't have ANY of our employees, be it you or the girls, distracted from work by sexual tension." You don't know exactly what to say. It feels like she's mad at you for being male.

"I do believe we have a solution of sorts..."

She holds up a piece of nasty looking metal. You don't know exactly what it is, but the sight of a tiny silver padlock dangling from the corner of it causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up.

"What is that?" you ask.

"Its a chastity belt. It'll keep you and any...impulses...you might have under control. You'll put it on every morning, and come ask me for the key after work. Well? Come on...I haven't got all day. Drop your pants."

For a moment you stand there unmoving. She's got to be kidding. She can't expect you to let her lock up your penis. Right?

Humiliation burns your cheeks as you remove your shoes, socks and then finally, your pants. You stand up, your hands covering your privates as best they can . She looks at you nonplussed.

"Those too," she mumbles. It takes you a moment before you realize she means your underwear. You start to protest, but the anger that flashes in her eyes takes what little fight you have left. Every scrap of dignity departs as your undergarment joins the pile of clothing. She tosses you the odd-shaped garment and the color drains out of your face as you begin to slide it on. It fits like a thong with a long sleeve in the front for your equipment. The front of the material has what feels like a hard, metal plate sewn into the lining, while a tiny cloth strap slides between your butt cheeks to connect up to a small clasp on the band around your waist. With the garment in place, Miss Payne struts over and stands behind you. She fiddles with the clasp for a minute, ratcheting the thing back and forth. You feel the garment getting tighter and tighter and the sleeve that you tucked yourself into begins to compress and pull downward and back. You start to protest but the thought of her kneeling on your chest stifles any complaints. You feel your limp organ manipulated more and more until the sleeve is as tight as it could possible be, pointing your penis straight down toward the floor between your legs. It's not quite painful, but it is horribly constricting and you wonder how you got yourself into this position. Finally she stops pulling and you hear a click of what can only be a locking mechanism. Your heart beats double duty as you look down and see the lack of equipment below. The front of the metal plate completely covers the sheath that your penis is held in. At a casual glance it looks like you're wearing thong underwear and that you have absolutely no equipment inside of it. This does not make you feel any better about this situation.

"The second locker from the end is free. Put your clothes in it. There is a robe inside. Put it on and meet me at the elevator." She bursts out the door like a tornado, leaving you staring at the lockers.

On the top of each locker a name is stenciled. You deduce that the name indicates who owns the locker. The name above the locker she told you to use must have been a girl who used to work here.

"Poor Rita. Miss Payne probably ate her." Your chuckle sounds empty to your own ears.

You open the locker and see a robe hanging from one of the hooks. You put your clothes inside and pull out the pink satiny garment with a look of trepidation. She can't possibly expect you to wear this thing. It's the thought of standing here mostly naked in a chastity belt that gets you moving. Feeling horribly foolish, you slip the robe on and realize that you might as well take your shirt off as well. With the short sleeves and low cut front, the robe looks even more foolish with a button up shirt and tie underneath it. You hang up your shirt and slip the robe on again. This time you notice the monogrammed name on the chest: Rita.

"She didn't even get to keep the robe when she left," You tie the robe closed with the tiny pink string. Not that it makes you feel more modest. The almost see-through material only covers you down to the middle of your thigh, and the top is cut down below your breast bone. If all the girls around here wore these kinds of robes, it's no wonder they make everyone wear chastity belts.

Miss Payne chuckles when she sees you.

"C'mon Rita," she mocks as you step into the elevator. She swipes her card, pushes a button and the elevator rockets upward. "Before we continue your training, its company policy that all employees familiarize themselves with the products and services that M&R provides." The elevator door opens and you find yourself in a tiny room with a large, odd looking table in the center. A pretty redheaded woman appears and suppresses a smirk at the sight of you. You can't help but blush.

"Hi. I'm Penny," the redheaded woman says. "welcome to the M&R family. You've been scheduled for a spa, massage and grooming session. Lucky for you, we have two attendants available. Which would make you more comfortable sweetie? Male or female?"

There's no way in hell that you're letting a guy see you in this ridiculous outfit, much less rub you down. Besides, every woman you have seen in this building so far has been absolutely stunning. If that trend continues, you might end up with a knock-out rubbing her hands all over you.

You mumble, "Female." You're a little worried that the women in front of you will think you're a pervert, but neither one seems to care. Miss Payne has already stepped back into the elevator and as the doors slide shut she says, "Buzz me when it's done." Then the horrible woman is gone and the pretty redhead is leading you to the table.

"I'll go get Samantha," she says, "Take your robe off and lie on the table. She'll be in shortly." You wait for the woman to leave the room before stripping the garment off. The chastity belt leaves you feeling awfully exposed and embarrassed. You clamber up onto the table and lie face down with your head pointing through the hole at the head of the table. A pair of feet and shapely legs suddenly appears in your vision.

"Hi," says a musical voice above you, "welcome to the team. I'm going to be giving you a combination massage/skin treatment session. She continues her spiel about what the massage entails and you take the opportunity to sneak a peek at her.

The first thing you notice, hell it's hard not to notice, is that she's barely wearing anything. Her breasts are huge, bursting out of a bikini top. Tight blue shorts hug her figure, emphasizing her tiny waist. Then you see her face and wonder if you died and went to heaven. Raven hair tickles her shoulders, her red-ruby lips gleaming against her darker skin. She looks as if she has some sort of Japanese ancestry, although you can't recall having ever seen a Japanese girl with breasts this size before. You feel an instant throb inside the chastity belt and the horrible device constricts around your member keeping it tiny and limp. Maybe it IS a good idea to wear this thing. How embarrassing it would be to have this woman see how excited you got at just her appearance.

You feel a cool liquid pour onto your skin and then her soft, yet decidedly strong hands begin massaging your muscles. The liquid tingles as it gets worked into your pores almost to the point of discomfort, but the talented hands of Samantha distract more than enough. Her hands cover every inch of your body, even some places that cause you more than a little embarrassment. You flinch as her fingers slip into the crevice of your ass and work their way along the edges of your chastity belt. The tiny strap between your cheeks feels like virtually no protection from her and you squirm as her fingers slide behind the material to the deep recesses. What kind of massage is this?

Then her hands disappear and she instructs you to flip over. You're both grateful and horribly humiliated by the chastity belt. You wonder if the girl is wearing one too. Without thinking about it, your eyes drift down to her crotch. You stare at it for a long minute, but can't tell. With a sudden embarrassment, you realize where you're staring and glance up at her face to see if she noticed. If the smirk on her lips doesn't give you your answer, the wink does. You close your eyes quickly, cheeks flaming and heart-rate drumming up-tempo. She rubs down your front and you try with all your might not to dwell on how uncomfortable and self-conscious you are.

Your thoughts are diverted as you feel her hands caress the edge of your chastity belt again. As she rubs the lotion into your inner thighs, you feel your member betray you. It tries to spring to life, but the tight sleeve around it cuts the blood flow. It tries again, but to no effect except a borderline painful yearning between your legs. You're both tremendously thankful for the thing (after all you don't want a raging erection as this woman does her job) but at the same time horrified at the thought that you can't get hard while wearing it. Her hands begin to deeply massage your thighs and for a third time your penis tries to swell. When it finds that it can't, it spits a tiny spurt of built up semen. Your embarrassment knows no end, even though it appears that Samantha didn't even notice. If she did, she shows no sign and only continues to massage the lotion (now mixed with your own liquid) into your legs. Despite your embarrassment, a dawning horror is filling your mind as well. There was no pleasure from the spurt between your legs, just an obvious release of useless fluid. Worse yet, the spurt seems to only encourage your member to WANT to expand. Your can feel your face glowing as you realize that you are more than a little horny.