Jugs

Charles Edward Fitzgerald, CEO of Jugs (America’s #4 casual dining restaurant) slammed his fist down on his desk. “What do you mean, you told them I would do their moronic show? I gave you very explicit instructions.”

His secretary Francesca shuddered. “I’m so sorry—sir,” she hastily added.

“Don’t apologize, just fix this!”

The “moronic show” Charles referred to was some reality show he had never heard of called Incognito Boss that kept pestering him with mail. Apparently the central premise of each episode was that an executive of a large company would try to blend in with the masses for a brief period, to “see how they think” or some nonsense. As if cream like him wouldn’t naturally rise to the top.

“Of course, sir. I’ll do my best. However…”

“Out with it, woman!”

“I… I believe you already signed the contract for your appearance, sir. I put it in front of you on Tuesday. I believe it has already been faxed. But I’m sure you read it over, sir? It’s in the first chapter of your book. ‘Always read the fine print.’” She was referring, of course, to his self-help book From Hags to Bitches: How I Rose From Obscurity to Become the CEO of the #5 Casual Dining Restaurant in America, and You Can Too.

“GODDAMNIT!” He hadn’t read the fine print. That was what lawyers were for! It’s not like he wrote any of that book anyway.

Well, even then, it shouldn’t be too big a problem. He could just slap on a fake mustache and wash dishes for a week. It’d be over with in no time.

Always read the fine print.

***

“Well, Mister Fitzgerald,” Ben, the probably gay producer, said to Charles, “It’s great to have you on the problem. Just to verify, you read the contract we sent you and have no problem with it, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charles said, waving the guy off. He was sure it was just boilerplate stuff.

“Great! Okay, so as I’m sure you know—you’ve watched the show, right?—” Charles mumbled in response—“we, of course, have to change your appearance to make sure employees don’t recognize you!” Jesus, this guy thought he was an idiot.

“Now, this process can take a while, and it might involve work on your part—for example, we might want you to lose or gain weight.” Shit, they weren’t going to put him on some kind of rabbit food diet, were they? Well, honestly he could probably use it, or so his doctor kept telling him. But what was the point of money if you couldn’t splurge?

“Okay! So next I’m just going to introduce you to our team that you’ll be working with!” The producer clapped. A group of sketchy-looking younger people stepped forward. Charles frowned. He wouldn’t hire any of these people in his restaurant, let alone let them decide what happened to his body.

“I’m Stacey!” said a peppy-looking, athletic blonde, whose appearance was marred only by an unsightly nose ring. “I’ll be your physical trainer!”

“I’m Rod,” said a slouching young man, who looked sullen and was, inappropriately, wearing heavy eyeliner. He had several more piercings than Stacy. “I’ll be doing your makeup.”

“And I’m Bex!” said a third young person with a shaved head, whose gender Charles couldn’t quite discern. “I’ll be working on any prosthetics we might need for you.” Charles wrinkled his brow. Why would they need prosthetics? Maybe to disguise his distinctive, aquiline features, he realized. It would certainly be difficult to make him look like one of the lower class.

“Okay, team,” Ben said. “Let’s get to work!”

***

They put Charles up in a rented apartment (much smaller than he was used to) for the duration of his stay in the city. Right away, as he had expected, Stacey started him on a lighter diet and a regular exercise routine. Charles grumbled some about it, but it was what the contract required, and he was nothing if not a man of his word. Besides, after a few days he was feeling healthier than he had in years!

After a few weeks he almost didn’t recognize himself in the mirror. He looked like he was some kind of skinny pretty boy in his thirties (to be generous).

On several occasions Rod came and creepily stared at Charles, slightly stroking his arm with different makeup, for some reason. He bet the pervert was just getting off on it.

Bex came and took incredibly detailed measurements of his bare body. He felt vaguely uncomfortable the whole time. This was far more in-depth than anything his tailor did. What did they need all of this for anyway?

After several weeks, everything came together. Charles had to go into the studio at an ungodly hour, strip, and allow the weirdos to slap strange pastes and oddly shaped plasticine lumps onto his body. He realized they were attaching prosthetics around his sternum and lower waist. Why the hell had they made him lose all that weight if they were just going to add it back on?

And they wouldn’t even let him see a mirror! Him, the CEO of Jugs, America’s sixth largest casual dining chain.

Rod placed a wig on his head, carefully arranging it. Finally, it was time for the big reveal.

Ben pulled back the curtain before a full-length with a flourish.

Charles couldn’t believe what he saw.

***

Charles stared at the mirror.

A beautiful, naked young woman stared back at him.

Was this their idea of a joke?

“Tadahh!” Ben announced. “Great job, team.”

He turned to Charles. “Okay, so the idea is, you’re undercover… with a twist! From exploiting women, to working as a waitress at your own restaurant.” He briefly applauded himself. “The viewers are gonna love it!”

Charles suddenly unfroze. “What the hell have you done to me! I knew you Hollywood f*ggots were freaks, but I didn’t think your perversion ran this deep! Take this shit off me this instant!”

“Oh, almost forgot,” Bex said. They leaned over and pressed a spot of Charles’ neck.

Ben smirked. “That’s not in our contract, Mr. Fitzgerald. And if you damage these prosthetics in any way you’re going to owe us quite a bit of money.”

Sputtering, Charles turned to walk out.

“You might want to put some clothes on, miss,” Ben said. “You’re liable to get yourself arrested walking around like that. But I’m sure they’d love you in prison.”

“Is that a threat?” Charles barked. Or tried to. A sweet, smooth soprano that he had never heard before emerged from his mouth.

“Well, I’d just like to wish you luck convincing the police of who you really are.” Ben dangled Charles’ wallet between his fingers. The bastards must’ve stolen it from his pants.

Charles grabbed for his wallet, but the prosthetics threw him off and he ended up sprawled across the floor. “Fuck!” he yelped, sitting up and rubbing where his round breasts had impacted against his chest.

“Here, I’m feeling generous.” Ben tossed Charles the wallet. “After all, a poor girl like you needs all the help she can get.”

Charles quickly rifled through the wallet, only to find that that all his money and credit cards were gone, and his driver’s license had been replaced. “Charli Edwards,” the new ID read. “Blonde 5’5” 24 F.” The photo was a fair likeness of his current appearance, complete with a shy smile.

“Get some sleep, Mr. Fitzgerald. Or should I say, Ms. Edwards? After all, your first day is tomorrow.”

***

Trudging from the studio back to his apartment, Charles realized from the light that it was already late afternoon. The prosthetic hips and chest were still throwing off his balance, causing him to sway strangely as he walked, and the long blonde wig fell in his face. But it was amazing how you could get used to anything.

“Hey, baby!” the driver of a passing car shouted. Charles flipped them off without looking.

He finally arrived back at the apartment, to find that it had been completely redecorated! Instead of the former professional, if spartan, surroundings, it now looked exactly like a young woman had lived there for several months. From the razors in the bathroom, to the bra hanging over a chair, to the smartphone charging by the wall, they must have thought of everything.

Charles picked up the phone and started prodding at it. He had never understood how these things worked, or why young people were so obsessed with them. After some trial and error, he finally managed to call his secretary Francesca.

“Hello? Who may I ask is speaking?”

“It’s me, you blithering idiot!” Charles suddenly remembered what Bex had somehow done to his voice.

“I’m sorry, who is this? Young lady, I don’t think that’s an appropriate way to speak to your elders.”

“It’s. Me. Your. Boss. Charles. Fitzgerald,” Charles spat, one word at a time.

“Oh, of course, Mr. Fitzgerald!” Charles sighed in relief.

“Do you think I’m a fool?! Young lady, I’m going to have this call traced, and you’re going to regret—”

Charles hung up.

***

Charles tried prodding at his neck for almost an hour, but he couldn’t seem to quite find the spot that Bex had pushed. He tugged at the prosthetics and the wig, but they all seem firmly attached.

He stripped off the overly tight jeans and t-shirt the studio had given him and soaked in a hot bath for as long as he could stand. The only thing this accomplished was making him uncomfortably aroused at the sight of his own body. As he stared downward, he was briefly tempted to caress the perfect round breasts, to run his hand over the beautiful shaven cunt, the way he would if a beautiful young woman had been lying in the bathtub with him

But he stopped himself, with his trademark willpower. He wasn’t some kind of f*ggot, getting off on his own body.

No matter how beautiful it looked.

***

“Mhmm,” the middle-aged manager drawled, leering at Charli. Charles crossed his arms over his breasts protectively. “So no prior experience?”

Charles couldn’t believe he was in this position. How dare this low-level piece of shit question Charles Edward Fitzgerald’s competence? He was fired, first thing, as soon as this ridiculous freak show was over.

“Welll. Hmh. I suppose we miight have a spot open as a server. I’m feeling generous today,” he said, licking his lips while staring at Charli’s exposed cleavage.

Charles may have resented this situation, but he knew his business know-how would shine through. “You won’t regret this.” He leaned forward over the table and firmly shook the manager’s hand, maintaining eye contact the whole time. This was presumably why he didn’t notice how the gesture caused his breasts to thrust forward and jiggle up and down. The manager grinned lasciviously. “We’re glad to have you on board.”

Charles filled out several forms, referencing his new fake ID several times, and then signed an employment contract. He meant to read the whole thing, but it was just so long and he was used to having a secretary to this kind of busywork for him. Finally, the manager led him to the back.

“Okay, here’s your uniform,” he said, pointing to a table with a pile of folded clothes on it. “You’re responsible for keeping it clean. If you need anything, ask one of the other girls. Only bother me with the big stuff, okay sweetheart? I mean like the world is ending, we’re being bombed by North Korea, etc. Not that you have your period or your boyfriend broke up with you.”

Charles was incensed. How dare this moron talk to him, a distinguished businessman and pillar of the community, so disrespectfully? He opened his mouth to say something but the manager was already gone.

“Oh, hey, are you the new girl?” asked an attractive young woman wearing the Jugs uniform who had just entered the room. Her nametag read “Kartina.” Lowering her voice, she whispered, “Sorry about Ted. He’s kind of an ass. Everyone else around here is pretty nice, though!”

“Uh, where do I change?” Charles asked. He winced at how brainless he sounded.

“Oh, we usually just do it in here or the employee bathroom.” Realizing Delilah wasn’t going to leave, he excused himself to the bathroom, carrying the folded clothes.

The pile included a shirt meant for a ten year-old, an pair of shorts that really earned the name, and a baseball cap with the Jugs logo on the front. All in all, the standard Jugs uniform.

For the first time, Charles regretted his company’s policy. “I can’t believe I have to wear this… this candyass getup.”

He emerged wearing less clothes than he every had in public, his anger steadily building.

His temper quickly cooled when he saw the three beautiful young women waiting to greet him. “Hi, I’m Holly.”

“I’m Jenna!”

“And I’m Katrina.”

Charles paused for a moment, before answering the only way he really could.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Charli.”

***

Even on the first day, it was clear that Charli was terrible at her new job. She constantly mixed up orders, dropped plates, and scowled at customers.

She couldn’t understand how this job could be so difficult. He was used to running a multimillion dollar corporation! She rationalized that the prosthetics must be throwing off her balance. And she was constantly distracted just by seeing her own body. And of course she wasn’t going to smile at these goddamn perverts!

During that first bath, Charli had learned that, even though the prosthetics kept her from getting herself off the usual way, sticking a finger in the prosthetic pussy allowed her to just barely reach the tip. Since then, taking a bath had become a nightly ritual. He had made his peace with it. Isn’t this what any man living with a beautiful girl would do?

At first, she wondered why no camera crew was following her around. One day, she asked Stacey (who was still keeping track of her regular workouts). She told her that the studio had figured out a way to include hidden cameras in the prosthetic breasts. But she assured her they were only recording during working hours. Still, she became more careful taking her nightly baths.

After about a week on the job, Charli hadn’t improved. That Friday, Ted, the manager, called her into his office.

“I’m sorry, Charli,” he said. “I really wanted this to work out. When I first saw you, I thought you would make a great Jugs girl. I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

“What do you mean?! You’re firing me?” Charli started to laugh uncontrollably. This was the first time in his life that he had ever been fired.

“Welll…” Ted grinned. “There might be one way you could keep your job.” He stood up from behind his desk to reveal a bulging erection protruding from his unzipped pants.

“No… No way.”

“Well then,” Ted said. “I guess I’ll just have to tell everyone that Charli Edwards, the dumb little girl, just couldn’t cut it at the easiest job in the world. What could she ever hope to accomplish with that brain?”

“Wh-what!? How dare you?” Charli shouted. “I’m a goddamn business genius. I’ll show you.”

She knelt down and started vigorously sucking Ted’s cock. Ted grinned. “Good girl.”

After about a minute, Ted started to shake and moan. He wrenched Charli’s head back. “’I want to finish in you.”

Charli climbed up on Ted’s desk, pulled down her shorts and spread her legs obediently. Stacey’s daily training had made her so much more flexible. It’s not like this prosthetic cunt was really hers anyway. And there was no way her pride would let her lose a job that any dumb slut could do.

Ted slowly entered her. She was resigned, and even bored, at first—until he hit the back, where the tip of Charles could feel it. Charli couldn’t help letting out a moan. Finally, after all those efforts in the bath, this was the release she had been looking for.

“Hey, boss?” Katrina said, knocking on the door and then opening it to see Ted pounding away at Charli, Charli panting and moaning in ecstasy, her large breasts bouncing up and down. “Um… I’ll come back.”

Back at the studio, Ben stared at the footage they were receiving.

“We’re gonna win a goddamn Emmy.”

***


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