First Time?

You pull her up by the hair, not gently, and she rises with a gasp that's half surprise, half arousal. Her lips are swollen and slick, mascara streaked down her cheeks in dark rivulets, and she's looking at you with those glazed blue eyes like you're the only thing in her universe.

"Bend over the table," you command, and she obeys instantly, turning and laying herself across the polished conference table surface. Her hands brace against the wood, ass thrust back toward you, that tight pink skirt riding up to reveal she's not wearing any underwear. She must have lost them at some point during the transformation—or maybe in her manufactured memories, she never wears them to work.

"Do you the first time you sucked me off, Jessie?"

She turns her head to look back at you, her expression shifting through several emotions before settling on something warm and nostalgic.

"God, of course I ," she breathes. "It was like my second week working for you. You called me into your office after everyone else had left." Her voice takes on a dreamy quality, recounting a memory that never existed with perfect clarity. "I was so nervous. I'd never done anything like that before—I mean, I'd given head to my high school boyfriend once, but that was different. This was you."

She bites her lip, pressing her ass back against you.

"You were so patient with me. I was terrible at it at first—I kept gagging, didn't know what to do with my hands. But you talked me through it, told me exactly what felt good." She giggles. "And when I finally made you come, you told me I was a good girl. That was the first time you ever called me that. I went home and touched myself for like an hour just thinking about those words."

Her manufactured past is so complete, so detailed. She's created entire narratives around moments that never happened.

"After that, you taught me everything," she continues, wiggling her hips invitingly. "How to use my tongue, how deep to take you, when to look up at you with those 'innocent' eyes you love so much." She grins back at you. "I went from barely knowing what I was doing to being your perfect little cock-sucker. All because you took the time to train me properly."

She spreads her legs wider, the stilettos making her calves flex.

"Now show me what else you taught me, boss. Remind me why I'm so grateful you hired an eighteen-year-old high school graduate with no experience and turned her into your personal fuck-toy."

You enter her in one smooth thrust and she cries out, her back arching off the conference table surface. Her hands scrabble for purchase on the polished wood, nails scratching against the finish as her entire body trembles.

"Oh fuck, yes," she moans, looking back at you with those glazed blue eyes. "God, you feel so good inside me. You always feel so good."

You start moving, establishing a rhythm, and she pushes back to meet each thrust. The pink skirt is bunched around her waist now, giving you a perfect view of where your bodies connect. Her platinum blonde hair spills across the table, and you can see her reflection in the darkened window—makeup ruined, mouth open, looking exactly like the pornographic fantasy she's become.

"Tell me , Jessie," you say, gripping her hips harder. "Tell me more about our relationship."

"Which part?" she gasps between thrusts. "There's so much. Three years of—oh god—three years of you fucking me whenever you want."

Her voice is getting higher, breathier. The clock reads 9:38am now. Twenty-two minutes until permanent lock.

"The first time," she continues, her words coming in ragged bursts. "Your office. Late Friday night. You bent me over your desk just like this and—fuck—you told me this was part of my job description. That good secretaries take care of all their boss's needs." She laughs, the sound edged with pleasure. "I was so tight back then. You had to go slow. Now I can take you however you want."

Her body is changing even as you move inside her. You can feel it—her proportions shifting subtly, her responses becoming more exaggerated and pornographic. At 9:39am her moans get louder, less inhibited. At 9:40am she starts talking dirty without prompting.

"You fuck me everywhere," she pants. "Your office, the supply closet, your car in the parking garage. Once you bent me over the sink in the executive bathroom during lunch." Each memory is crystal-clear to her, completely real. "And I love it. I love being your personal fucktoy. That's what you call me sometimes—your perfect little fucktoy secretary."

She reaches between her legs, touching herself while you continue. "I my birthday last year. You gave me diamond earrings and fucked me on your desk for two hours. Best birthday ever."

The transformation continues its inexorable progress. 9:41am. Her vocabulary gets simpler, more focused on physical sensation. 9:42am. Her manufactured memories become even more explicit and degrading, and she recounts them with obvious pride.

"You own me," she whimpers, getting close again. "Body and soul. Everything I am, you made me. My tits, my lips, my tight little pussy—all of it designed for your pleasure."