The Futa Pill: You Lead Paris Down to Get the Futa Pill (Patreon)

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You tug up your panties, seeing no choice but to show Paris the futa-pill. It's either that, or lose your job.

You smooth down your skirt and step out of the cubicle. Paris follows after. You can feel her smugness oozing through the air. You hate it. You owe her now, and that's not a comfortable place to be in.

Not when she's such a cunt.

Cassie catches up, scurrying along beside you. She's giving you support. You can feel it from her. If Paris hasn't immediately used what she saw to get you in trouble, that has to be a good sign. You can use that. Keep your job.

Keep enjoying your new futa-dick.

It's already twitching. Your arousal is simmering just beneath your nervousness. You know you'd be up for more fun if it wasn't for that dread inside of you. You get on the elevator and hit the 13th floor. It's a long way down from the 75th floor.

You didn't get far.

On the 73rd floor. The elevator stops and a coworker named Miranda steps onboard. She's a redhead, like Paris, but not a cunt.

“Morning,” she says politely and hits the button for the 31st floor where customer service is.

“Hi,” you say, your words stiff.

Paris gives an impatient sigh and then hits the close door button. They slide shut and the door lurches down. Miranda shakes her head, muttering beneath her breath. It's an awkward ride down. You can feel the uncomfortable pressure squeezing about the four of you in the tight confines of the elevator.

At the 31st floor, Miranda hurries out.

Paris hammers the close door button.

The doors slide shut and the elevator lurches down. You swallow, coming closer and closer to finding out if Paris will get you fired or not. You can feel it. What happens in the lab is the future of your career.

The elevator slows at the 14th floor and comes to a stop at the 13th. The doors whisk open. The three of you step off and march down the hallway. Deandra's lab is number 7 at the far end. You flex and relax your fingers as you near the door to the lab.

You open it. Paris marches in without a word to you.

Deandra is sitting at a metal table in the center of her lab looking about to eat her lunch. She's a petite, Black woman wearing a white lab coat. She has short hair with a fade buzzed into the left side of her head. A silver nose ring glints as she lowers her food and frowns.

“Uh... what's Paris doing here?” she asks as she stands up.

“She's in charge of the project,” you mutter. “She, uh, wants to see the futa-pill.”

“How did it make her grow a cock?” Paris demands, seizing your arm and pulling you forward. She points down to the obvious bulge. Even only half-hard, your massive new clit-dick is too big to be constrained.

“It worked!” gasps Deandra, darting forward. “Oh, my god, it really worked. You became a futa!”

“That's intended?” Paris demands.

“It wasn't in any of your test results,” you say.

“Of course not, it was only supposed to make a human woman grow a cock,” says Deandra like it was so obvious. “What good would it be to give a female mouse one? Oh, this is amazing. I knew it would work, I just had to wait for company permission to do human testing.”

“You think the company would have allowed your perverse, personal project to go forward?” demands Paris.

“Well...” Deandra shrugs. “I'm sure they could see how exciting this will be. Women will be clamoring for it. Oh, I have to take one.”

“No, you're handing over your supply to me,” says Paris, holding out her hand. “Right now. I'm putting a stop to this.”

“But...” Deandra glances at you. You've been leading this project for two years. Deandra's been answering to you, conditioned to turn to you for guidance.

You can feel Paris waiting, the unspoken threat in her eyes like a guillotine about to cut off your career's head. “Do it. Give her the pills.”

“But...” Deandra stares down at your cock. Then she whirls around and heads over to a bank of cabinets over a counter covered in various lab equipment, a rack of test tubes in a plastic holder. She opens one cabinet and pulls out an amber medicine bottle.

She starts to open it.

“What are you doing?” Paris demands.

“Getting you the pill,” Deandra mutters.

“No, you're not!” Paris glances at you. “Stop her! Don't let her take one!”

You can stop Deandra, or you can pretend to try and top her but be tragically too late. It's a risk, but it might mean defying Paris in some small way.

What do you choose?

Do you obey Paris and stop Deandra? 

Do you disobey Paris and allow Deandra to take the Futa Pill?