Sucky Saturday

This is my submission for the Literotica On The Job Challenge 2023.

Author's Note: This is another stand alone installment in the story of Anthony and Delilah from "Fucky Friday", which was my April Fools submission. Reading that story isn't necessary, although it will give you a bit more insight as to who these characters are. Plus, people seemed to like it, so hey, it can't hurt, right?

All you really need to know is: Anthony and Delilah are a married couple. They swapped bodies. Sexy hijinks ensued.

The comments on my Fucky Friday story were almost entirely positive, so I thank you folks very much. A few people took issue with the nonconsensual themes within the original story, but... I'm sorry, this is a noncon tale, posted in that category. Please be mindful of that going forward. Obviously, this (like all my stories) is absurd fantasy; I don't know what else to tell you.

That said, I feel like I went in a "kinder" direction with this story, rather than a crueler one. Let me know if you agree.

As always, I adore hearing your comments and feedback, even if it's negative. I reply to almost every comment, so check back in a few days, and I'll probably have a response for you, (read carefully though; all of the responses to anonymous commenters tend to get jumbled together).

Anyway, I'm so glad you stopped by, and as always, Enjoy:

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As I walk down this narrow hallway, it almost seems to me as if reality is something I've left far behind. I feel like I'm trapped in a dream world; a strange place with no rules, little logic, and a cruel, capricious sense of humor.

I have to be honest with myself. This is weird. This is beyond weird, honestly. There are occasionally moments within a person's life, when they look around and ask themselves, 'How did this happen? How did I get into this situation? Uhh... what the fuck is going on?!' I am currently in the middle of such a scenario.

Honestly, the worst part of this entire conundrum isn't even the part that I'm struggling with. I'm trapped in my wife's body. That's fucking bat-shit insane, but somehow I've been able to cope. I've only had a single day to come to terms with it, but I guess I have... partially, at least. Yesterday was a pain in my ass, in more ways than one, but I survived. After I got over the initial shock of losing my own body, and finding myself inside my wife... along with other things that I don't even wanna think about right now... I've come to the conclusion that this body-swap hasn't been all bad.

Under different circumstances, I might have even been kinda glad that this happened, but with the way things transpired; I'm less than thrilled. Whatever. If Delilah can deal with being... mishandled... by me, I suppose I can do the same. Turnabout is fair play, as the saying goes. After Delilah chose to use my ass so aggressively, and after she briefly forced my mouth to get her hard again... the sex was actually pretty fantastic.

I was understandably nervous and reluctant, but that doesn't mean it was all unpleasant. My wife always described the male sexual experience as a microwave, and the female experience as an oven. Of course, it takes longer to cook things in an oven, but doesn't everything made in the oven taste better than the stuff that comes out of the microwave? I suppose she was right all along.

I know for a fact that Delilah does love me, and I love her too; we can both be selfish, even cruel at times, but our relationship has weathered worse. Nothing this strange, certainly, but we've been through harsher fights than yesterday's. I was selfish, then she was really selfish, but we came to terms with it. The fight is basically over now. Thank goodness. I don't think I could handle this new, dominant version of Delilah for long. Especially considering she holds all the cards.

And I certainly do feel like she has the upperhand right now. She could destroy my life if she wanted to. A wicked woman in her shoes could immediately and irrevocably fuck my life inside and out. And there's basically nothing I could do to stop her. I mean, I guess I could ruin her life too, but then again, she's the one who can swap us back. She hasn't yet explained how... but it's safe to assume that pissing her off would be a bad idea.

Honestly though, I'm not afraid that she'll try to hurt me. Not really. She had her fun, and she got me good. I really don't think she'll take it any further. After all, she has promised to swap our bodies back today, and I couldn't be more relieved. The near-constant, low level anxiety that plagues this body is so irritating. It's gonna be okay though. If I can make it just a few more hours, I can be back in my own body... and I'll probably look on this whole experience much more favorably.

That still leaves me stuck in my present situation, however. It's not as wild of a scenario, certainly, but it's incredibly problematic, just the same. It's another layer of bullshit to pile onto my struggling stress-levels.

I'm at work. I'm at my office building, walking through the same corridors that I've strode down countless times over the 8 years I've worked here. Of all the weekends to get called in unexpectedly, it had to be today... before we could make the swap back.

My boss said that an urgent job came up, and it couldn't wait. I would have ignored him, but Delilah had my phone; she answered the call... so here we are. Once she picked up, there was no turning back. Unfortunately, I agree with my boss. This project has to be dealt with immediately, or there'll be hell to pay.

Walking as briskly as these short legs will allow, I hurry down the dull, beige interior of this building. It's so familiar to me, that I could close my eyes and still picture it, plain as day.

Seeing it with these eyes, however... my wife's eyes... is somehow entirely different. I'm lower to the ground, for starters. I am, or rather I was, tall for a man. Not a towering colossus or anything, but I was a healthy bit above average.

My wife, on the other hand, falls on the opposite end of the bell curve. She is a bit below the average female height; the night and day difference shines through, as I stand eye level to the bottom of framed paintings that I used to tower above.

Another issue is the looks I've been getting. I'm not stupid. I know that my wife has a beautiful body. So, at the moment, I do. That just comes with the territory. While I've always heard women complain about the leering stares they get from guys, I never could have imagined how bad it could be. Fortunately, since it's the weekend, there's fewer workers in the office. I think I would die if every single coworker was here to see me like this.

I have to be fair. I know that I must look sexy in this outfit. Delilah always buys classy, form fitting clothes, and these are no exception. I'm wearing some kind of white blouse, which only leaves a bit of cleavage peeking out, but it's honestly more than I prefer. My skirt is a semi-tight, black thing; it's hugging my ass in a way that accentuates my luscious curves. I'm carrying one of her purses, and a bag with food. I'm honestly hoping that this creates the natural picture that I'm aiming for.

My undergarments are practical and unremarkable, but honestly I hate how much I like the smooth, soft fabric of these panties. They're so much more pleasant than the rough boxers I'm accustomed to. I think the bra I'm wearing may be some sort of push-up bra, but honestly I don't know enough about bras to be sure.

I've applied make-up too. I'm trying to avoid attracting attention, and I figured that wearing none would be more ostentatious than wearing a token amount. I followed an online beginners guide, which helped with basic mascara, eyeliner, rouge, and lipstick application. My idea was to appear natural enough to fly under the radar, but perhaps that plan backfired

I notice myself getting looks from a few more of my coworkers. It isn't that every man in the office is gawking at me, with their eyes bulged and their tongues hanging out. No, that's so absurd that I would almost find it easier to deal with. It's the way that they look for just a moment longer than necessary.

Normally when I pass another man, we acknowledge one another in a quick, polite fashion... and then our eyes bounce away. The body language sends an immediate message. 'I'm not staring at you; you're not staring at me. We're cool with one another.'

That's all subconscious, obviously. It's so second nature, that it takes intentional contemplation to even realize exactly what's different. But I feel the difference, just the same. The moment I stepped out of the relative safety of my car and walked into this building... I've FELT the difference. I can sense the subtle desire from these men, and it's entirely unwanted.

I guess I should be grateful. There are parts of Delilah's biology that I've retained, but fortunately not her attraction to men. Stuck in this body, I don't know if that makes me a lesbian or what. This certainly isn't a scenario that gets discussed very often. I'm actually still attracted to the body that I'm inhabiting, even while a portion of my mind reminds me how insane that is.

I suppose there is a slight caveat to that statement. I am still attracted to Delilah. Even while she's inside my original body, using me as roughly as she did yesterday; my psyche still loves satisfying her sexually. I have absolutely no desire to fuck my male form, but part of me does want to fuck her, regardless of what body she's in. If that isn't a sign that we're soul-mates, I don't know what is.

Right now, I know that she's in my office, sitting at my desk, pretending to do my job. She can't actually do it though; that's why I'm here. To finish the assignment as quickly as possible, since she doesn't know how. With any luck, it won't take more than a few hours.

"Mrs Delilah?" A voice calls from behind me, and at first I don't even turn. I've never answered to that name before, and so my instincts tell me that the salutation isn't for me. It takes several moments for me to realize that it is. I turn around to see Jeffrey, my boss. He's a bit of asshole, but he is good at his job, so we tend to get along fine.

"Hey, Je.." I begin, and then I catch myself. Delilah would never address him so informally. They hardly know one another. I clear my throat loudly. "Hello there, Mr Davidson. How are you today?"

Jeff gives me a quizzical look; I think he heard my slip up. "It's good to see you again, Mrs Delilah. I'm sorry we had to call your husband in on the weekend. It couldn't be helped though. You know how it is. Are you here to see him for lunch?"

I nod. "Yes, I brought some food to surprise him." The lie slips easily from my mouth. In reality, Delilah knows I'm coming. She tried to do my work while I guided her over video-chat, but it proved too difficult. Plan B? I'm going to hide in my office and finish my own work as quickly as possible.

"That's fine," Jeff says with a smile. "Make sure you don't distract him too much though... this job that just came up is super critical. And it's incredibly time sensitive. Otherwise we wouldn't have disturbed your weekend together. I do apologize for that, by the way."

The entire time he was speaking, I could feel his eyes, examining me... and probably undressing me. I keep telling myself that it's my imagination. Deep down though, I know better. It's crazy, because I've never seen him stare at Delilah like this before. Maybe he's doing it because I'm not here...? I mean, I'm here, but he thinks... whatever. His roaming eyes are sending disgusted shivers up my spine.

I've gotta get out of this conversation. "I hate to rush you, J... Mr Davidson, but I do wanna bring Anthony his food before his lunch break ends." I instinctively glance at my wrist, before noticing to my chagrin that Delilah isn't wearing a watch. She doesn't even own one.

Jeff definitely notices my slip up this time, and he raises an eyebrow with a smirk. "Alright, ma'am, I won't take up anymore of your time. Tell your husband I said to get his ass in gear. I don't wanna be stuck here all day, baby-sitting him." He turns and walks into his office, chuckling quietly.

As soon as his door closes, I hurry toward my office. I don't want any more interactions with co-workers. No good can come of it.

As I step into my office, I quickly shut the door behind me, careful to not let it slam. Delilah, still resting comfortably in my body, looks at me with a crooked grin. "Good morning, sweet-ass." I hear my own patronizing voice coo at me. "You are looking hot-to-trot in that skirt." She lets out a quiet whistle. Damn it, I should have picked some suit-pants or something, but I just wore the clothes that Delilah had laid out for Monday.

"Shut up, and move!" I snap, a little more angrily than I intend. "I wanna get this over with so that we can get the fuck out of here!"

She nods and steps out of my seat. I scurry over and plop down, immediately noticing that my chair is far too low.

"Aww... is the desk too big, ma'am? I tell you what? Why don't I sit in the chair, you sit in my lap, and we'll talk about the first thing that pops up!" Her playful smile is tainted with lustful desire.

I glare at her, but I know that I don't look scary in this body. It's adorable. I've seen that look before. It's cute, rather than anything else.

"I just need to adjust the seat!" I hiss.

Delilah shakes her head, suddenly looking serious. "I was kidding with the boner joke, but realistically, I do think you should sit in my lap. If your boss knocks, we'll need to rapidly switch places... but if you adjust your chair now, then I can't fit back in a hurry."

I scowl, but I know she's right. If my boss comes in, and I'm at the desk... he'll think my wife is fucking around with the computer, and we'll have a shit ton of lying to do, and...

"FINE! Just sit down. I'll.... I'll sit in your lap."

Delilah flashes my own bright, shit-eating grin at me, and she eases herself back into the chair. She lets the seat down just a touch, so that I can fit on her lap.

This is so emasculating. Delilah wraps her long, muscular arms around my waist and slides the chair forward until I'm a comfortable distance from the keyboard.

"So if somebody shows up at the door, are we screwed?" She asks, cautiously. I'm relieved that she seems to be taking this seriously.

I'm already working on the project, my fingers flying across the keys. "I think we'll be okay. I seriously doubt anybody is gonna disturb us without knocking. If they do, I'll just slide onto the floor, and you can pretend to type."

She nods, and I continue. My job isn't particularly difficult, but it is tedious, and it requires intricate knowledge of our business. It must be mind-numbingly boring to watch, but I can't help it. Delilah pulls out my phone and begins scrolling through my social media. I don't mind. It isn't like we keep secrets from one another.

I work as rapidly as I can, continuing through my normally scheduled lunch break. My wife sits beneath me, patiently waiting as I type. As time accumulates, I get the acute sense that she's growing increasingly restless. She puts my phone down on the desk, and drums the chair's arms with her hands. I can hear her softly humming something, but it's distracting, so I shush her.

A few moments later, I notice her hands gently feeling their way up my waist, towards the front of my blouse. The caress feels lovely, but I can't deal with any interruptions right now.

I drop my fingers down from the keyboard, and push her hands away. "Stop that. I'm busy!"

She nods, and mutters, "Uh-huh." But her hands return to their slow exploration of my torso.

This time I shove her hands down more forcefully, and my voice is as commanding as possible. "STOP. IT." I could tell that my high pitched whispers aren't having the desired effect.

"Babe... shhh..." she once again allows her fingers to roam around my body. "Just go back to work. You're almost finished, right?"

"Yes, but you're distracting me! It's slowing me down!"

"Awww... it'll be okay, my sweet thing." She kisses the back of my head with the most patronizing smooch imaginable. Nevertheless, with her hands still in place, I go back to typing. The sultry massage isn't easy to ignore, but I try to muscle through it. My skin is so much more sensitive than I'm used to. Every tiny flick of her fingers sends pleasant sensations dancing across my body. As soon as we switch back, I'm putting this knowledge to good use; I promise that. I've earned it.

As I struggle to keep her roving hands out of my mind, I try to tunnel-vision in on my work. Cross referencing, double checking my inputs, triple checking my spelling... I feel like I have a hold on this... wait. Fuck. FUCK! How could I be so stupid?

I growl audibly, and Delilah leans forward to get a better look at the screen. "What's wrong baby?"

"Ugh..." I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose, as the gravity of my error sets in. "I've been using the reference materials that Jerry sent me, but those expired last year! Now I need to go back through the whole thing and alter..." I pause my rant, mid-sentence. "What are your hands doing on my breasts?"

I turn my head to look at Delilah, and I can see a cheeky smile spread across her face. "I was just listening to your woes, dear. You said you have to go in and alter the whats-it from the whos-its... you should really get to that.`` Her fingers begin to gently knead the soft flesh of my breasts, and my sensitive nipples perk up immediately.

"Delilah... PLEASE!" There is desperation in my voice, and for once, I seem to have an effect on her. She stops rubbing, although she does not release her grasp.

"I'm sorry, Anthony. But for once I can finally relate to you, and your fascination with tiddies. When they were mine, I hardly noticed them, but when they're attached to your body... I get this irresistible urge to play with them. Can't you just work while I play? I'm not trying to disturb you."

I breathe a long, laborious sigh. I've been in her situation before. Sometimes my libido would be out of control, and I found it almost impossible to leave her alone. I don't know if it was hormones or what, honestly... but my best guess is that she's going through that right now. She must be horny as all hell. Still, her body is so sensitive. Her caresses shatter any hope I have of concentrating on my job.

That said, I know what she's dealing with, so maybe I can try to empathize. "Alright, sweetheart. You can keep rubbing, but just try to remember that I need to finish this. Then as soon as we get home, we can fuck one more time before we swap back. Does that sound fair?"

Delilah nods emphatically, and resumes gently massaging my breasts. Her touch feels... oh, it feels so damn good. I can feel my pussy getting moist, simply from the touch, and I know that I am going to need some release soon.

I look at the screen again, and my typing continues. I think I might be able to salvage some of the work I've done. I can copy a few of the unaffected documents, and I can paste them into a new folder. Alright, I think I can... oh shit. Her fingers are stimulating me so much. I can barely think of anything but the luscious, tantalizing motions which send shivers of anticipation fluttering across my skin.