Reality judders and shifts, as the toilets of your familiar firm are wrenched sideways and you find yourself standing in a kitchen... In your kitchen, in Sarah's kitchen. No trace of your comfortable surroundings. "I hope you have the house in order before you trot off to your little job." You can only shudder hearing the contempt and patronising tone of your husband that the house needs to be in order before you're allowed out." You seethe to know how threatened and insecure he feels to have another income for the house.
Taking a deep calming breath, you realise quite how bad your situation is. You catch sight of your new reflection in the gleaming surfaces you've just polished.
Wearing just a plain white apron, there's no hiding the enormous bust that lurches out each side, the bare modesty the frilly tease and tickle your new sex. Clinging lewdly as they pucker and catch between your lush thighs... your broad child-bearing hips, marking you out as made for breeding.
Hair tied up and out of the way, you need to loosen it, and tame it into a more appealing, but still professional mane suitable for the office.
Fleeing upstairs, you check your rapidly vanishing preparation time. The pressure mounting, as you know the consequences of tardiness. You satisfy yourself by brushing it into a tidy face framing fashion.
You scowl at the lipstick, a gift from your husband. It doesn't paint the professional air your work desires. However, you recall with nausea that he likes how it feels and the traces it leaves around the shaft of his cock!?
It's not easy to make such a lush body look serious. Its curves demand flaunting outfits, that cling and accentuate your appeal. It's too provocative for such an environment.
Your blouse bulges alarmingly, with the straining bra too obvious beneath. Your skirt is just as tight and the seams strain, on the verge of surrender to your full ass, and thicc thighs.
However, with a grim nod to your reflection it is office-appropriate. Heading out, you race to get there on time.
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