Letting Go

 Mark had been trying to stay focused all day. Following an argument with his wife the previous night in which he had said that women “just need to be blonde ditz for their bosses and they’ll get a promotion,” he had awoken to find himself alone in the body of a young blonde with a note next to a red G-string and matching bra.

Dear Mark,

                  You may be wondering what the hell is happening. It's simple, Today you are going to work as Maira, a ditzy blonde who wants to get promoted so badly. If you can last the day without succumbing to your horny young body I will change you back.

P.S. the spell I cast on you means that only you and I remember your previous life. so don't try calling your mates to help you.

P.P.S. sorry about the lack of clothes but whatever's there should suffice

love, your ex-wife, Brenda

The outfit she had left was a crop top and a polka dot miniskirt which was now pulled up as Mark sat on the toilet seat, the G-string wet from the fluids dripping from the sensitive virgin slit between his legs, the erotic thoughts of Maria’s, his, boss circling in his mind.

 The moment he had walked into the HR department he had felt a growing heat, every male gaze, every “hello beautiful” had made him get hotter, dirty thoughts as did his tasks, hoping his skirt would lift up and expose his tight and sexy bubble butt to his male colleagues, moaning as he leaned against the vibrating photocopier. The last straw was the feeling of Maria’s boss long and semi-erect penis dig into his back.

Sitting on the toilet, in the stall, in the women’s bathroom of the HR department of a corporation. The last parts of Mark disappearing in between the smothered moans of Maria, letting go of all social modesty and fingering her aching clit as she imagined being fucked in all possible positions by her boss.

As the last ounce of masculinity dripped out of her clit, Maria let out a giggle “mmm, that felt good, hopefully Mr Roberston is just as good” she thought as she exited the stall, heading straight for Robertson’s office, her red G-string discarded in a bin.