Workplace

Cynthia sits at her desk, her mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter in the park. Lost in thought, she fails to notice the time slipping away until her phone buzzes with a notification. She glances at the screen, her heart sinking as she sees the missed emails from the leadership team.

"Shoot, how did I let that slip through the cracks?" she groans, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she scrolls through the messages. Her eyes widen as she reads the subject lines, each one more urgent than the last. The project deadline is looming, and she's fallen behind.

"No, no, no, this can't be happening," Cynthia mutters, panic setting in as she realizes the gravity of the situation. She's always been meticulous about her work, but the unexpected jog and the subsequent distraction have thrown her off balance. Now, it appears that management has summoned her to the office on Monday. She's only ever been in when there was an annual event, party, or to collect things but this? This can't be good.

Monday morning dawns, and Cynthia finds herself in a peculiar frame of mind. She needed to boymode today, donning a sleek, masculine look that's a departure from her usual feminine attire. As she stands in front of the mirror, she slicks her dark hair back, taming the wild waves and fringe that often frame her face. The result is a clean, boyish cut that accentuates her angular features and soft, feminine lips.

She's always hated to do this, using her birth name Cyril has felt like a distant memory safe for email chains at work and group online meetings. Now, *he* needs to act like a man again.

He slips into a pair of dark trousers, a male cut that hugs her curves in all the wrong places. Though the fabric is dense and doesn't allow for much breathability, Cyril relishes the feeling of being enclosed, his ass and thighs pressed against the material. Over the trousers, he layers a loose, powder blue shirt, the billowy fabric contrasting with the sleek lines of her pants. The overall effect is a deceptive masculinity, one that belies the secret lingerie hidden beneath.

As he applies her makeup, his mind wanders to the stockings, black lace panties, and matching bralette he's chosen for today's ensemble. The stockings rode up to some heavy-duty stay-up hose on his thigh, providing a tantalising hint of femininity, their sheer material visible through albeit only to the keen eyed that dare stare too long as his worn black office shoes. The lingerie, meanwhile, serves as a deliciously naughty underpinning, a reminder of the girl he's trying to hide beneath this masculine façade.

Cynthia, or Cyril as he needs to be known by in the meantime, works for NexGenetics, a leading giant in the human enhancement scene. Their breakthrough came when the founding members revolutionized insulin regulation in the pancreas, pretty much curing diabetes. Since that achievement, they've gone on to make headway in the spaces of slowing down cancer, skin rejuvenation, and hormonal manipulation.

As Cyril steps into the grand lobby of NexGenetics, she can't help but always be awestruck by the sheer scale and opulence of the space. The high ceilings soar above, their Art Deco-era design a striking contrast to the sleek, modern lines of the glass and steel architecture that surrounds all. The walls, adorned with intricate mosaics and grand, sweeping archways, transport him to a bygone era of luxury and innovation, while the state-of-the-art technology that hums and pulses throughout the building whispers of the cutting-edge science happening within its walls.

He pauses for a moment, taking in the breathtaking sight before her. The reception desk, a gleaming expanse of black onyx, sits atop a subtle gradient of marble, its surface reflecting the soft, ambient lighting that bathes the room in a warm, ethereal glow. Behind it, a stunning mural wraps around the curved wall, a vibrant tapestry of interconnected genomes and DNA helices that seems to dance and swirl in mesmerizing patterns.

Cyril approaches the desk, his footsteps echoing lightly on the polished floor. The subtle tug of his panties wedged between his cheeks gave him a momentary pause, as he quickly glanced to instinctively to see if his bulge was obvious only to perish the thought. After all, he's a guy now and he's wearing pants. Nothing unusual here now, is there?

One might think wearing such underwear is fetishistic or gross, but to him it was like a sexy and comforting suit of armor. It empowers him, and keeps him confident especially when he needs to boymode.

As he reaches the counter, he's greeted by the receptionist, a poised and professional woman with a warm smile. The attendant's eyes flick down to Cyril's outfit, a brief pause of contemplation plays in her mind.

"Good morning, Cyril. I never thought we'd see you in here till the Christmas Party or your department meeting happens. What's the occasion?," the receptionist says, her voice crisp and efficient, yet her eyes still scanning his body as if mildly curious on his appearance.

Cyril notices her more than suspicious eyes as they catch on his shoulders, and a thought arises. ‘Can she see through my clothes?! No it can't be, this material is thicker,’ he thinks as he readjusts his sling bag.

“Oh, morning Paige,” Cyril says with a carefree wave. “Just an impromptu meeting is all”

Paige scans him again, pursuing her lips as she considers this information. “Ah yes, I remember now! Mrs. Crawford did say she would be seeing Mr. Nolan and they were expecting someone. Guess that's you.”

She taps a few buttons on her screen and gestures to Elevator 5 down the corridor behind her. “You're all set, on you go Cyril.”

Cyril nods, before tensing up a little. Having both his direct manager and the CEO in one room does not sound good, but considering his lapse in judgement last Friday it did cost a 1 hour delay in replying their new ad campaign. It's bad, but not terrible.

He quickly collects himself and walks to the elevator.

“Oh and Cyril!” Paige exclaimed as he was about to walk into the elevator. “Button up all the way!”

As the doors close, Cyril ponders what she said, “Button up?”

It wasn't until he caught his reflection in the side mirror that he can see flashes of his lacy black bralette peak through his shirt. He quickly buttoned up, feeling a bit weird without a tie to complete the ensemble, but Paige had seem to notice it, which is terrible in itself but he can't help the others know.

That was a problem he needs to solve later. Now, the doors open, and he hears his boss, Mrs. Crawford speaking.