Attention

Steve woke up groggy, his head pounding from the late-night gaming session that had stretched past 2 AM. Sunlight filtered through his blinds, and he groaned, rubbing his eyes—thank god for that initial Old Rule scribble about work starting at 10 AM. It had bought him precious extra sleep, turning what could have been a zombie shuffle into something manageable. He dragged himself to the shower, letting the hot water blast away the fog, emerging refreshed in jeans and a casual button-up. Breakfast was quick: coffee and toast. The Rulebook stayed home on the coffee table; no need to tempt fate at the office today. With the shapeshifting power tingling faintly under his skin—untested but potent—and the new attention rule in play, he was eager to see how the world bent around him now. He hopped into the BRZ, revving the engine with a grin, and zipped to TechNova Solutions.

The parking lot was half-full when he arrived at 9:45, Harley's BMW already there, no sign of her pacing this time. Steve locked the car and headed in, the lobby receptionist's eyes lighting up as he passed. Sarah, a perky white woman in her 30s—unchanged by the futanari rule—leaned over her desk with a flirtatious smile that felt dialed up to eleven. "Morning, Steve! You look amazing today—did you do something different with your hair? Or is it just you?" Her voice dripped with unnatural enthusiasm, fingers brushing his arm as she handed him a visitor badge he didn't need. "If you need anything, like, anything at all..." She trailed off, blushing nervously, as if confused by her own boldness. Steve felt that thrill again—the attention rule kicking in, women and futanari compelled to shower him with it, pushing boundaries they might regret. He nodded politely, a smug warmth spreading, and moved on.

The office buzzed with mid-morning energy, but today it revolved around him like a magnet. As he strolled to his cubicle, heads turned—women and the futanari trio (Shana, Janet, Melissa) locking eyes with varying degrees of hunger. Janet, the transformed accountant, caught him first at the coffee machine. Her hourglass futanari body strained her blouse, bulge subtly shifting as she poured a cup, but her focus was all on him. "Steve, oh wow, you're here early! You smell incredible—what cologne is that? Here, let me get your mug." She pressed close, hand lingering on his as she handed it over, her cheeks flushing with excitement laced with awkward fidgeting. "I don't know why, but I just... had to say hi." Steve wasn't particularly aroused by her, but the power rush? Intoxicating. He thanked her and escaped, only to run into Melissa in the hallway.

The young Asian-American futanari marketing assistant was a vision of pear-shaped allure, her exaggerated curves bouncing as she "accidentally" bumped into him. "Oops! Sorry, Steve—gosh, you're so solid. Like, built. Want to grab lunch later? Or... now?" Her eyes sparkled with **** flirtation, thighs pressing together against her hypersensitivity, a nervous giggle escaping as she twirled her hair. "I feel so silly saying this, but you're just... magnetic today." This one stirred him, the youthful energy and that teasing bulge outline making his pulse quicken. He deflected with a vague "maybe," leaving her biting her lip in flustered desire.

But Shana? She was the storm. The office slut-futanari ambushed him at his desk before noon, her insane pear body poured into a too-tight dress, massive breasts heaving, cock bulge throbbing like it had a heartbeat. The relief from yesterday's bathroom session had worn off faster than expected, her horniness amplified by the futanari traits and cum addiction. "Steve... the office whore can't stop thinking about you," she whispered urgently, leaning over his chair, one hand grazing his thigh. "Everyone's staring, but she needs your attention—please, touch her, use her. It's driving her crazy, this pull..." Her voice cracked with shame, eyes wide with that perpetual confusion, but the attention rule supercharged it into obsessive territory. Coworkers whispered nearby—"Look at her on him again"—but Steve felt the hairs on his arms rise in delight, just like yesterday's gossip. He shooed her away playfully, promising "later," watching her retreat with a whimper, ass jiggling.

Lunch was a minefield. In the break room, a cluster of women—two unchanged colleagues and Janet—swarmed him, compliments flying: "Steve, your ideas in the meeting were brilliant!" "Have you been working out?" Touches on his shoulder, lingering stares, nervous laughter as they vied for his eye contact. It was overwhelming, borderline chaotic—he could handle the ego boost, but the intensity tested his limits, leaving him flushed and half-hard from the sheer adoration. Harley even poked her head in, still her voluptuous self, addressing him as "Master Steve" with that anxious undertone. "Everything okay? You seem... popular today." Her obedience rule clashed with the attention one, making her hover awkwardly, offering to fetch his sandwich while muttering about "things feeling off again." Steve played innocent, but inside, he laughed—her confusion eternal.

The afternoon dragged into meetings where the attention manifested subtly: women deferring to his opinions, futanari like Melissa sliding notes with doodled hearts, Shana sending explicit Slack messages begging for "release." One conference call had Janet "accidentally" muting everyone to compliment his voice privately, her excitement palpable. By 3 PM quitting time, Steve was exhilarated but exhausted—the rule delivered more than he could handle at times, a delicious overload of flattery and desire that left him craving solitude. No major incidents like yesterday's moans from Harley's office, but whispers hinted at Shana's "visits" becoming routine.

He drove home in the BRZ, windows down, reflecting on the day's high. The attention was a hit; he'd tweak it if needed. Tomorrow, the mirror arrived—time to test the shapeshifter side. For now, another gamer night beckoned, but lighter this time. The chaos was his, and it felt damn good.