Office Party?

Steve's torment of Harley had been a delicious appetizer, but now his appetite turned to the main course: Shana Reeves, the office's notorious flirt. At 29, she was a walking cautionary tale—gaunt from what everyone whispered was a meth habit, her once-pretty face marred by sallow skin, acne scars, and crooked, yellowed teeth that she tried to hide behind tight-lipped smiles. Yet, despite her deteriorating looks, Shana couldn't resist throwing herself at anyone with a pulse: lingering touches on arms during conversations, "accidental" brushes in the break room, even rumored hookups in the parking garage. She craved attention like a ****, and the office gossiped endlessly about her conquests, male and female alike. Steve had always found her repulsive, dodging her advances with polite excuses. But with the Rulebook, he could reshape her into something desirable—tailored perfectly for his pleasure—while layering in cruelties that would make her suffer in ways only he could appreciate.

Back at his desk, Steve opened the notebook to the TechNova Solutions section, his pencil hovering as he plotted. First, the fixes: he'd make her a vision of health and allure, retroactively, so the world accepted it without question. But he'd ensure she noticed the shift, just like Harley, trapping her in bewildered torment.

"Old Rule: Shana Reeves is a stunningly beautiful 25-year-old woman with flawless porcelain skin, straight white teeth, a toned and curvaceous body maintained through healthy habits, and no history of **** **** or related health issues."

The change was subtle in the office's hum—Shana was across the room, laughing too loudly at a coworker's joke—but Steve saw it ripple. Her frame filled out instantly, hips widening into an enticing sway, her skin clearing to a smooth glow under the fluorescent lights. Her smile flashed wide now, revealing perfect pearls where rot had been. Memories adjusted in his mind: she'd always been the office bombshell, turning heads, though her promiscuity remained a constant thread.

But that was too kind. Time for the sadistic twists. Steve wanted her fixated on him, her urges amplified to **** levels, yet laced with humiliation. And like Harley, she'd be aware of the unnaturalness, forever questioning her sanity.

"Old Rule: Shana Reeves is fully aware that recent changes to her body, desires, and behaviors are unnatural and imposed externally, but she can never understand or discover the source, filling her with constant confusion and dread that she must conceal from others."

"New Rule: Shana Reeves experiences an overwhelming, insatiable sexual attraction exclusively to Steve Thompson, compelling her to proposition him multiple times a day in increasingly explicit and public ways, but she must always do so while referring to herself in the third person as 'the office whore' and begging for punishment if rejected."

"New Rule: Shana Reeves is unable to achieve orgasm without Steve Thompson's explicit verbal permission, no matter the circumstances, leading to building frustration that she can only relieve by humiliating herself further in front of him."

Steve closed the book, pulse quickening as he watched Shana freeze mid-conversation, her hand flying to her mouth as if checking her teeth. Her eyes widened in the mirror of her compact, touching her renewed skin with trembling fingers. "What the... this isn't me. I was... sick. Broken. How...?" she whispered to herself, glancing around wildly before forcing composure. Then her gaze locked on Steve, and a flush crept up her neck—desire hitting like a freight train, visible in the way she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

By mid-afternoon, it unfolded gloriously. Shana sauntered to his cubicle, her new curves accentuated by a fitted dress that hugged her like a second skin, but her eyes darted nervously, sweat beading on her forehead. "Um, Steve... the office whore needs you. Please, take her right here on the desk, or... or punish her for being such a **** slut." Her voice cracked with embarrassment, coworkers nearby chuckling as if it were just Shana being Shana, but she looked mortified, confused tears welling as she added, "I don't know why I'm saying this... it wasn't always like this."

Steve played coy, rejecting her with a casual wave. "Not now, Shana." She whimpered, retreating to the bathroom, but returned twice more before closing time, each proposition more graphic, her frustration mounting as the no-orgasm rule gnawed at her. Whispers spread—Shana was "extra thirsty today"—but only Steve knew the depth of her inner chaos, her muttered pleas to herself about "waking up from this nightmare." As the office emptied, Steve pondered his next victim, the Rulebook burning a hole in his bag.