Asian secretary (rewrite) (Patreon)

Greg stared at his own reflection in the mirror. The weight of the boobs on his chest hung there like a pair of overripe fruit, swaying under the relentless pull of gravity. It was definitely his reflection, but this was some kind of bizarre, twisted reality that had him speaking Chinese and feeling like a stranger in his own skin. The boobs, heavy and cumbersome, defied the logic of reality.

He tried to piece together the fragments of the night before, the haze of a corporate event where he, in his directorial glory, had taken the stage. Gifts were exchanged, and the inevitable descent into alcohol-soaked oblivion followed. And then, there was the Chinese woman, a fleeting memory in the fog of his intoxicated mind. She had something to do with a daughter, a new intern secretary, he vaguely recalled.

In a futile attempt to unravel the mystery, he struggled to understand the logic of the events that had led him to this surreal morning. Tits jiggled with every thought, and his hair, a tangled mess, obstructed his vision as he leaned on the table. A soft nightdress clung to his altered form, a constant reminder of the absurdity that now enveloped him.

A note lay before him, its message a sharp pang of reality. "Dear Mei Li, don't think that this is all accidental. It's a punishment for you to treat women and other cultures badly. We'll see how you can manage your Chinese education here in America. Be careful - your work visa is only for a year. Good luck searching for a job."

The room echoed with the weight of consequences, a hangover from a night of excess and a morning of reckoning. Greg, or rather Mei Li, faced a transformation that mocked his arrogance and cruelty. The American dream now held a bitter twist, a lesson served in the form of a changed identity and a limited visa, a year to atone for his transgressions. The tits on his chest, a burden he couldn't escape, swung like pendulums marking the passage of time in a strange journey of redemption.

...

The note clutched in Mei Li's hand was a harsh slap of reality, but Greg, still clinging to the remnants of disbelief, murmured, "It's just a dream, a very real dream!" Yet, as he ran his hands over his new body, feeling the weight on his chest, the dream refused to dissipate.

Retreating to the solitude of his bed, Greg resolved to shed the nightdress that clung to his altered form. His tangled hair was an unwelcome reminder of the transformation, but it was the heavy breasts that seemed to mock him the most. Large and unyielding, they bounced with every move, a constant, disconcerting presence. It was strange and difficult for him to handle these big tits and feel them constantly straightening his new long hair only reminding him of his new femininity.

"Damn boobs! I need to find this old bitch somehow!" Greg muttered in frustration, fueled by a mix of confusion and anger. It was still strange for him to hear his new feminine voice, which also uttered words previously unknown to him in Chinese. 

He scoured the unfamiliar reality, desperately seeking the Chinese woman who had wrought this peculiar curse upon him. Yet, his search yielded nothing. She simply did not exist in this alternate reality, leaving Greg adrift in a sea of disorientation.

As days passed, Greg, now Mei Li, began to grasp the harsh reality of life as an immigrant in this new world. The struggles went beyond the physical transformation. Job opportunities eluded him; even securing a position as a secretary seemed an insurmountable challenge. The weight on his chest became a metaphor for the burdens carried by those navigating the treacherous path of a foreign land.

...

Half a year had slipped away like sand through Greg's fingers, and the search for a semblance of normalcy had proven futile. He was never able to find a normal job. Standing on the bed in a posture that mirrored his desperation, he felt the weight of his transformed body. The once alien boobs now seemed like a permanent fixture, a constant reminder of his altered reality.

In this new life, Greg found himself assuming positions he never thought possible. He stood on the bed, contorted in a doggy style, a posture that starkly contrasted the confident demeanor of the big boss he used to be. The absurdity of it all left a bitter taste in his mouth, a cruel irony that seemed to mock the arrogant man he once was.

A smile played on Mei Li's lips as she greeted her latest client, who was undressing in another room. The once powerful director was now relegated to a different role, a performer in a surreal stage where he danced to the tunes dictated by the whims of others.

At that moment, he, or rather she, for some reason remembered the moment when she was the boss and thought about how great everything was before. Half a year ago, he was at a corporate party, a big boss reveling in the trappings of success. His head was again filled with thoughts about her past life, but in this moment, a sharp, unexpected sensation jolted him from his reverie—a sudden blow to his ass.

"Hey baby, what are you thinking about?!" the client's voice cut through the room, shattering the fragile illusion of control Greg tried to maintain. The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the transformation that had stripped him of power, leaving him vulnerable and exposed in a world that no longer recognized the man he used to be.