Employee of the Month, Part 3

A Commissioned Extension by Jack Mackenzie to his regular Story Tier Prompt

Francis Howard is a young, cocky alpha male who is heir to his father's business empire. Promoted to head of marketing, he quickly earns the ire of his team for his chauvinistic and oppressive management style. But one day Francis discovers he has Lumin's Syndrome, a rare genetic condition that means his body is turning into a woman's. Francis races to fight the changes, before his reputation within the office takes on a very different dimension.

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Employee of the Month, Part 3

“Congratulations Carter, for becoming Employee of the Month!”

A round of forced applause rose in honour of the winner, a winner that made everyone deeply frustrated. Francis just raised a glass as Clara took a bottle of red wine to Carter, along with a gift-wrapped award and gift voucher for the company cafeteria. He understood why people weren’t happy - Carter was a senior manager who was only a liaison to managing, he was technically in fact an accounts man. But the truth was, he was an up-and-comer in the company, and it was good to cement early allies. The working peons could just wait until the next month.

“Well done Carter, we look forward to seeing your future at Howard Enterprises.”

The man took the much-vaunted award and voucher, and this was followed by placing Carter’s photo in the celebrated ‘Employee of the Month’ photo frame, all smiles. The crowd clearly weren’t into it, but the truth was, neither was Francis. He was struggling to keep his voice low, and it sounded a little ridiculous. What’s more, he was sweating like a pig, trying to keep his changing body hidden beneath a heavy coat and wide trousers. His hair was getting unruly, and even despite the product he’d put in it this morning, it had already grown out. People were spreading gossip about the new ‘blonde’ look he was sporting, and it was only getting lighter.

“Okay, back to work everyone!” he declared, wincing as his voice jumped another octave. He clutched his throat awkwardly as silence fell. “Sorry, got a bit of a bug in my throat.”

They didn’t look too convinced, but then who would even believe the truth? He sent them away to their tasks, but Harvey remained behind. Francis could have murdered him: he was feeling an incredibly itch in his shrinking crotch, and his nipples were similarly sore. His chest bindings were becoming uncomfortably tight, and he needed to adjust them before anyone got a sense of his developing bust. Instead, here was his project lead ready to badger him.

“Sir, I need to talk to you about the team.”

“Are they on task to meet the deadline?” he said, practically snapping. He was still clutching his Adam’s apple, and to his astonishment, he realised it was almost seamless with his neck now, smooth and feminine.

“Yes sir, but only barely, and I’m worried they’ll slip behind.”

“What’s the problem?” Francis returned, his voice cracking again. He was trying not to look Harvey in the eye, and it frustrated him. Dominance was all about eye contact, but he’d forgotten his own eye contacts, and he was in danger of someone noticing his eyes were becoming bright blue.

“It’s morale, Francis,” Harvey said, daring to call his boss by his first name. “The guys are all miserable, demotivated, and giving an outsider the Employee of the Month away has only made things worse. Elijah has worked incredibly hard on the marketing banners and graphic design, and he’s feeling unappreciated.”

“Elijah can feel sorry for himself, so long as the work gets done. That’s the job.”

“With respect sir, the job won’t get done if your employees are trod into the dust like this. Sir, is there something else going on that’s the cause of this?”

At that, Francis turned his head. He could feel a continual dull throb in his ass, and it irritated him that he could literally feel it slowly expanding, becoming rounder and peach-shaped by the minute.

“What do you mean by that?” he said, trying to keep his voice low.

“I mean, well,” Harvey shuffled a little as he spoke, and Francis realised that he was now clearly the taller man, and not by a tiny margin. God, had he shrunk that much? “It’s just, you’ve been changing your look a lot recently, and people have been talking. Is - is there something going on, sir? I don’t need to know the details, like if it’s a mid-life crisis, but the blonde hair, not wearing your lifts anymore, wearing super tight trousers, all the big jackets. Is it a medical thing?”

Francis was flabbergasted. He had literally no idea how to respond, and it made him feel small. He was small. In the end, he reached for the typical.

“That’s none of your business, Harvey. You’re project manager, so the only business you should concern yourself with is the work. Now get to it. You’re on the clock.”

Harvey sighed in a way that was exaggerated, borderline insubordinate. Usually, Francis would have ripped into an employee who dared do that, but instead he felt weirdly bad for disappointing him. He felt a tugging at his emotional heartstrings, and fumed as Harvey walked away, repulsed that his increasingly feminine hormones were betraying his alpha male sensibilities.

“That fucker,” he said, ignoring how his voice sounded more like a husky woman’s than a brass baritone male’s. And yet, as he watched him go, a strange thought entered his mind. Francis found himself fascinated with Harvey’s quite impressively broad shoulders, the way his forearms were on display in his rolled up sleeves. His ass, compact in his professional slacks, somehow gained Francis’ attention, and his gaze lingered on it. He even salivated a little, licking his increasingly full lips slowly until he realised what he was doing.

“What the fuck. What the actual fuck!” he declared. He moved to head back to his office, managing to catch the glimpse of a confused Clara. She still hated him, he could see it in her eyes, but her expression now was one of confusion. She alone had seen his outburst.

“Um, sir?”

“Nobody is to contact me. Nobody!”

He retreated to his office and slammed the door shut. To his utter shame, the image of Harvey smiling, his strong arms somehow even more bare, was still in Francis’ mind.

“The fuck is happening to me?” he said, massaging his chest beneath his bindings. He knew he shouldn’t, but he was practically doing it automatically now, they were so damn sore! His blinds were closed, as he’d demanded well over a week ago, and he made sure the door was locked. No one could see him. He went and stood before the mirror at the side of the room and removed his cloak.

He could have wept.

Even through the bindings, it was so obvious that he had a woman’s chest, now. There was a distinct curve now, and it felt like they were being squished against his ribcage flat. With great trepidation, he removed them, along with his trousers, in order to better look at himself. He needed to.

Even by the standards of that very morning, what he saw shocked him. It was as if the changes were somehow accelerating. As the last of the chest wrapping came away, his boobs - yes, boobs - spilled free. His nipples were large and pink, standing from the skin like raspberries. But more than that, he now had cleavage. Actual cleavage. His boobs were now B-cups, at least! In fact, they might have well been heading towards C’s, possibly. They were average-sized, yes, but heading towards the ‘larger than average’ range, and it terrified him. There was no way to keep them underwraps if they kept on growing. He lifted his hands, which were now slender and soft, more like a woman’s hands than a man’s, and felt at his breasts. They were sore and achey from growth, but there was an undercurrent of pleasure to his ministrations that made him groan slightly, and he felt the strange sensation of his prominent nipples stiffening.

Worse, he also felt something stir in his loins, and it was not an erection. He looked down over the rest of his body, quaking. So much change in just the eight hours since he woke up. His waist was now thin, his abs melted away to become a soft yet taut belly. His hips were yet again wider, and becoming more smooth. Rounder. He was afraid he would soon be the not-so-proud owner of a pair of ‘child-bearing hips’, as he’d always called them. He pulled down his underwear, and tears formed in his eyes. It was so much easier to fall to tears now, though he might have cried anyway if he was pumped full of all the testosterone in the world.

An opening had developed. It was small, and not fully formed, and a set of labia were just growing in. And his penis was still there, as tiny and flaccid and pathetic as it was now. Dr Greene had suggested it was in the process of becoming a particularly sensitive clitoris. He had barely restrained himself from smacking the doc for that comment.

“It doesn’t matter how I look. I’m a man. I’m a fucking man,” he said to himself. But his voice was sounding rather quite feminine, and his softer facial features gave credence to this, along with his full, pouty lips. Even his goddamn feet were slender and small, requiring a refit of his shoes, and that wasn’t starting on how smooth and shapely his legs were becoming. It was all a nightmare.

Worse, the phrase ‘I’m a fucking man’ conjured up thoughts that he’d never intended to have, as ‘I’m a fucking man’ became ‘I’m fucking a man.’ Once more, Harvey arose in his brain, looking even more handsome and naked than before. Francis clutched his head, trying to will away the image, but instead it altered to fixate on the man’s cock. He tried to think of Elijah instead, the pudgy programmer who was by far the least sexy individual in the office. Instead, he realised that there was a nerdy cuteness to the employee that he’d overlooked, a clinginess that was almost desirable.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!”

Francis scrambled through his desk, taking out several tablets of testosterone and downing them in one go.

“I’m not gay. I’m not a woman. I’m Francis fucking Howard and I’m the damn alpha wolf of marketing, and my father’s heir. I’m gonna own this business, and I’ll have hot women throwing themselves at me. I’m going to beat this.”

He began to breathe a little steadier, trying to ignore the slight wobble of his growing breasts. “I just need time. Time for Greene to get all his ‘ingredients.’

It was then that a call buzzed through. Much to his annoyance, it was still Clara on desk duty today, and she was ignoring his directive to prevent intrusions. He was going to bark at her, until he remembered he was practically naked, appearing very female, and, as she spoke, that she had a good reason.

“Hello, Mr Howard,” her voice came over the buzzer. “Mr Howard - um, the CEO - has instructed me to pass on a message to you today. He says he’s expecting you at the country club tomorrow for the 18-hole game with the other board members.”

Francis grit his teeth. Shit! In all the stress over his secret condition he’d forgotten he was due to rub shoulders with the big boys on the board and leave a good impression regarding his progress. He eyed his lady-like legs, realising how they would look in golf shorts, but also remembering his father’s comments last time he’d turned up in a suit.

“Thank you, Clara,” he managed. He needed to consciously lower his voice now, to stop it from going to its higher octave. “Tell Mr Howard that I’ll be there.”

He hung up, and put his face in his hands.

“Fuuuuuck,” he said, stretching out the word with black bitterness. “I can make this work. I’ll just have to.”

***

The golf meet was an absolute disaster. Francis tried his best to camoflauge his changing figure, but even with the padding he’d put under his shirt and the fake phallus between his legs, and the baggier clothing he’d worn, there was only so much you could do with golf shorts and a bright red polo top. The six board members, all of them men of great power and influence, looked to him like he was a zoo exhibit, muttering complaints and insults to each other in earshot of him. Francis had tried to keep his head high, but he was utterly red-faced for all eighteen holes. With every step, he couldn’t help but sway his hips in a feminine fashion, his increasingly peachy ass straining at his shorts. His breasts stung, and he couldn’t stop touching them, as they were bound ludicrously tight to his chest. His legs were obviously more like a woman’s legs, free of hair and silky smooth, and it was obvious that his shoulders had also shrunk. Whenever he made a call for his ball, his voice seemed to crack.

All of that was humiliating enough, but he’d found yet more shame as judgemental eyes fell upon him: he was now bad at golf. The sport of champions, of CEOs and presidents and business giants, was now a game of fumbling and missing and wide strokes. He couldn’t stop his damn awkward giggling either, a pattern of behaviour he’d never shown before, and at times he actually somehow sounded like a dumb bimbo, such was the cadence of his voice. The game ended with him far behind, and any attempt to rein the conversation back to the successes of his marketing oversight was derailed by his mincing voice and flamboyant movements. It was as if it was hard to say the right words, like they were being stolen from his mind.

Finally, the ‘board meeting’ dispersed, and it was just him and Percy Howard. His father, the CEO and founder of Howard Enterprises. He was a white-haired man in his sixties, with a gruff demeanour and a face that looked like it was carved from stone. He looked down on his son, brow creasing.

“What in the damn hell are you playing at?” he demanded.

To his embarrassment, Francis felt a well of emotion, of fear, at his father’s voice.

“Wh-what do you mean, Dad?”

Percy threw the golf club on the ground. “Don’t give me that trash, boy! You know exactly what in the same hell I’m talking about! I’m talking about you looking like some metrosexual bimbo-boy! I’m talking about you looking like you’re transitioning into a damn drag queen! I’m talking about the fact that now my friends and allies on the board think my son is a fucking, a fucking -”

He trailed off as some other club members passed. Francis breathed a sigh of relief. His father was wise enough when angry not to give a bigoted slur in public. After all, he’d been in marketing once, too. Instead he stepped forward and jabbed a finger at his son’s chest, causing him to wince. It was right in the aching left boob.

“Explain. NOW.”

Francis trembled. He’d never felt so lacking in confidence. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, and tears began to flow in full in his eyes.

“Dad,” he sobbed, “I’ve got Lumin’s Syndrome.”

“You’ve got what!? Wait, is that the one that - Jesus. Are you telling me you’re turning into a damned woman? My own son - my own goddamn heir - is growing a fucking pussy!?”

Francis could only nod sadly, looking at the ground.

“And you’re growing tits, too? Is that why your shirt is all padded?”

Francis nodded again. “Yeah, Dad. They’re getting bigger.”

“Goddamn. Goddamn it all to hell! And you had to embarrass me in front of the board before telling me? You stupid shit!”

Francis was jolted. His father had always been brusque, but he’d never expected this little sympathy. “Dad, it’s just temporary.”

“It’s permanent. I’m not an idiot, son. God knows, you must have gotten your stupid today from your departed mother.”

He always called her departed; they were actually just divorced. His father’s fourth trophy wife, who was now an older model in Slovenia.

“No Dad, it’s not! I’ve got a smart doctor working on it - he’s the best money can buy. And I’ve funded a whole team. They’ve got a cure lined up, and it’ll fix everything. It’s almost ready.”

His father eyed him sceptically, and Francis shrunk beneath that gaze.

“They better damn well fix you. I’m not having another daughter. Peyton is more than enough, and at least she has the balls for business.” He stepped closer, looming over Francis in a sure sign of dominance. It worked. Despite the fact that Francis had perfected his own father’s moveset, he felt helpless beneath it now. “Because if you don’t fix this and fix this fast, then you can say goodbye to being my heir. Jared can take that position.”

“No, Dad, I -”

“And if it gets any worse, if it embarrasses the family name, then you can say goodbye to being a Howard, as well.”

Francis’ eyes widened. “What, you can’t do -”

“I can do what I goddamn like, son. Or is it sissy, now? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you embezzling company funds from me. My company’s money. Ordinarily, I could look past a little poking around in the kitty. I was young once, too. But now I know how you’ve been paying your treatments, you best consider your next moves. Because if this blows up in your face, then I have enough to put you in jail for a long time on serious charges of fraud.”

“You wouldn’t put your own son in jail.”

His father’s face contorted into a cruel grin. “You wouldn’t be my son, not anymore. So you’ve got three options, as I see it. Succeed, and be my son and heir again. Fail, and go to jail. Or fail, and take a new name and identity and a little family stipend, and you can’t ever embarrass me like you did today again. Got it?”

Francis gulped, and his next words sounded positively feminine.

“Got it, Dad.”
“Oh, and stay on top of the rollout for our new EZ Phone. I want it to sell like fucking hotcakes.”

“I will, Pops.”

“Good, now scram. And get out of that getup, fast.”

***

That afternoon, Francis stormed back into his office, utterly humiliated and overwhelmed with emotions. It took every effort not to cry openly, and he hugged his form as he moved swiftly, buried in heavy clothing once more. Several members of the office tried to get his attention, and he could only hurry past them, too focused on the stretching in his hips, the increasing tenderness of his cock, and how his chest was unbearably constrained.

“Mr Francis! Sir!” Elijah called, followed by Harvey, and several others. They were all important updates, no doubt, but he shifted past them. He practically crashed into a male intern, who managed to catch him in time. Francis yelped, feeling the man’s hands grab his chest as he righted his boss, not realising he’d just accidentally copped a feel of his budding breasts.

“Get off me!” Francis screeched, feeling strangely overwhelmed. He saw that it was Sebastian, the dark-skinned hire who was native to Sudan. He was tall, with a bright smile and strong musculature, and Francis’ heart skipped a beat as he drank in the man’s handsomeness. He felt his nipples stiffen, and his new passage became slightly moist. He needed to get away. His mind was playing tricks, making him attracted to other men! He pushed his way to his office, not even listening to Clara as she stood at her receptionist desk. He slammed the door behind him, and avoided the urge to scream.

Instead, he removed his jacket and began pulling the bindings. His chest was too big, and it was a problem. He freed his breasts, which were most certainly sizable C-cups now, and stood back, massaging them, trying to soothe their soreness.

It was at that point when Clara opened the door he’d forgotten to lock.

“Sir, I’m sorry to intrude upon you, but we have a big problem with the rollout for - oh my God!”

She looked in shock at the sight of him, frozen. He was naked from his soft stomach to his blonde head, and his obviously feminine breasts were on full display. Of all the people to walk in and see him like this, it just had to be the woman he’d dined and dumped. Who he’d cheated on, and treated like garbage.

Clara looked at her feminised boss, jaw agape, her soft eyes shocked.

“Um, sir?” she said.

He had no idea what to say next at all.

To Be Continued . . .