Ghosting Through Life - Chapter 12 (Patreon)

(A Beacon of Change) (A Berry Good Morning) (Ch 1) (Ch 2) (Ch 3) (Ch 4) (Ch 5) (Ch 6) (Ch 7) (Ch 8) (Ch 9) (Ch 10) (Ch 11) (Ch 12) (Ch 13)

Art (Comic - Fiona's TF into herm hybrid fox)
Art (Fiona fucking and milking Milena)
Art (Clarissa's Female to herm cow TF)

Fiona's first day back at work starts out a boring slice of normal, but her still-somewhat-transformed clit offers a rather potent distraction. A distraction that quickly grows into a rather stiff problem. Luckily, her boss manages to kill her libido by asking her to be less than honest with Mrs. Bellagamba. Fiona goes into her meeting with Mrs. Bellagamba terrified. The question is, will Mrs. Bellagamba be more distracted by Fiona's dishonesty or the tent she's pitched in her leggings?

Ghosting Through Life - Chapter 12
-> Ghosting Clients
by Zmeydros
(Edited by Secretskunk and WolfLeah)

The light green-beige walls of my workplace were kinda pretty, but the industrial barb wire and wood sculptures on them were not inviting at all. Since Hammitt bought them for a quarter of a million last year, he'd taken every opportunity to show them off. He bragged every time these visual caltrops gained in value even though he knew, as the head of the American branch of an international auction house, that fine art was only worth as much as the fabulously rich thought it was.

Why was I back here? Everything felt wrong. The lights in my shared office were too bright, the smell of print toner was making my sensitive nose itch, the pile of stuff on my desk was far too high, clothing touching my skin directly was weird, and there was no weight between my legs. Though I was pretty sure I'd done the right thing by going to work in human form, going fully female again had been a mistake. I'd spent so long as a herm that I'd forgotten how nervous and off I felt before.

"Nice to see you up and about, Fiona." Jinghua's deep, thirty-years-of-smoking-before-quitting voice said from behind me. "Are you feeling mostly better?"

I turned around and caught sight of her silver-sequined black dress and weathered tree trunk-like neck. "I'm feeling okay, not up to a hundred percent yet, though."

"Want me to help you sort through the stack on your desk? Only some of it is urgent." Her kind eyes were twinkling like the onyx in her silver herringbone necklace. Jinghua had a way of keeping others on task without being an asshole about it. Hammitt had a lot to learn from her.

"That'd be a big help." I headed for my desk.

It took about twenty minutes, but we had the file folders separated into three piles and I was far less overwhelmed. It was odd to have a business running on so much paper in this day and age. We did keep a lot of records on computers, especially for the online auctions, but we had an entire line of items that were handled the old fashioned way and I often didn't know what they were or how they were auctioned. Like the one on top of the urgent pile: Item 2819-45921, sold 525K, buyer will arrange transport.

All I had to do was check that the buyer had paid and then smack the page with the "PAID" stamp and put it in the "PAID ORDERS" folder or put it in the "UNPAID ORDERS" folder and check on it next week. If we put orders like this in the computer order system, fifteen or so percent of my job would be automated.

After checking on all the payments for the mysterious orders that were probably arms deals in third world countries or something else I didn't want to know about, I got to my favorite part of the job: being an archivist. I picked up my work laptop, a sheet of pre-printed labels, and the attached inventory sheet. Then I walked out of the open, twenty-by-fifteen foot office area Jinghua and I shared and went down the hall. Opening the fourth door on the right, I entered a huge, fifty-by-eighty foot room with museum-like lighting and a big climate control panel on the wall. The long tables in this room sat above shallow drawers that held different auction collections. Taller drawers and cabinets on the walls held bigger items. The inventory list I'd grabbed sent me to all three possibilities for storage.

My clit rubbed between my labia as I walked around, definitely bigger than it had been before I transformed for the first time. The downside was that I kept thinking about my dick, and as I grabbed the second-to-last item from a cabinet, I remembered the bright, kaleidoscopic light from the beacon. My clit shoved forwards, making my whole body shiver. The instinctual clenching of my legs made things worse and I nearly lost my balance as I felt my clit grow two inches, shoving itself into the space between my legs. Standing up and spreading my legs stopped its advance, but I had to lean on the cabinet while I caught my breath.

The comfortable gray leggings I was wearing looked almost exactly like dress pants, but I would've been better off wearing actual dress pants. My clit was only two inches long, but it was sticking out like a tent pole. Just seeing it stick out like that gave me a wave of horny euphoria and it throbbed visibly. I forced myself to look away from it and keep working.

Out of the cabinet, I grabbed the last and largest item: an Ethiopian tapestry claiming to be from 1737 depicting the Lion of Judah. One side had been facing the sun for a long time, and though it had been taken care of, there were splotches of discoloration from changes in moisture and temperature over the years.

Looking at the tapestry under the stereo microscope in the far corner of the room, I saw that the stitching was way too perfect to be handmade and that's the only type of made there was back then. The splotchiness from aging looked a lot like what would result from a not-quite-talented-enough forger using a spray bottle full of bleach. In old tapestries, the dying process had a lot more variation in color because getting repeatability without synthetic dyes is dastardly hard. The first synthetic dye was accidentally discovered in 1856, so this tapestry was so damn fake.

Out of boredom while I wrote this all up, I pressed my legs together and slowly thrust my clit between them over and over. Since this room was hermetically sealed, I knew no one would hear my groans of delight as my clit throbbed larger and larger. Documentation was my least favorite part of my job. Being able to fuck the space between my thighs with my clit as I did it made it far more bearable.

Ten minutes later, the write up was done and my clit was the size of my ring finger. I walked over to the bracelet with my legs far apart. No work was going to get done if I kept toying with my clit.

Discovering forgeries was rare and fun and I always looked forward to it. The smallest item, a bracelet made of Civil War uniform buttons, was everything it said it was, so my clit's begging was constantly tugging at my attention. I documented everything else in the collection, only touching, rubbing, or grasping my clit a few times, but then I was in a sealed room, wet beyond belief, and throbbing.

Pulling down my leggings and panties, I shoved my fingers into my pussy and got them all slicked up. Then I wrapped my hand around my clit and pumped as hard and as fast as I could. I needed to just get off, to get my body to shut up so I could get more done before Mrs. Bellagamba arrived. My free hand ended up in my cunt while I thrust into my hand, screeching and bellowing.

It felt so good, it felt so right, my clit was now longer than my fist was wide and I was so close, so damn close!

Then it happened, my snatch milking my fingers while my clit throbbed rhythmically, trying to spurt cum that it didn't have yet. My pussy made up for it, though, dripping girl juice into my leggings. I screamed as I came, my whole body shaking as I kept thrusting.

Disposable lens wipes were more expensive than paper towel and less absorbent, but they managed to sop up most of the mess. My clit shrank to a fourth its erect size while I cleaned up. Only someone looking at me directly from the side would see an obvious bump in my leggings. It was good enough for me to go back to work.

As I walked back into my shared office, Jinghua looked up from her computer. "You look different."

I immediately covered my crotch and when Jinghua's eyes followed that movement, I took my hands away from my crotch and tried to lean casually against the side of my desk. "R-really?"

She looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and then shook her head. "It was just an errant comment, you don't have to act like I caught you stealing my lunch."

"Sorry, I think I've just been away too long. Everything feels bizarre." What I didn't say was though there were parts of my job that I liked, only my ability to guilt myself and my need for an income were keeping me there.

"If I took sick days, I might know what that feels like." She chuckled while looking sadly at her desk.

Knowing her this long, I knew she had a work ethic even stronger than mine and wasn't exactly happy about it. She was the type of person who knew who she was and that she wasn't going to change no matter how much she'd like to. Being around her too much had a tendency to depress me.

"Maybe you should take one when you're not sick to make up for all the times you've been sick and come in." I knew she would never do this, but part of me hoped she would.

She laughed. "From an accountant's point of view, that makes perfect sense."

"Then, consider it part of your job to even the score." I beamed a smile at her.

My desk phone rang and I turned around to pick up the receiver. Seeing it was an internal call, I didn't give the normal spiel with my name and other stuff. "Hello?"

"Good mid-morning Fiona. Mrs. Bellagamba will be here in five hours. Refamiliarize yourself with the Albrecht collection and then come up with reasoning for adding an extra thirteen percent to its valuation." Hammitt's crisp nasal voice cut through the air between the receiver and my ear like a knife.

"I've never inflated the valuations before. She trusts me and I don't want to hurt that relationship."

"I'm not asking you to present an inflated assessment every time going forward, only this time. I have some unexpected losses from last month's sales and you're well positioned to help me cover them."

"I'm well positioned because I've never ever lied to her." I gripped the receiver harder.

"Is a relationship truly worth something if you can't capitalize on it from time to time? I trust you'll do the right thing." He hung up before I could reply.

I hung up a bit too hard, sending the receiver clattering across the desk until I scooped it up and put it down again.

Why was it when people told other people to "do the right thing," they always meant "forget your own morals and adopt mine instead"? It's a miracle Hammit kept so many of his clients. No, it wasn't a miracle. It was people like me who softened the blows of his idiocy that--

"Are you okay?" Jinghua was looking at me with her head tilted slightly.

"He wants me to inflate the valuation of the Albrecht collection by thirteen percent. I've never lied to a client before."

"If she catches onto it, just give her the actual assessment. Making a sale is always preferable to not making one."

"So you still think I should lie to her?"

"If you don't give it a good, solid try, he's going to snip at you for months and neither of us wants to listen to that."

I laughed despite how angry I was. "You have a point."

"Make the paperwork very convincing so when he checks it, he'll see that you did your homework. What happens when you're talking to the client, he'll never know for sure."

"I should ask you for advice more often." I winked at her.

"If I give you any more advice than I already do, I'll have to adopt you as my daughter." She winked back.

We both giggled and then went to work. I was pretty chipper as I started redoing my assessments of the items in the Albrecht collection. An hour later, I was ready to snap my laptop in half. Using my skills and knowledge to lie convincingly was making me feel like an astronaut forced to help disprove the moon landing.

When my phone rang with another internal call, I puffed out a sigh of relief. "Mrs. Bellagamba will be walking into your office in about ten minutes. Apparently, she's had a rough day and asked me to convey the message that she'd like you to fix her 'the good stuff' when she arrives."

"We probably still have all the ingredients. I'll get things ready and have Jinghua direct her to the rec room when she arrives. Sound good?" I crossed my fingers, hoping he wouldn't ask me to lie again.

"Be ready to make as many drinks as she'll gulp down. I'm counting on your success." He hung up.

I slammed the phone down, but this time it didn't go careening across my desk. He made what he was asking me to do seem so innocuous, playful even. Which only made me hate it more.

"He's on a roll today, isn't he?" Jinghua made a steeple with her fingers, setting her elbows on her desk. Then she stretched her fingers. It's something she did often when she was typing a lot.

"I'm going to fix Mrs. Bellagamba her favorite drink before he calls back and asks me to spike it with something illegal."

"He'd probably give you a raise for taking initiative." She rolled her eyes.

"Yup! Could you escort her to the rec room when she gets in?"

"Will do."

"Thanks!" I strode down the hallway past the office supply storage closet on the left.

The door just past that one was a walk-in-refrigerator-like door with a keypad and fingerprint reader next to the latch. When I first started working here, I'd been obsessed with that room. Only Hammitt or Dru could access it and Dru only seemed to be around when I got into work early. It was like her day ended around nine in the morning and I had no idea what her goth-looking ass did.

I opened the next door on the left and entered the rec room. Though the green tiles and brass accents made it look like a bar from the 1980s, it was quite classy. On the walls was art Hammitt had gotten that I actually liked: giant copper panels purposefully oxidized to have green-blue waves crashing on them. Opposite the bar, which had a brass railing along the edge of it, was a balcony that overlooked the neon-clad ancient buildings of downtown Philly.

In the center of the room, a sitting area with plush copper-colored couch, lounge chair, and a loveseat, surrounded a six-foot-wide coffee table made out of a single log slice. I'd never counted the number of tree rings skillfully revealed by the reddish-brown stain because it looked like it would take a good while.

One thing I hated about the seating area is that it sat lower than the rest of the room and the two little steps that went all the way around the periphery were just asking to trip someone. Alcohol and uneven floors was a very dangerous combination and I had no plans to encourage Mrs. Bellagamba to drink more than the one cocktail she'd asked for.

After checking to see if I had all the ingredients, I juiced a lemon and poured the juice into a cocktail shaker along with four ounces of top-shelf ginger liqueur. Measuring out four ounces of limoncello, I scooped up ice and filled the cocktail shaker. Then I shook it for ten seconds and poured two thirds of it in a big wine glass for Mrs. Bellagamba and the rest in a smaller wine glass for me. Then I got a bottle of champagne out of the champagne wine cooler (yes, Hammitt had six chilled bottles of champagne ready to go at all times) and started working on getting the cage off of the cork.

The door clicked and then opened before Mrs. Bellagamba's smooth, purring voice greeted me. "Buongiorno, Fiona. Can I pop the cork?"

"Sure!" I tilted my head. "Starved for some champagne cork ballistics?"

I watched her walk over, her deep v in her form-fitting, wine-colored dress clearly showing the bounce of her modest, pert cleavage. She wasn't an especially tall woman, but her legs, even in this dress, were long and luxurious. The perfect roundness of her ass was hinted at, letting one's imagination run wild.

"Yes." She set her huge light-rust-colored purse on a bar stool and made grabby hands at the champagne. As she worked the cork out with her thumbs, she chuckled excitedly.

Then it happened, her aim toward the far end of the room paying dividends as the cork flew over the sitting area and bounced off the glass door that led to the balcony.

"Woohoo!" She thrust the champagne bottle above her head while some foam spilled out of it onto the tiles below.

"Any reason you were dying to do that?"Seeing her this happy only moments after walking in, I felt so evil. Her mood wasn't going to outlast her discovering my deception. And if she didn't discover it, I'd be feeling guilty for weeks afterwards.

Handing me the bottle of champagne and grabbing a paper towel from behind the bar, she carefully crouched down and sopped up the spilt champagne. "I accidentally knocked over a wine glass with the cork eight months go and Angelo has insisted in doing it for me ever since."

"That sounds like something Hammitt would do."

"Hammitt and Angelo's vast array of similarities is probably why they can't stand each other." She patted my forearm. "Thanks, by the way, I was feeling very pent up."

I laughed. "Have to pop a cork every once in a while?"

"Yep! Otherwise, I get grouchy."

"No sugar on the rim, right?"

"Yes, there's very few situations where I want my face to get sticky." She winked at me.

"Hah, true!" My clit twitched as I remembered Maria cumming all over my face while I tried to drink down her massive load.

"Fill it up, barmaiden." She picked up her glass and tilted it toward me.

Smiling wide, I topped off each wine glass with champagne and put a lemon slice on the rims. Then I clinked glasses with her.

She took a sip of her cocktail. "So simple, so delicious, I think of this drink every time I plan a visit."

"When you said 'surprise me,' I was terrified I'd lose us a client." I giggled.

"I didn't realize you were inexperienced entertaining guests back then. It's good you didn't have a heart attack."

"Heh, it honestly didn't even feel like work by the time you left." I took a slow sip of the cocktail, closing my eyes afterwards to enjoy the fizz, ginger, and deep fruity lemon flavors mixing with the fine champagne.

"That's because I'm so good at entertaining myself." She spun on the toe of her right high-heel, effortlessly. The elegant long wrinkles in her dress and her flowing, wavy black hair added a striking beauty to her playful motion. When she came full circle, she put her left foot down and stopped.

Just as I thought about how wonderful it was to see her again, my chest tightened. She wasn't going to be this happy with me for long. The moment she read my report on the items in the collection, her trust would evaporate.

"Shall we head over to the sitting area and get comfortable?" Putting it off was only going to make me more nervous.

"Sure." She walked over to the sitting area and stood next to the giant slice-of-log coffee table. "Let's see what you've got for me this time." She pulled a large iPad out of her purse and then stared at it as it scanned her face.

"Do you want to have a seat?" I asked.

"I've been sitting all day." Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen while she read my report.

I fidgeted and shifted my weight while standing next to her, I even pulled at my hair a bit, getting out dead strands. Waiting for her response was agonizing.

"I don't like your assessment." She looked up at me and pointed at a carved idol, one of the last things I'd inflated the price on before she arrived. "This would be the correct price if it was a couple decades older." Then she pointed at a gold coin. "Did you confuse the Carson City and New Orleans mints? Is that why this is overpriced?"

"I-umm-I. No, I didn't confuse them. The coin's in near-mint condition and--"

"Even if the condition warrants that price on that one coin, all the coins here are inflated by tenish percent." She squinted at the screen and then looked at me. "Did you...inflate all the assessments by ten to fifteen percent across the board?"

I took a step back, looking at the floor, my whole body tensing as my neck and chest ached. Mrs. Bellagamba had caught on even faster than I expected. The woman was razor sharp.

"You've never done this before." She made a tsk tsk tsk sound with her tongue.

My eyes got wet. This was it, our friendship was over.

"To do this effectively, you have to inflate the prices of individual items that you can make a strong argument for and then slightly undervalue others so that the buyer feels like they're getting a deal, but when every item is accounted for, you make a bit extra."

"You're right, I had no idea what I was doing. I shouldn't have listened to him, I shouldn't have--"

Her hand found my chin and tilted my head so she could look me in the eye. She was smiling? "Hammitt put you up to this, yes?"

I nodded meekly, a tiny seed of hope stopping me from crying in front of her.

"I'll pay you seven percent above what I would've haggled for, but we have to fix your assessment so that Angelo won't spot the ten percent hike across everything."

"What? Why would you do that?" My eyebrows shot up.

"This whole trip, I've done everything Angelo asked, and he wants me to fly back to Italy in economy class just so I can be there for a stupid dinner I don't want to go to. He doesn't deserve my best."

"You're being totally serious right now?"

She set down her iPad and hooked an arm around my waist. Then she tapped her foot to set a tempo and started dancing, dragging me toward our right. She sang, "There's nothing quite as satisfying as screwing over one's boss. Especially when they'll never find out you did it!"

"AHH!" I squealed as I suddenly had to follow her footsteps, side-by-side.

She laughed and kept going, her movements full of life and sensuality. Like, her hand made its way down my hip to my ass. It only took about ten seconds for my cheeks to flush while my skin tingled. So few people were willing to play like her, to take risks and show affection for someone so clearly. I felt like her best friend every time she visited.

Then her left high heel got caught on something and she started falling. I caught her arm and slowed her descent, but she got her drink all over the front of her dress.

She was on the floor laughing so hysterically that I grabbed her wine glass to make sure she wouldn't spill even more of her drink. I giggled with her, unable to weather her bubbly force of personality.

When she stopped laughing, she got up, walked over to the door to the rec room, and locked it. "You're the only one that gets to see me make a fool of myself."

"It's an honor, Mrs. Bellagamba." I bowed theatrically, blushing halfway through because I suddenly felt like I was flirting with her.

"You sound like Angelo's butler."

"Wait, his butler sounds like Alfred?"

"Who's Alfred?"

"Bruce Wayne's butler."

"Who's Bruce Wayne?" Mrs. Bellagamba tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, looking very confused.

"What!? You've never seen Batman...anything?" My eyes were wide.

Her straight face broke as she laughed. "Sorry, I just couldn't help myself. Yes, he does sound a bit like Alfred, but with a slight French accent."

"You're not in the mood for work today, are you?" I didn't want to be a killjoy, but I was starting to get anxious that neither of us had talked numbers yet. I took a sip of my drink and then realized she'd lost a lot of hers, so I set down my glass and started making more.

"No, I spent far too much time around old money this trip. It's unbearably stifling." She sopped up the spill on her dress with a fresh bar towel. "Mind if I set my dress aside to dry?"

"Set your dress aside?" My left ear tried to flop down in confusion, but it wasn't currently canine and I felt my muscles on the side of my head strain instead.

"It's going to be hard for me to concentrate while sweetened champagne is seeping through it." She looked around. "Do you have bathrobes or anything?"

I thought for a moment and then went to a closet next to the bar and opened it. I pulled out one of the black and green smoking jackets that Hammitt kept in here for when he shared expensive cigars with clients. The slight musty tobacco smell in this room was not all that bad, but the jackets, they were a different story.

Walking over to her, I handed her the smoking jacket. "We have these?"

She wrinkled her nose. "It smells like questionable health decisions."

"It's all we got on hand. If I get one from the back, it might smell a bit less."

She took it from me reluctantly and laid it over the back of a bar stool before she just grabbed her dress and started pulling it up.

I nearly spilled limoncello all over the counter. She couldn't see my gaping expression as her olive skin was bared to the room. Any better judgment I had was swiftly evaporating: her undergarments were essentially just risque, rose-patterned lingerie that accentuated her sleek-but-perfectly-toned physique. Seeing the curve of her ass in the thong she was wearing made my clit shove its way forward while I clenched my legs together. Her legs were works of art, long, strong, and perfectly smooth.

"Judging by your stare, I should've changed in the restroom." She looked hilarious in the smoking jacket, but the humor was lost on me at this moment. "In Italy, there are places where we have showers on our balconies and neighbors often see each other nude. In my home town of Merano, there's spas where they don't allow clothes in the saunas and steam rooms."

"I-it's fine." I blinked and realized I was still holding the bottle of limoncello. "You're gorgeous." I put my free hand over my mouth. It had just slipped out naturally and now I felt like I wanted to hide behind the counter.

"That's especially believable coming from someone as gorgeous as you."

I dropped the bottle of limoncello and she grabbed it before it could fall over, setting it on the counter. Then she took my hand in hers. My mouth moved, but language was beyond me. "I-uh, you, sorry, I mean, you're--"

"Shh, shh, it's okay. I see I've gotten a rise out of you and I think it's hot that some women have penises."

I looked down to see a three inch tent in my leggings. If she hadn't been holding my hand and grinning softly while staring at it, I probably would've died in that moment. But as it was, I was both delighted and scared out of my mind. I'd gotten hard in front of a client! What the hell was I doing?!

"You're driving such a hard bargain, I'm going to have to employ alternative negotiation measures. How much of a discount can I get while on my knees?" There was a twinkle in her eyes along with her amused expression.

I chuckled as even more blood rushed south. "I should finish making your drink." My hands fumbled with the limoncello bottle like I'd never held anything in my life.

"Oh, I think you've got a far tastier drink brewing." She caressed my hand in a way that sent shivers up my arm and down my front.

"I am so weak to being teased." I moaned, my clit gaining another inch of length.

"Who says I'm teasing?" She looked into my eyes as she took off the smoking jacket, leaving her in only her rose-patterned lingerie. "Five percent discount for each orgasm?"

"Are you sure about this? You're my client and we're at work." I bit my lip. I was more saying what I should say than what I wanted to. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined it going this well.

"We're about to be partners in a harmless crime and I've wanted to do this since the first day I met you." She hooked her fingers over the waist of my panties and leggings and then started pulling them down.

END OF CHAPTER 12

I’d like to acknowledge my $20+ patrons: AJ, Arkona Kothe, Navajo Demar, Tiliquain, Warialinth, and Xaziana Tenebris for helping make all this possible. Thank you! Thanks to all my other patrons as well. Every one of you rocks!

(A Beacon of Change) (A Berry Good Morning) (Ch 1) (Ch 2) (Ch 3) (Ch 4) (Ch 5) (Ch 6) (Ch 7) (Ch 8) (Ch 9) (Ch 10) (Ch 11) (Ch 12) (Ch 13)

Art (Comic - Fiona's TF into herm hybrid fox)  
Art (Fiona fucking and milking Milena)  
Art (Clarissa's Female to herm cow TF)