Magic Branded Man-whore - Cover

Magic Branded Man-whore

Copyright© 2025 by Awkward Pen

Chapter 4: Ch-ch-ch-changes

Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 4: Ch-ch-ch-changes - A man's girlfriend catches him flirting with another woman and curses him. The curse takes the form of a brand on his back. Hijinks follow.

Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/Ma   Mult   Reluctant   Gay   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Fairy Tale   Workplace   Magic   DomSub   Swinging   Anal Sex   Oral Sex   Revenge   Slow  

“Transferred?”

Iris Krup was Elspeth’s boss. We would be co-workers. Even worse than that, I knew from Elspeth that her entire department was paid on commission. Skilled salespeople like Elspeth could earn a nice living, but even Elspeth could have a bad week from time to time. In Iris’ department, no sales meant no paycheck. And I had absolutely zero sales experience.

“This will be a big change. I understand if you’d rather quit. But if you do, I need to know today,” Karen said in her most professional voice. “I won’t disrupt Iris’ team for no good reason.”

I could think of a list of reasons this would be a bad idea, but had to admit this solution was an elegant one for Karen. If I quit, stuff like the last few minutes could be quietly swept under the rug with no one the wiser. If I didn’t quit now, Iris had a reputation for being rough on her male employees, so I might quit later. Either way, Karen looked merciful, more than fair, and I was no longer her problem.

“How are you arranging this transfer? The sales department has their own HR rep.”

“Iris heard what happened and requested you.”

That didn’t bode well.


I know I was, in theory, being transferred instead of fired but it didn’t feel that way as I cleared out my desk and gave my supervisor a list of IT permissions I would be losing. I was supposed to just box my personal stuff, but I also threw a couple packages of paper, a stapler, pens, post-it notes and anything else I could get away with including in my box. I was being petty and I knew it.

What the hell was I going to do in sales? I worked at a computer all day. I didn’t talk to other people unless I was not working.

Even with all the stuff I swiped, everything from my cubicle fit in a single box. I didn’t have posters on the cubicle walls, knick-knacks on the desk, or any other personal junk beyond a couple reference books.

I wasn’t expected at the sales office until the next day, so resolved to head home and study. A single day of self instruction did not a career make, but it was better than nothing.

I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into my apartment. Between 2 a.m. and now, someone had painted.

Normally I would describe my decorating style as “garage sale gray.” Every single item was a little worn and didn’t match the style of anything else, but it worked because what wasn’t wood was all medium gray, which didn’t look too bad against light gray walls and non-descript multicolored carpet.

Now my floor was area rugs on pockmarked hardwood, as if someone ripped up the carpet and took a floor sander to the old wood underneath. The walls were a burnt orange from the floor to waist high and blue up near the darker blue ceiling with the two colors blended between like a sunset.

The bulk of the furniture was the same, but my threadbare gray couch had been replaced with an even more threadbare brown futon, someone had installed a pair of eye bolts in the archway between my living room and dining room, and the end table next to my couch now featured a bronze statue of nude dancers.

 
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