Problems in Production

"Jon, thank God you're here," the tall, skinny man in grey slacks exclaimed as he stepped forward. His eyes darted to Jon's chest, transfixed by the sight of his prosthetically enhanced cleavage. "We need to talk. There's been a problem with the production line."

Jon leaned in, his lips parting slightly as he conveyed his interest in the matter. The man's gaze remained fixated on Jon's chest, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid.

"It's the main machine," the man continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "The foreman says that there was a breakdown this morning. They've got it running again, but only at half-speed. I hate to bother you, but everyone seemed to agree that if you couldn't get it going, nobody could."

Jon's painted lips curved up into a smile as he basked in the man's admiration. He had no idea what machine the man was referring to, but the compliment leveled at Jon did not go unnoticed. It felt great to be taken seriously at work, to be so respected. Without hesitation, he reached for his purse and stood up, his curvaceous figure accentuated by the tight fabric of his outfit.

"Lead the way, my good man," Jon purred, excited to contribute in any way that he could.

And lead he did. Since Jon didn't know his way around the building, the tall, skinny man took it on himself to make sure Jon didn't get lost, which Jon was immensely glad for. As they walked, Jon feeling the reassuring warmth of the man's hand through his skirt and panties, firmly holding his behind in a confident grip, Jon was so happy that he had ended up in a business where people were so trustworthy.

The man was so attentive to Jon's need to feel safe that, during the elevator ride, he thoughtfully stood behind Jon, holding him by his breast-forms, all the while grinding his groin into Jon's ass, helping Jon know that if anything happened that was out of the ordinary, the man would be there to back him up every step of the way. For a moment or two Jon wondered what it was that was so hard in the man's groin that kept poking him, but dismissed it as an insignificant question. Most likely it was something specifically designed by the factory, some personal protective equipment, to make Jon feel safe. In appreciation, Jon pressed his backside into the man's groin in response for the duration of the ride.

From the elevator, the man once again guided Jon through the hallways, but this time they had to walk more slowly since the man had developed some sort of bulge in his pants that was making walking awkward. Jon was just about to ask if he could help the man in any way when they passed through a large door and walked onto the factory floor.

It was a large room with a huge machine on the far side. The rest of the room was taken up with wooden crates, each with a decal on its side declaring its destination. The helpful man in the grey slacks paused to grab a couple hard-hats, a steely grey one for himself, a nice pink one for Jon. Jon was thankful, once again for the man's help, and grabbed the man's face and pulled it into his cleavage for a long, appreciative hug. It was, after all, the least he could do.

As their embrace ended, Jon followed the man to the noisy, sluggish machine. He wasn't sure what the company produced, but he was eager to assist. The foreman complained about the machine's slow performance while Jon gazed at the machine with a thoughtful expression. A group of workers, mostly men in overalls, and a few crossdressers wearing high-heels and mini-skirts, gathered around, watching to see what Jon would do. He avoided eye contact with the crossdressers, not wanting to be associated with them.

When the foreman finished explaining his complaint, Jon sprang into action, pulling the emergency stop lever on the machine. Hiking the hemline of his sundress, he climbed up onto the input conveyor to take a closer look at the machine's inner workings. The workers encouraged him with whistles and cheers as he crawled along the belt. Some even smacked his rear to show their appreciation for his expertise. Jon marveled at how he had landed such a job.

The machine's interior was dark, but Jon pressed on, feeling his way through it. As he climbed, deeper and deeper into the workings, the conveyor rose with him. The passageway narrowed, and he had to move with delicate movements. Soon, he felt something long and rubbery caught in the machinery ahead. It was definitely not supposed to be there. Giving it a tug, it barely budged. Jon persisted, tugging on the slick, oily item, his hand slipping up and down its length. The minutes ticked by as he kept tugging, the item growing hotter, longer, and stiffer under his touch. He felt it pulsing with each pull, fueling his eagerness. Finally, with a massive pulse, the item sprayed hot, sticky liquid all over Jon. It was messy, but he knew he was making progress. He tugged harder, faster, more eagerly until the item finally came loose from its resting place, deflating in his hand.

Holding his trophy, Jon reveled in the sensation of the hot liquid cooling on his face and chest. He was about to climb down when...