I Should've Worn Pants (Patreon)

'I really should have listened to Jenny and worn pants to work,' Roger thought, still Roger on paper, as she kept walking through the office, feeling every one of her coworkers' eyes on her back. Though, to be completely honest, it wasn't just the skirt anymore: even in pants, that new ass wasn't going anywhere, and neither were her tits, which tugged the tight sweater down with every step and reminded her of their weight, something she still hadn't gotten used to in three months.

"Morning, Roger," came from beside her, far too cheerfully.

She turned her head and saw Michael from Sales, wearing a strange, mocking grin and looking her over so openly that Roger could almost physically feel his gaze travel over her face, pause at her breasts, then lazily drop to her waist and hips cinched by the skirt. Michael used to look at her completely differently, like a guy from the next department whom he could nod at by the coffee machine, then immediately forget existed. Now the bastard was clearly looking at her as a woman, and not even trying very hard to hide what he liked about her.

"Wh-what's your problem?" Roger muttered, trying to cover her breasts, but halfway through she realized how stupid the gesture looked and irritably dropped her hand.

"Nothing," Michael said, lifting his eyes back to her face, but he did it so late there was no point pretending otherwise. "Just... it suits you."

Roger felt a bead of sweat, forming far too quickly on her skin, slowly start to trickle into the valley between her breasts, tickling its way lower beneath her pale top, and that utterly stupid sensation suddenly made her feel even hotter. She instinctively drew her shoulders together, as if she could make her tits even a little smaller that way, but only made them press more tightly together beneath the sweater, stretching the fabric even more noticeably. Michael, of course, saw all of it. His gaze flicked down again for a moment, and Roger nearly groaned in irritation.

"Michael, please don't look at me like that," she hissed, then immediately turned to head for her desk.

Bad idea.

At that moment, her tits swung heavily with the sharp turn of her torso, and the tight pink sweater stretched for a fraction of a second, so that Roger physically felt the momentum of the motion, first one way, then back again, as the soft weight settled into place. But that was still bearable. The main thing was that, because of that sharp movement, she now saw the whole office at once, and it turned out nobody was nearly as absorbed in their work as she'd wanted to believe: Tom from Accounting was shamelessly staring over his monitor straight at her tits, not even trying to look away; two guys by the printer said something to each other, burst out laughing, and one pointed at her in the most idiotic way; someone else was sitting half-turned with an utterly innocent expression, checking out her thighs, as if Roger wasn't their former colleague Roger, but some new girl they'd brought into the department that day.

Roger froze for a literal second, feeling her face immediately flush with heat.

It suddenly became painfully clear that they weren't just looking at her clothes, they were looking at the body that hadn't even existed three months ago: these tits, which she still sometimes tried to avoid bumping with her elbow first thing in the morning, this ass, making her skirt pull tight across the back with every step, these wide hips that now made her walk differently between desks. And the worst part was that her body seemed to keep reminding her of itself on purpose: as soon as Roger started moving again with her usual wide stride, her tits bounced heavily beneath her top, and her hips swayed with her legs, entirely regardless of how stiffly and masculinely she tried to hold her torso.

"Have you all completely lost your fucking minds...?" she breathed, quietly, not addressing anyone in particular, and quickened her pace. That was a mistake: the skirt immediately started pulling tight across her hips with each movement of her legs, her earrings swayed beside her cheeks, and her own breasts began moving even more noticeably, forcing Roger to instinctively hold down her sweater with one hand just below her throat. Someone laughed behind her again, and without turning, she heard Tom's voice:

"Come on, Roger. We're just getting used to it."

'Yeah, fucking right, you're getting used to it,' she thought grimly as she finally reached her desk. 'I should've worn pants.'