Shifter Sports Ch. 02

All characters are over age 18.

(This story occurs in the Shifter World invented by ZZChromosome and is based on a plot that Zee asked me to develop for him. In this instance, Larry Holbrooke was an aspiring sports journalist, newly graduated from college and looking for an entry-level job in a major network. After his first rejection, he drank too much and foolishly slept with an unknown young woman who, he discovered the next day, had infected him with the "S" virus which allows at least some carriers to change genders at will. The second time that he shifted to the point of presenting as a young woman, he did it (unintentionally) in front of Mizz Sharon Bergen, the head of Human Resources for the major Sports-A-Million Cable Network (hereinafter referred to by its phonetic acronym, SAM-SIN.) Like most young male shifters, he unconsciously assumed the appearance of his ideal woman, a long-gone student teacher in his high school named Ms. Huntington, from which model Larry (aka Lorraine in his feminine guise) acquired porcelain skin, short black hair, high cheekbones, and a killer body.)

(Like most senior business executives in the new shifter world, Mizz Bergen was always on the lookout for cute young things like Lorraine, especially if they were shifters, born male and having difficulty adjusting to their new gender (including bathing their brains in hormone soup). Mizz Bergen signed our hero-heroine up for the SAM-SIN internship program, which had many benefits yet expected that any such intern would provide sexual services not only to her boss, with whom she would now live, but also to anyone that boss lent her to. And much of that lending should rather be termed "pimping," trading sexual favors for office political support.)

(After a hasty orientation and shopping trip with Janey Roberts, her assigned gender transition coach, Lorraine was turned out in revealing, almost slutty business wear and makeup. Interns, after all, are expected to be eye candy and sex toys for their bosses. Lorraine/Larry has serious mental and hormonal identity problems, with a brain awash in estrogen (after 22 years of heterosexual male identity) and expected to dress like the nubile young sex object (s)he had suddenly become. Still, Larry recognized that Lorraine had to please Mizz Bergen if (s)he wanted to "get ahead," so meanwhile (s)he GAVE head, first tonguing her boss to orgasm in a limousine and then dutifully (one could hardly say "manfully") practicing a blowjob on the lady's strap-on dildo, an object which (s)had both physical and psychological difficulty swallowing. Fade to black as the young, tired, and disoriented intern snuggled with her/his boss while anticipating another stressful day of work and sex—or make it sex as part of her work? If that sounds confusing, imagine how difficult things are for our protagonist! Now read on.)

(Larry/Lorraine's viewpoint)

I have always had an ability to awaken at the time (give or take ten minutes) that I mentally set the evening before—probably thanks to too many camping trips in Boy Scouts (funny that now I might be scouting for boys!) This time I awakened to my still-unfamiliar new reality, where I had black hair cut in a pageboy, soft skin, prominent boobs and a general sense that I was not in Kansas anymore—let's face it, suddenly being female is just so disorienting for someone who had been male for 20-some years. Once I recalled what I now was, yesterday's events came back with a rush and I became conscious of the fragrant, soft, and rather large body spooning behind me—my new boss (heck, let's be honest, effectively my new owner) Mizz Bergen. If I were still a young guy, waking up next to that voluptuous woman would have been a joy, but now I lacked some essential equipment (between my legs) to take advantage of the situation. After silently regretting my own stupidity in getting infected, I decided to get on with my new life. Which meant doing my best to gently disentangle our bodies and slide out of bed while she slept. The clock said it was 6:10 a.m., so there was no time for more sleep anyway.

As quietly as possible, I slipped out of her bedroom and went next door to my own, as yet unused, room. There I washed my face, brushed my teeth, gargled with mouthwash—and then returned to my sleeping beauty boss to undo all that good work. I climbed back under the covers and maneuvered myself in between those statuesque legs—not that I could see them under the sheets, but it was fun to find my way by the Braille method. I knew my duty as her live-in intern, and it was a lot more fun than some other morning tasks I could imagine. I set to work with my lips and tongue, and after five minutes I could tell she was awake as she sighed, caressed my hair, and spoke.

"Mmmmm. What a lovely way to start the day. I can tell already that you're going to be one of the most useful interns I've ever had. Crawl up here and kiss me, girl." By this time my face was rather moist, but the boss is always right, so I followed instructions. There followed about ten minutes of kissing, fondling, and finally humping of genetalia against each other until she got off, quietly. In the process, I experienced something I had already known second-hand (and it usually took two hands!)—having a lover fondle my new boobs & nipples was incredibly enjoyable, because they were much more sensitive and even erotic than any guy's chest. Sigh. If only being a female intern could always be this pleasurable.

"Thanks, Child, but we need to get going." Miss Sharon—which was how she had told me to address her in private—finally said, tossing off the covers and leaving both our bodies suddenly chilly. "Ordinarily, Lorraine, I'd love for us to shower together, but that might distract you and it may take you quite some time this morning to get ready for work. So, off to your room and hurry, please." She sped me on my way with a just-short-of-painful hand slap on my new, softer but tight little butt.

Showering and dressing—even bra and pantyhose—was fairly easy, but she was right that I needed a lot of time for the new task of making up my face. Even though I tried to use just the minimum of cosmetics, it took three tries before I was presentable. In the process, I gained new respect for every girl I had ever dated. Females just need more time to get ready, at least if they're expected to look good.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, my hostess had run a coffee pot (which I avoided; my metabolism was already in turmoil without adding caffeine) and cut melon slices for each of us. Rather spartan for a breakfast, but my new advisor, Janey, had already laid down the law, gently, about curbing my appetite and eating healthy.

A quick clean-up and application of lipstick and gloss, and I was ready to walk out the door without delaying Miss Sharon. Jimmy the chauffeur had the car warm and waiting. When we entered the SAM-SIN building, Janey was available to take me to personnel in-processing and continue orientation so that our mutual boss could get on with her busy schedule.

I'd signed a basic contract the day before, but now there were reams of paperwork, everything from health insurance for shifters and 401Ks to all the mandatory warnings about substance abuse, equal opportunity, business confidentiality, and so on. As Janey had promised, I got a new combination picture ID and credit card for "Lorraine Holbrooke"—the corporation would pay the monthly balance on the card for the first year, starting with a mind-boggling $25,000 limit for the first three months and then tapering off to a much more reasonable credit limit by the time I became responsible for paying it myself.

One of the stereotypes of American life is that women enjoy shopping—that may not always be accurate, but Janey sure as heck fit the image. Talk about loving your job! She led me through another series of stores to build up my wardrobe and told me we would make yet a third foray if/when I learned to control my shifting and needed to acquire some male business attire. As it was, my head was spinning at the 4-figure dent she put in my new credit line when, after another light lunch of salads, she helped me move another dozen bags into my new room (they covered my as-yet-unused bed). All through this process, Janey had continued her efforts to counteract 25 years of male experiences while teaching me how to act and survive as a cute female in the snake pit that was the business world and associated dating scene. As gently as possible, I pointed out that Mizz Bergen rather than I would be controlling my social life for the next year, so why all this advice?

"I'm glad you've accepted that, Babe," she said, rather seriously. "Still, the boss has many other things to worry about besides protecting a total newbee from the wolves of SAM-SIN. I just want you to have situational awareness and not accidentally walk into something you can't handle, OK?" I could see there was real concern on her face—whether for me or our boss or both—about dropping a virtual newborn, dressed like sex on a stick, into a corporate culture that seemed more concerned with bedroom sports than televised ones.

*****

Janey went off to check on her previous clients, while I put away my new acquisitions while planning what I would do next. I realized that this afternoon was my first opportunity to practice control over my gender shifting. So, I stripped down to just panties, lay down on my bed, and composed my mind to think about being a male again. For about ten minutes I imagined Larry the aspiring journalist, mentally masturbating and even imagining ME pinning and penetrating SHARON rather than vice versa. Mmmm, that was a nice image, but all it did immediately was make me wet around my brand new vulva. So, I relaxed, went to the bathroom to splash water on my face and mop up between my thighs, discarding my damp panties into a clothes hamper. Then I lay down and tried again to think myself into my birth gender.

I went through this cycle several times, refusing to give up the dream of returning to the Larry identity I had inhabited for two decades. And then, suddenly—little Larry was back! I was so overjoyed with that erection that I couldn't resist jacking off, again imagining the role reversal where Mizz Bergen had to suck ME off before I pounded HER brains out until her eyes rolled back. Wow—what a rush, all the sensations concentrated in one place instead of the more generalized pleasure I had experienced as a slutty new girl on the previous evening.

Quickly, I drank several bottles of water and then (following my boss's instructions) wrote down the exact sequence of thought-images that had brought back my birth-gender. Next, I set my alarm for a 20 minute nap. When I awoke, I set to work mentally to reverse the process. Turns out it was much easier to revert to my new, shifter-slut presentation than my life-long male identity. Bang! It was done, and I wished I had a young stud to bang ME—what a weird image! Once again, I wrote down my mental processes.

By that time, I really wanted to try again, if only to escape the sense of unreality of being a cute bimbo. But, I suspected I was too tired to do much again, so I contented myself with sending a quick text to Mizz Bergen to report my success (I did NOT tell her I had imagined Larry having his way with her!) Then I redressed as a woman (except for the nosebleed shoes), put on minimal makeup, and tried to nap.

Some undetermined time later, I felt my bed sag as someone sat on the edge, and then fingers began playing with my hair. Her scent told me that it was Mizz Bergen, which naturally brought back all my fantasies of being a man with her. So, my smile and welcome were very friendly and genuine. I realized that it was late evening, so was perfectly happy to save the clothing for the next day. Instead, we shared her over-sized shower and what remained of my male identity found it really fun to fondle and be fondled by such a voluptuous lady. We ended the evening with me giving her yet another oral orgasm before we cuddled together. This time, probably because of my long nap, it took a considerable time to fall asleep.

The next morning was a repeat of the previous one, although I was becoming more adept at my makeup. I spent the morning getting used to the software in the HR division, so that I could begin to function as Mizz Bergen's personal assistant—I was hardly up to the skill and speed displayed by her executive assistant, a gaunt young man named David Oliver. All day long, he treated me with a detached respect, almost as if I was a very temporary visitor, but more than once I caught him staring at my body—be honest, girl, your boobs and butt—when I was lost in thought. Apparently, this corporation had only two facial expressions—timid bimbo like me and dominant predator like my boss, the CEO's PA (Annie Harris, whom I'd met two days earlier), and even David.

I wasn't the only one who noticed him quietly lusting after the "new slut on the block." About 4:30 that afternoon, when things finally slowed down a little, Mizz Bergen called both of us into her inner office and told us to sit on her couch while she regally reclined in an armed chair.

"OK, folks, there's a small matter of office dynamics that we need to deal with," she announced, then focused on her EA. "David, I can understand why you find Lorraine so juicy, but you really need to stop drooling on the carpet and pay attention to business." I would have been mortified by such a comment, but he seemed only slightly abashed.

She sighed, then looked at me to explain: "It's my fault, really, for spoiling the boy. You must have noticed that he's pretty good at his job, shielding me from unwanted interruptions and handling a lot of details, right?"

"Yes, Miss Sharon," I replied, dutifully but unsure where she was "headed." I should have suspected that this conversation would involve ME giving head, as usual.

"The truth is, sweetie, that I sometimes reward him by using him as a training aid to break in my new interns—the reason he's been so blatant in admiring you is that he expects to get a sample. And I suppose I'll have to indulge him—you need the practice and he needs to start thinking with his big head rather than his little one. So, OK, Lorraine: this is your first 'hands on'—or should I say 'lips on?'—practice. Down on your knees, child, and ask him politely if you can suck his dick!"

OK, I had known intellectually that I would have to provide oral favors for major executives and broadcast personalities, but I hadn't expected to start with this guy, only one step up from me in the hierarchy, and especially on my first full day on the job. As I've said before, my (mostly) male brain was horrified by the prospect of ANY cock entering my mouth, let alone when that cock was attached to a near-peer with whom I had to share the outer office every day.

All this flashed through my mind while my body was already in gear, kneeling down in front of him and asking, quite meekly, "May I please suck your magnificent dick, Mister Oliver?" Might as well get it over with.

I could see him fighting to control the smile on his face. "You may, Miss Holbrooke," he replied, quickly unzipping his pants and freeing a rather large penis to my horrified gaze. Penises look a LOT different when you're three inches away on the receiving end!

"However, I'm sure that Mizz Bergen will agree that we need to make this a dress—excuse me, an undress rehearsal for the real thing. Most of the people she will want you to service would expect you to show them your tits, and you should welcome that as a means of speeding up what I'm sure is an unnerving experience, right? More flesh usually means faster climax."

I got the message, quickly unbuttoning my already-revealing blouse and unhooking my front-clasping bra so that my tender young C cups were fully exposed. I tried to match the nonchalance of the other two people, inquiring "Will this be sufficient, Mister Oliver?"

He barely choked out his response. "I guess so, Lorraine. Now, wrap those sweet lips around my cock and start performing your primary job function around here, other than making Xerox copies."

Being warm with soft skin, his intruder tasted—and felt—much better than the plastic strap-on which was the only other object I'd had down my throat. I did my best to follow Miss Sharon's instructions about licking, kissing, and sucking, meanwhile gently fondling his balls. It may sound egotistical, but I frankly envied him the chance to have a young, pretty intern entertain him orally while he ogled and fondled her tits, but that envy just re-enforced my conflicted sense of gender. Was I a cis-hetero man in a woman's body, pretending to have sex like a woman? Or was I really a woman who was having "normal" sex with a man? Every cell in my body, except for my slow-to-adapt brain cells, assured me that it was the latter. My body was 100% female, and this is how women get "ahead" in life these days of office sexual politics. It was better this way, I realized. "Larry" could never have done this. Sometimes, it takes a woman to get things done! Even if she is the one being done unto . . .

From the moment I first took him into my mouth, I knew that I had mentally crossed the line to enter the most despised category of all heterosexual males, that of "cocksucker," and like losing a virginity there was no way to ever go back to my previous state. If I eventually regained my male presentation on a full-time basis, I would have difficulty looking myself in the mirror, let alone facing either Sharon or David as an equal, heterosexual adult. They would know, and more importantly I would know, that I had willingly allowed a dick to plunder my mouth and then inevitably swallowed another guy's jism. With all due respect to voluntarily GBT people, who have every right to seek intimacy in the form(s) and with the partners of their choosing, for heterosexual male Larry there was no lower status conceivable for what remained of my male identity.

On the other hand, my new girlish identity rather enjoyed giving pleasure to a reasonably-good looking guy, especially when I knew that it was MY mouth, MY perky boobs, and MY skill that had caused his schlong to stiffen and expand so rapidly! And his fondling of my exposed breasts only increased the pleasure for both of us. So, I tried to just channel my female identity and settled down to being the most enthusiastic little cock-sucking slut either he or Miss Sharon had ever encountered.

I'm not sure if I succeeded, but I was so in the groove (and so inexperienced as a female) that I was surprised when David seized the back of my head, pushing well down my throat, and unloaded his balls into me. Enough of his cum sloshed back up my throat that I could taste it. Objectively, his cum wasn't really that horrible, just salty, but again the shredded remains of my masculinity were revolted and disgusted by the slimy mess on my tongue. The only thing to do was swallow as quickly as possible. But then, when I was able to take a few breaths around his intruder, I knew that I would have to complete this episode of my "oral service training" by using my tongue to lick all the stickiness off his dick and then swallow again. The hardest part [correction, the hardest part was his rigid ramrod, so let's say the SECOND hardest part] was smiling afterwards while thanking him for the opportunity to serve him. At least, my boss pulled a bottle of mouthwash out of her top desk drawer and let me use her private bathroom to rinse out and regain my composure.

As I returned to her office, I heard Mizz Bergen remarking that "she seems like a natural at this. I'm sure you'd like to play with her for ten days, but we need to save her innocence and hesitation so that it can entertain the top floor VIPs." I heard him agree, reluctantly, although he made some remark about knowing "what I want for a Christmas bonus;" I was mentally quailing at the thought of being pimped out to unknown executives, who seemed much more threatening than my now-familiar suck buddy. And the thought that I faced at least a year of such humiliation really troubled me.