(Not so) Forced Femme

Trigger #123: MOM Work Form M-63

Object Class: Work Form M-63 is an enchanted employment form with minor reality retconjuration properties that allow any floor manager to change an employee’s first name and gender for the purposes of workplace cohesion and corporate synergy, as long as they are employed at MOM or any other MOM affiliate. If employment is terminated, the current gender and first name of the employee on file becomes permanent.

( Remember that joke in Red vs. Blue where Sarge was gonna change Grif’s gender in his file and Grif was worried it would change his gender in real life? That’s lived rent free in my head for the past few years. Wait what were we talking about again?)

Transformation Type: TG, (Not So) Forced Femme, Office Lady.

Threat Level: Varies. Like every workplace, it depends on whether the manager is a power-tripping tyrant or not. (I’d repurpose this magic for the Coven, but I feel like the bureaucracy of it would be against everything we stand for, tbh…)

Subject(s):

Pepper Parker, 26, F, formerly Preston Parker, 26, AMAB.

Senior Floor Manager Doris Middle, 38, F, PITA.

The following is a biographical account of events based on the subject's own testimonies and several eyewitness accounts.

I’ve got his ass this time, Doris smirked to herself as she organized papers on her desk, waiting for her new plaything- ahem- I mean her new secretary, to report to her office.

Doris hated Preston Parker’s guts and everything attached to them the moment he stepped foot on her floor. There were a couple of reasons, not that she needed any. Maybe it was because he questioned her authority whenever she disciplined her subordinates. Maybe it was because he wielded every legal loophole in company policy like a shield and taught others to do the same, vastly limiting her previously unchecked power.

But deep, deep down, she knew the real reason she wanted to see Preston unemployed and undone.

It’s because I want to wipe that stupid, smug smile off of his smarmy little FACE, she thought to herself as she angrily dug her nails into the side of her desk. She took a moment to gather herself, and smiled placidly. And today is finally the day.

You see, Doris had taken a page from Preston’s book. Specifically, page 257 of the MOM Employee Handbook.

“As long as it is for the purposes of creating a more cohesive workplace environment and approved upon supervisor review, floor managers may use form M-63 once per financial quarter to change the gender of any employee under their purview, as well as edit their first name to better fit their new identity.”

At first, Doris had considered changing Preston’s name to “Prick”, but she’d decided that would be far too vulgar (and it turned out there was actually a rule in using profanity or otherwise changing an employee’s name to something derogatory.)

And then, as she grumpily slipped her foot out of her dress code mandated 3 inch pumps and rubbed her aching heel, the idea struck her like a bolt of lightning.

Women in the workplace face many trials men are lucky to avoid. At MOM, it was no different. In fact, it was much worse.

The women’s dress code at MOM was absolutely ludicrous. That’s because the women’s dress code was written by men. Horny men.

• You must come to work in a blouse or other appropriate dress shirt.

• Heels of at least 3 inches, as well as skirts coming down to about knee length are also mandatory.

• Full make-up and at least one visible piece of jewelry are also required.

• Proper feminine undergarments must always be worn.

And finally, the all important rule number 5.

• The employee dress code is to be enforced at the floor manager’s discretion and interpretation. 

A cruel smile curled its way across Doris’s face. Rule number 5 meant that she, herself could decide just how strict employees had to follow the dress code.

That meant she could turn that cocky little prick into an embarrassingly, cartoonishly feminine secretary, and there wasn’t a damn thing he… or rather, SHE, could do about it.

“He won’t even last a day,” she chuckled to herself as she glanced at the clock. Any moment now he’ll be walking through those doors, probably tripping all over his new heels and pencil skirt, hair all tangled, knotted and nested, circus clown make-up haphazardly smeared across her face. All I need is three strikes, and he’s OUT.

Her daydream of a Preston-free office was interrupted by the sharp clacking of heels. She smiled, knowing it MUST be him. Except… the clicks sounded more even and precise than she had expected. Maybe another woman had come to visit ahead of him? Maybe to report he hadn’t even shown up at all?

Her hopes were shattered as Pepper Parker strode confidently into her office. Doris’s jaw hit the floor.

The once stereotypically masculine Parker had been replaced by an even more stereotypically feminine counterpart. If Doris didn’t know better, and hadn’t seen the change she’d purposefully enacted right before he’d left for the weekend, she’d have mistaken him for his own sister filling in.

Her hair was pristine. Strawberry blonde locks in a high ponytail waved like river water around her. Her make-up was immaculate. Her face perfectly complemented and framed with foundation, contour, concealer, smokey eyeshadow, mascara, rose pink lipstick, and the most precise cat eye she’d ever seen in her life. Her nails were even painted, not a single smudge to be seen, she begrudged to admit.

And her outfit? Doris had expected Preston to try and weasel his way out of wearing a skirt and heels, or attempt to downplay his new anatomy with a thick sweater and long, flared skirt.. Instead, it seems she had purposefully gone above and well beyond expectations. Her silk white blouse and inky black skirt didn’t just highlight her ample curves, they practically flaunted them, amplified them, demanded that they be seen. She’d expected Preston to try and pass off some pair of cheap 2-inch heels as 3-inch ones, but instead, she carried herself in 6-inch pumps with the same grace a supermodel walking down the runway! As for jewelry, Doris expected a subtle bracelet or an easily tucked-in chain. Wrong again, Parker was rocking a pair of dangly gold earrings, a tight black choker necklace, and a chunky golden bracelet. The dress code only required one piece of jewelry, and Parker was wearing THREE. 

For fuck’s sake, she was even wearing pantyhose! Doris had planned on categorizing pantyhose as “proper feminine undergarments” as an easy extra strike, but Parker had beaten her to the punch! Even more frustratingly, there wasn’t a single tear in the sheer fabric to be seen! Even Doris had a small run in her foot that she hid under her heel.

But the most frustrating thing of all was that Parker still had that stupid, smug, shit-eating grin on her face. Acting as if she was completely unfazed by this sudden and dramatic change. As if she had ALWAYS been a woman. As if it were EASY.

He’s faking. He has to be, I’m sure of it. No man would accept all of this so easily. I’ll show him. I’ll find SOME WAY to make him crack, I swear it.

Doris collected herself, and plastered on her own menacing, upper management approved smile. “Good morning, Ms. Parker. How are you adjusting to your new… position?”

That stupid grin of hers somehow spread even wider. “Good morning, Ms. Middle. Very well, thank you. Your coffee?”

It was then Doris noticed the coffee that Parker had brought in for her, her usual morning duty. Every day she made Parker run halfway across the city to a very specific cafe for her morning cup of joe. This time, Parker had managed to do it in HEELS. Parker gracefully leaned over, flashing Doris an overly generous helping of cleavage, and placed Doris’s order on her desk. Not a drop of coffee, not a bubble of foam was out of place. Perfect… just like her.

“Thank you very much…” Doris grumbled as she snatched the coffee off her desk and took a sip. Parker simply stood there like a porcelain doll, placidly awaiting further orders. Doris hadn’t expected her to get this far. She expected her to walk through the door and promptly be kicked back out of it.

Parker blinked, perfectly curled eyelashes fluttering. Had she even gotten eyelash extensions?

“...Ma’am?”

“Huh?!” Doris almost spilled her own coffee on herself.

“I said, will that be all, ma’am? Or should I return to preparing the documents on the P.I.N.K Drink product launch?”

Doris glowered. Even her CADENCE was perfect. Parker spoke as if she had just graduated from a finishing school, her voice dripping with strawberry syrup with just a hint of smugness and SPITE.

“I know what you’re up to…” Doris growled, casting pleasantries aside.

Parker simply tilted her head like an adorably confused labrador.

“Ma’am?”

Doris slammed her palm on the desk.

“I said I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE UP TO, AND YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH IT!” Doris raged.

Ms. Parker’s smile remained unfazed.

“Ma’am, please don’t slam your desk or shout, it’s damaging to company property, disruptive to office productivity, and frankly, it’s not very ladylike.”

Doris’s mouth flapped open and closed like a fish desperately gasping for air.

“L-Ladylike?! LADYLIKE?! WHAT ON EARTH WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT BEING LADYLIKE?! YOU HAVEN’T BEEN A LADY MORE THAN THREE DAYS, DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT LADYLIKE!!!”

Ms. Parker’s smile grew even wider as she feigned concern and confusion.

“But I thought you wanted me to be more ladylike? For the sake of workplace cohesion? After all, everyone else on this floor is a woman, it makes perfect sense why you decided you had to make me one too. In fact, one could argue not doing so would be gross negligence and detrimental to our productivity. I for one commend you for your initiative, ma’am.”

“Don’t you DARE compliment me when I’m trying to DEMEAN you! How can you stand there looking like THAT and THANK ME!? I practically, no, LITERALLY CUT YOUR BALLS OFF?! HAVE YOU NO SHAME?! NO PRIDE AS A MAN?!”

“Nope.” Ms. Parker smiled.

“NOPE?!”

“Apologies, I mean, ‘No, ma’am', I don’t have any pride as a man. Company records say I am a woman, therefore any pride I do have would be categorized as such.”

Doris was left sputtering once again.

“Now that that’s all settled, will that be all, Ms. Middle?”

“... Yes, MISS Parker. That will be all…”

Ms. Parker nodded demurely, almost CURTSEYED even, and turned to walk out the door.

“WAIT!” Doris called out, one last, desperate plea for some kind of victory, a hail mary pass.

“Yes, ma’am?” Pepper turned over her shoulder, infuriatingly unflappable.

“S-Show me your underwear!” 

Ms. Parker’s smile twitched for just a moment.

Then, she blushed, delicately placing her hands on her warm cheeks in feigned embarrassment.

“Why Doris, I didn’t know you swung that way~!” Pepper swooned.

“N-NO, not like THAT, you PERVERT!” Doris stammered, “...I need to make sure you’re in FULL compliance with the dress code! I’m SURE you HAVE to be wearing boxers, o-or briefs, or BOXER BRIEFS under there! A-And if you refuse, that’s ALSO grounds for dismissal!”

“...I feel like this is a huge HR violation of the sexual harassment variety, but that’s never stopped you before, so sure, I’ll play along…” Pepper said,shrugging.

Without even the barest amount of shame, Pepper bent down and rolled her tight pencil skirt up past her legs and over her well-endowed ass.

 “Boom. Take a look.”

Doris was BLINDED.

A flash of red wedged between a perfectly plump, pale-white ass.

“Oh my GOD, is THAT…?”

“Yup. Genuine MOM Brand Lingerie. Spring Collection. Comfy AND dress code compliant.”

“You’re… even wearing a garter belt…”

“Of course. Can’t have my pantyhose slipping, now can I? That would be unprofessional.”

Without batting an eye, she fixed her skirt and started unbuttoning her blouse.

“I’m wearing the full set if you want to confirm-”

Doris floundered and covered her eyes, unable to contain her embarrassment any further.

“No! No! That won’t be necessary! I believe you!”

Pepper smiled, buttoning her shirt back up.

“If you insist. If that will be all, I’ll be returning to my duties now.”

Humbled and humiliated, Doris growled under her breath as she pretended to take a very important call.

“...I swear, I’ll find some way to make you crack, Parker!”

Parker’s lip curled even further in amusement as she savored every sway of her hips and click of her heels, taking a victory lap out of Doris’s office.

“...already cracked, bitch.”

From the desk of

Mira Alcott

Head-Mistress of Transformations

(Special thanks to Taagraa for the suggestion, to my Test Readers, to VioletVelvet and Zoey for editing and to all of my Patrons for your support!)