I have a request, Sir… Almost an impulse, really… May I have another corruption fic? A mousy little office drone turning into a sultry dominant succubus? The means and the manner of transformation don’t matter to me, I just want the difference to be undeniable… a hermit into a veritable tribute to sin.
It was the eyebrows that did it.
The way they arched as he sat there. Those green irises going back and forth line after line. The content of the report didn’t matter, not really. He was looking for slip ups. Mistakes as little as a stray letter, a key clicked in error out of millions. As his eyes continued to bounce and the top of the paper rise, it was a matter of seconds. That was the one good thing about him, my boss. He was prompt, quick. Blunt as a ten pound hammer on a tin nail. The paper dropped from his hands, and met the desk. He turned towards his computer and the keys clamored. I coughed into my fist, and waited. When his head turned back to his desk, those eyebrows twitched.
“You’re still here, Jayla?”
“Well, I wanted to make sure that I-” I started, only to squealch my voice as he waved me away.
“Yeah. You’re fine,” he said. He turned back to the screen, his hands not straying for a second. Words piled fast as I stood there. Ten, twenty. More as he turned his head, still typing as he looked at me. “Well?”
“So the report is good? Nothing remiss sir?”
He let out a sigh, and lifted the paper up. His brow furrowed and knit-and it’s then I knew. He was looking for something this time, anything to send me back. To the gray felt walls, to the nameless faces that dwelled within. But he surprised me, and shook his head. The paper met the desk again, and he went back to typing. “How long did this take you?” he said, with all the emotional depth of elevator music.
“About ten hours,” I replied.
“Ten?” he said, his side eye catching me. One keystroke, two as second as his hands worked.
I watched as they did so, the clock on the far wall loud as the seconds ticked.
I told him ten, but it was easily more. I pushed away the urge to rub my eyes as sleep called from the back of my head.
“Yes sir,” I said.
He paused, fingers still curved. He looks back at me, those damn brows crooked. One second, two. He gives a grunt, and jerks his head towards the door. “Well, it shows. You look like hell. Go home,”
“Go home, sir?” I said. Hoping I didn’t sound as damned air headed as I felt. But as my boss leaned back in his chair, pushing himself from his desk?
I wanted to fucking die. I knew it sounded just like that, exhaustion or no. I thought I saw the faint trace of a smirk as his hands rested on his stomach, and he gave a nod.
“Yeah, home. You look like gymshorts ran through a wash basin. Go home. Sleep. I can’t pay you if you’re dead on your feet, right? So go,”
I shuffled my feet a moment, and gave a nod. I cleared my throat, and tried to contain my sigh. “I appreciate the offer sir, but I don’t have any comp time left. I was sick last week-“
“You were?” says my boss, tilting his head. He raises a hand to his chin, the scratching loud as a choir as the silence of the moment draws.
“Uh, yes sir. I was. And because of that, I need to stay. Possibly work overtime as well, if that’s still being-“
He gave a chuckle, and shrugged. “Yeah well, if I didn’t catch you here last week? Sure as hell wasn’t anyone else that caught you. Go home. I’ll run your card, throw your work at one of those god damned interns. Okay?” he said.
Another nod, my head feeling like a tether ball. “Yes sir-thank you sir. It means quite a bit,” I say, but he’s already waved me away again. He’s back at the screen, his hands plunging into them without so much as a pause. I tarry another second, then turn towards the door. Past the glass walls, I can see it. The yarn yard-that’s what we called it. All those felt walls, the sounds of percolators left unchecked. So much paper used you would think tree genocide was in vogue.
I was free of it. If only for the evening, if only to be in debt to the boss. But I could leave it for just a little while. I made it to the door, and gripped the handle.
“Hey, on your way out, grab me a coffee,” came his voice.
I held my sigh in until I made it to the break room.
@@@
It isn’t that I hate my job. “Hate” is kind of a strong, pounding sort of word. People use it all the time, but like-when’s the last time you really, truly hated something?
I don’t know anyone that even has the energy for after a shift. Much less anyone in the yarn yard. They could be amorphous gray blobs of productivity for all I know.
So no, I wouldn’t say I “hate” my job. If I could do without food and shelter, I’d even say it’s a great job. But I like both of those things, often as warm as possible. So I do it. The “bitch” work at a local data base. It wasn’t called “bitch work” because I’m a woman-I swear. It’s just drudgery nobody else wants to do. Getting coffee. Refilling the copier. Filing this, typing up that. Bitch work.
I hadn’t received a promotion in almost three years. Any time I thought about asking though, my boss just gave me another task. He’d wave his hand, and send me off. His version of rewarding me?
Time off. Paid, like today. It wasn’t much, wasn’t a raise. But it gave me enough, I guess. I had food, I had a roof. The thing was though, when I got that free time? I didn’t know what the hell to do. I’d grab some take out, go home and just sit in front of the TV. Eventually I’d nod off hoping I’d left my plate on the end table.
It wasn’t that I hated my job. I didn’t. I was just mired in being comfortable.
I think that’s why I’d started going to Slacker’s. It was something I wasn’t suppose to do. It wasn’t like I had room in my apartment for anything-much less comics. But stepping in there, with the radio blaring and the chatter? It wasn’t like the office. It was alive, breathing. People moved, people argued over anything and everything. There was color everywhere, from the floor to the ceiling.
Kylie was there, too.
She was the kind of girl that both looked totally normal there, and not. With gum snapping from her jaw, she’d sit behind the counter. Her black boots propped on the glass, legs clad in fatigues. I remember being shocked she wore a tank top in there. Compared to my blouse and skirt, it just felt like a lot of skin. Especially around all those people. But Kylie didn’t seem to care-she’d roll her eyes when the stray comment came her way. She had the dull monotone that belied her more sarcastic moments.
I loved her for it. But I loved her more because she actually smiled when I came in, every time.
The bell chimed as I opened the door. The communal mass of nerd flesh at the tables turned in their seats. Only for a moment-then there heads were back at their games. I thought of my boss for a second, but shook the image away. I approached the counter, and met Kylie’s smirk with one of my own.
“Hey girl,” she said. She rested her head in her hand, and tilted it towards me. “Just get out of work?”
“Uh, heh. Yeah. That obvious?” I said. I splayed my hands over my outfit, and Kylie let out a chuckle.
“Just a bit. Maybe Office Space is chique this year, the hell would I know. Anyways, you want your pulls?” said Kylie as she stood up. “I think I got the latest Real Life in. There’s some other stuff you might be interested in too,”
“Sure, pulls sound good. Anything else promising come in?”
Kylie chuckles and ducks below the counter. When she stands again, it’s with a massive cardboard box in her arms. She places the longbox on the counter, it’s top billowing with names wrote on slips of paper. Her slender fingers tick through them until she gets to mine. She pushes the others to the side, and pulls out a file folder. One that looked like thousands I dealt with every week. Her teeth sink into her lip as she smiles, clasping it to her chest.
“Well, maybe. Maybe there’s a surprise in here for you. On the house. But on the grounds you come back and tell me what you think okay?” she says.
I couldn’t help but smile. I always did when she did that thing-biting her lip. I hadn’t been hit on since high school, but Kylie made me feel pretty. So I smiled. I nodded, and reached into my purse. “Deal,” I said, “But it better not be anything creepy. Watchmen was heavy enough as it was,”
“But it’s a classic!” cried Kylie, shaking her head. She chuckled as she bent forward to grab a bag. She looked at me, and turned from the counter as she dropped the comics inside. She turned towards me again, and folded the top as she placed it on the counter. Her hands went to the register, poised to strike as she raised a finger. She looked at me, and wagged it in front of her face.
“No peeking until you get home, okay?” she said. I roll my eyes, and nod.
“Alright, I won’t. It’s something creepy, isn’t it?”
“I mean,” said Kylie, her smirk widening, “It’ll give you a tingle. That’s for sure,”
It was all I could do to make it to the door before I felt my face burning.
@@@
I tried to wait.
I looked at the bag the entire drive home. All neat and folded, thicker than it normally was. Most of the time, my issues fit into a slimmer bag. Kylie had opted for one of the bigger ones she reserved for those garrish anime statues Slacker’s. The ones with the girls at ninety degree angles, and huge boobs. They never had anything on, either. Sometimes I wondered who bought those things when I went in. Then another one would be off the shelf, and Kylie would just roll her eyes as a guy walked out the store.
The windows to my place were sweating as I walked up. As I stuck my key in and opened the door, heat swathed into the october night. I couldn’t get my coat off fast enough, and slung the bag onto the couch. Real Life peaked from the top of the stack. I slipped out of my blouse and skirt, content with granny panties and a sports bra. I went into my bedroom closet, careful to step over the longboxes from this year. I’d have to figure out something to do with it all. I grabbed a night gown and slipped it on. I went to the kitchen and grabbed day-old chinese take out. As it was heating in the microwave, I went back to the couch.
Real Life, Gotham City Sirens and My Hero Academia! greeted me as I spread them out. But what waited below them was what I was after.
Kylie’s surprise made me arch my eyebrow. I muttered “what the hell?” as I lifted it up, and drank in the cover.
Splathouse Spooktacular! was emblazoned across the top in white, dripping font. The cover was done in this rough, oil painting style with muted colors. Featured right below the title was this blue skinned, chunky girl dressed as a witch. She was sitting on top of a pumpkin-and it was then I noticed the tail, curled around the stem. My eyesflicked to her pointed hat, then her face. She was winking at the viewer, and I could just make out the tip of curled horns beneath the brim. She was.
Well. I suppose it’s weird to say I was jealous of her, but I was. Looking at that cover, then down at me in my pajamas? I felt a pang in my chest that made me throw the issue to the couch. Just in time for my leftovers to ding. I pulled them out, and sat down to read. I made it through everything in an hour and a half. I glanced up at the clock. The minute hand was one tick away from midnight. I looked down, and realized all I had left to read was Kylie’s surprise.
With that big breasted demon girl on it. Ugh.
I picked it up, and for a second wondered if they sold statues of her. The cover girl. I flipped it open, and did a double take right away. I could almost feel my neck crack with how quick I shook my head.
Most of the time, the first page of a comic? It sets the scene. Lets you know what you’re in for. It introduces the characters, the plot. Nothing major, nothing graphic. But this? This was a first. I’d half expected the demon-girl to greet me.
Instead what I got was a picture of a pudgy, grey-haired guy in a broken office chair over a black background. He was wearing a stained under shirt and boxers, with his feet clad in hole-riddled socks. As one hand held a cigarette, the other scratched at grimey stubble. His glasses were askew, but the artist had taken pains to illustrate the bags under his eyes. His mouth was crooked as he scratched, and his dialogue ballon threw me off.
“Well, looks like you’ve had a hell of a day,”
I blinked for a moment, then flipped the page. I opened to a two page spread-of an office. Not like mine, but one a maniac would work in. Papers sprawled to the margins, with a desk right behind the guy. A typewriter sat atop it, with a sheaf of paper in. Opposite the desk was a drafting table-the kind Kirby and others had used. The guy-he still didn’t have a name-had crossed his leg.
“You know, after a shitty work week? The only thing that helps me unwind is a good story. It lets me forget who, and what I am. Let’s me pretend that maybe-just maybe-I can be someone else. Someone better. Do you ever feel that way?”
I sat there, looking at that spread, a good minute or so. Just what the hell was this?
I reached up, and turned the page.
On the left hand side, the guy had turned to his desk. His back was hunched over the keyboard, his hands poised as the cigarette burned in his lips. His dialogue was brief, but given all else I felt my eyes linger on every word.
“Let’s do that. Tell a story-be someone else for a while. Let’s unwind, yeah? You need that, don’t you?”
I slumped into the couch. I lifted the comic, my hands trembling as I turned the page once more.
@@@
Okay, I take it back.
I don’t hate my job-but I sure do hate dreaming about it.
When I get home at night, the moment my apartment door is locked? I stop thinking about it. Blame it on exhaustion or compartmentalizing. Blame it on a lack of healthier means of coping. But I simply forget I have a job. Forget there’s an outside world, even with my neighbors around me. It’s not right, I know. But it slipping away easier. It makes getting up all the more tolerable.
I rarely dream. I remember what few I have even less. But I always remember the ones about work. I’ll sit there in the felt farm, tapping away only to realize I’m in my pajamas. Then I wake to my alarm. The sun is out, and I just spent twenty-four hours at the office. The days that happens, they just drag. So I’ve developed a routine.
The moment I realize I’m in a work-dream, I look down. Because if I see my pajamas, I know it’s fake. Sometimes I can wake up, and with an ambien make it back to sleep. Not always, but at least then I don’t put full effort into typing all those (fake) reports.
Except when I looked down this time? I wasn’t in my pajamas. I wasn’t even in the felt farm. I think that’s what scared me the most, being naked. But when I saw the floor to ceiling windows, my heart dropped. This wasn’t my office-but I knew this one. I knew it way too well.
It was my bosses place. His chair, his desk-but it was all clean. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen the top of his desk without papers. I leaned back in what I thought was his office chair-only to go careening back to the floor. I met the carpet with a thud, and let out a groan. I was just about to get up when I felt someone’s arms slide below me.
“Oh my gosh Miss, are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, did you? I’m so sorry, oh god-I’m such an idiot, I-”
The voice went on, the words so hurried I barely made it out. But I knew the voice well enough. I glanced up, and saw my boss staring down at me. His face was flush, and he was sweating.
Which wouldn’t have been so noticeable if he hadn’t been naked.
Which, in turn, I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been naked.
You know how sometimes in dreams, you’re you-but not? How you can look down, and say “this is me, this is my body” but it’s not you?
Well. For one. I rarely got naked outside of the shower. And for two, my hips and bust weren’t nearly this big. Or impressive. Or perky. I sat there for a solid minute just-just oogling. I couldn’t help it. I looked like something out of a wet dream.
Like one of those statues at Slackers. Or a comic book.
I scrambled out of my boss’s arms, back against the wall. He gave a frown like someone caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He fell to his knees, his brow and palms meeting the floor as he knelt towards me.
“Miss, I’m so sorry. I should know how to be a proper seat for you by now. I-I understand any punishment I get is appropriate. I’m so sorry, I-”
“Oh, shut the hell up,” came a voice from the side.
I whipped my head to the side-and there was Kylie. Naked as the day she was born. Her flat stomach taught with muscle, hands at her hips. I felt my face warm as my eyes glided lower, stopping at the boots she wore. Even in a dream, she wore those chunky-laced up kind soldiers wore. Kylie smirked, shaking her head as she walked over. Her boots thudded loud as she approached my boss-and sat down across his back. She clasped her hands, crossing one knee over the other as she smiled at me.
“So? What’d ya’ think of the comic?”
My heart began to throb in my ears as I closed my legs and tried to cover myself. I say try because there was simply way more boobage than there normally is. I didn’t succeed-but I got my nips, and that’s what mattered. Kylie laughed, and shook her head.
“Hey, you. It’s okay. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen. Plenty I like, but nothing out of the ordinary. And besides-this is a dream, right? Not like we’re really here,” she said. Her lips curled into a wide smile, and she leaned forward. She raised a hand, cupping herself as she sank her teeth into her lip. Beneath her, my boss didn’t so much as move.
“And in dreams? You can do anything-can’t you, girl?”
Look.
Dream or no, I shuddered hearing that. Not out of fear-but out of something more. Kylie rose off my boss, and kicked him back. She stepped forward, my eyes filled by those massive boots of hers. She stepped close-and stopped, wide-stanced as I looked up at her.
My hands slipped away first.
Then my legs.
Kylie smiled, and lowered herself to eye level. She gripped my chin, leaning forward. Our lips met, and I felt every synapse in my brain fire. Another kiss, her fingers slipping between my thighs as she parted my cunt. One finger, two. I gasped, and Kylie just laughed as she kissed my neck.
“Oh, you enjoyed that book alright. Didn’t you?” she muttered.
I tried to speak, tried to say something. But as Kylie went to work on my cunt, rolling her thumb over my pearl, I let out a moan instead. It felt too good, too real to be a dream.
I shook my head, sweat spattering away as I did. Kylie looked up, raising her eyebrow.
“That-what was that book? Why did it feel like it was…talking to me?” I said.
Kylie gave a small chuckle, pulling her fingers from me. She lifted them to her lips, sucking away at the juice there. Her eyes were focused on mine with every second. She pulled her fingers away at last with a wet pop, and lapped her lips.
“Oh, it was. It was a friends’ idea. ‘Tis the season for tricks and treats, right? And that guy-he’s full of tricks. Every time you come in, you look beat. So I wanted to give you a reason to relax. And you can’t deny that this-” she said, probing my cunt, “-feels so damned good, doesn’t it?”
“I-it does,” I said, gulping down another moan. I cinched my eyes shut as Kylie pressed another finger in, rolling the tips of her fingers against my walls. She laughed-and I felt her thumb press it’s way past my lips.
“Then go with it. That feeling, that want. You need to girl,” she said, pulling her hand away. It met my breasts, that same wet thumb rolling over my nipple. She kissed me as another finger went in, and I was gone.
I woke in a cold sweat, thighs damp.
@@@
I shouldn’t have, but I cashed in my comp time the next morning. My hand shook as I dialed the number. I’m surprised my voice didn’t break talking to my boss. I still saw every inch of him doubled over as I said “I’m taking a personal day”. He gave a grunt-and that was it.
Well.
Okay.
That wasn’t it, exactly.
My clothes were soaked-panties especially. So I took them all off. I went into the bathroom, the smell of sweat pelting off me in waves. I thought about a shower-but then I caught myself in the mirror. My chubby thighs and hips, my B-cups. I trailed my hand over them, watching as each finger traced my skin.
Then I grabbed my comb. That was the start.
I came so hard that I splattered the counter. The handle dropped from me, and met the floor with a sticky smack. I was panting by that point-not because I was tired, though. My fingers were already inside me, swirling and pressing as I bounced upon them. I made my way to the living room.
I tried damn near everything. Sometimes I made it to the couch, sometimes I did it right there. I shoved the top of a wine bottle inside me, fucking myself right in the kitchen. The handle of a spatula was so long, so thick I almost came on the first shove. I finally made my way back to the living room, pulling my legs back as I fucked myself with the remote. I’d tried to be quiet, but by then?
By then I didn’t give a shit. I wanted someone to hear.
As the remote stretched my cunt, my head thrashed side to side. I turned to the right, and caught sight of that comic. Kylie’s surprise. The succubus girl, smiling and winking at me.
I’d say that’s when it started.
My little idea, a little thought.
Something I normally would have ignored-but something that, like the dream, felt too good to ignore.
I came again, and laid there breathless for a moment. Then I picked up the phone, and called Slacker’s.
I asked Kylie about the comic, who wrote it. Who made it. I could almost feel her smile through the phone.
@@@
The promotion came far faster than I thought. But my boss, with his head between my thighs? He suddenly found a reason to promote me. Took one himself as well. Fancy that-I got his office. With a nice, full view of the felt farm. A few rumors flew, but I didn’t pay them mind.
Truth be told, hearing all that? It made me so fucking wet. I’d stray a hand under my desk, Kylie-now my secretary-telling me every little thing. Sinking her teeth right into that bottom lip as she did so.
I called that author. The guy who made the comic. He was some goofball in North Carolina, went on and on about the power of belief. How if I just tried hard enough, I could make anything happen.
I asked about his cover girl. He gave a wet coughing kind of laugh, and said “Well, she’s always around-one way or another,”. The phone line fell dead, the sound of him laughing dying in an instant.
I bought the original work-the actual oil portrait used for the cover. I hung it over my bed, that succubus’s smile the first thing I saw every morning. I looked at it more than I looked in the mirror-for a while.
The weight gain came first. Easy enough to hide-I just got bigger clothes. But then the horns came in, and the tail. I thought about wearing a hat, a longer skirt. But nobody seemed to notice a single thing. Not even when I’d curl it around their cock, stroking as I asked them how profits were. They’d shudder and buck, spilling every drop over my breasts. I’d smear it in with my hands, and bring my fingers to my mouth.
Sucking just like Kylie did.
It’s been almost a year since that Halloween.
I think back sometimes, to the time before I got that comic. To how things used to be when I was just me. The constant trip to Slackers, trying to break away. Always looking to be somewhere else, someone else. Then I think of that painting, that comic. I think of all that’s happened since.
I think I might make that writer an offer.
He’ll be needing a new cover girl this year.