“You are not who you think you are…” you hear a voice say. You are an office worker at an investment bank in the heart of London, so it’s needless to say that you work ridiculously hard for ridiculous hours. You have been working your ass off since joining the company and will continue until you reach the executive ranks. It is around 9:30 pm on a Friday as you sit slumped at your desk trying to finish up some last-minute reports from the previous day’s trading sessions. The entire floor was abuzz with activity all week, and now it seemed like everyone had one final push left before they could finally relax this weekend. Your office is secluded in the corner. You usually close the blinds to give you peace from the outside commotion. You are alone, so why are you hearing voices?

“I must be losing it…” You think to yourself. “I need a stiff drink and a good lie down.” Not that you can do that while there is still so much work. You try to push all other thoughts out of your mind as you busy yourself with your work. You take a sip of your coffee as the voice continues. You are wearing a tailored suit and tie that you couldn’t reasonably afford but also thought necessary to impress your superiors. You check yourself out in the mirror next to your desk. You look tired around the eyes but otherwise, appear well-groomed and well dressed. You are a fairly average white man with blue eyes and brown hair.

“You are not who you think you are…” repeats the voice.

This time you whip around and look for where the voice originated. There is nothing there. You stand up and stretch, wondering if you are hallucinating. You then glance around the room, but everything seems normal. You then turn back to your desk and continue working.

“You are not who you think you are…” repeats the voice once again, this time continuing with, “and you need to find your true self.”

You start to feel worried at this point, but there is no way that you are not finishing this report. You think to yourself that it is probably your colleagues trying to mess with you. So, you shake it off and continue working. You then see an error message pop up on your screen; it says, “You are not who you think you are, and you need to find your true self!” You try to click away, but your computer has completely frozen. Suddenly a wave of dread hits you. You are not worried so much about the message but instead about the possibility that you might lose your work. As you try to reboot the system, you notice the window displaying your desktop is gone and replaced by a blank white space. A small message in the middle of the screen reads, “Find your true self.”

“Who the fuck is messing with my work!?” You scream as you begin frantically typing on your keyboard, which continues to do nothing. Finally, you pick it up and smash it against the desk. “God fucking damn it! Why won’t anything work!?” You shatter your keyboard to pieces, trying to release some tension. Then you get another message on your screen: “The only thing you should fear is not knowing your true self.”

“What the hell?” You say aloud. “What does it even fucking mean? Find my true self? What kind of new-age shit is this? I’m me!” You yell to the empty room.

“No, you are not you…” So says the voice in your head, responding to what you said.

“Okay! I’ll bite! Who am I then?” You ask.

“Kamu adalah wanita Indonesia.” Replies the voice.

Your eyes widen, and you freeze up instantly. You know no language besides English, yet somehow, you understand what the voice is saying. It is saying that you are an Indonesian woman. But you know this is not true; you are a man born and raised in England. You don’t speak any other languages or have ever lived anywhere else.

“What are you talking about!?” You shout at the ceiling. “I’m not Indonesian! And I am definitely not a woman!” You huff.

“Kamu adalah wanita Indonesia.” Repeats the voice. You understand the voice perfectly, once again.

“I am not Indonesian! I don’t speak the language!” You yell at the top of your lungs. “Why would you tell me something like that!?” You question angrily.

There is silence in the room except for the sound of your breathing. You think the voice has finally gone away for a second, but then it speaks again. “You only speak Indonesian.”

“Then what am I speaking n…” You stop mid-sentence as your tongue seems to trip over itself. Your lips feel awkward as you try to say the words. When you open your mouth, you realize that you cannot pronounce a single word correctly. You struggle with every syllable and end up sounding more like a baby than someone capable of speech.

“I…can’t….speak…” You manage to choke out between breaths after struggling with each word. You try to force out sounds, but it doesn’t seem to help.

“I… cannot… I… cannot…” You struggle to make the sounds. “I… cannot… bicara…” You cough as you try to force the words out. “I… tidak bisa… bicara…” You force yourself to keep trying. “Aku… tidak bisa… bicara…” You gasp for breath as you force yourself to finish your sentence. “Aku tidak bisa bicara!” You finally managed to spit out the sentence ‘I can’t speak,’ but it came out sounding very different. You were not speaking English anymore.

“Ya, berbicara bahasa asli mu untuk bagus.” The voice replies, meaning ‘Yes, it’s good to speak your true language.’

“How is this possible? Why can’t I speak English?” You demand, replying in Indonesian

“Because you are an Indonesian woman, and one that never learnt English.” replies the voice in Indonesian.

You pause for a moment, unsure how to respond. “Why are you doing this to me?” You ask desperately.

“So you can find your true self.” The voice answers simply.

“Who is my true self then?” You ask.

“I am your true self!” The voice yells, startling you.

“That makes absolutely no sense.” You reply.

“Let’s think about your body next.” The voice suggests.

“My what?” You ask, confused.

“Your breasts, legs, hips, waistline, face shape, hair color and style,” The voice lists off quickly.

“I am just a normal guy.” You argue.

“Well, first, let’s think about your legs. Would a man have small size 5 feet like you?”

“Of course not.” You answer immediately. “But mine are a size…” You trail off as you lift your left leg and see your shoes and socks slide off a tiny, slender foot. Your move your left leg, and the same thing happens. Your new tiny feet have delicate and smooth skin.

“No, wait!” You shout, horrified. “Stop!”

“And let’s not get started on your legs. No man has such nice legs.” The voice laughs lightly. You pull your pants up to take a look at your calves, which, sure enough, are now much thinner and toned. You undo your belt alongside your pants, which seems much tighter than you remember. You struggle to get them over your hips as you take them off. You see, your hips have expanded, and your fat-to-muscle ratio in your thighs has dramatically changed. You notice you now have a big ass—a girl’s butt.

“And, of course, no man should have a pussy, right?” The voice asks. “Or did you forget about that?”

“Oh my god, please stop!” You plead. “Please!” You feel a weird sensation down below and pull your underwear down too. You are just in time to see the last of your penis vanish into yourself. You hear a soft pop as new fluids flow down new lips. You state, dumbfounded at your fresh pussy.

“Now, let us discuss your chest. Does a man have tits like yours?”

“Please, stop this”, You reply desperately, as you feel your new breasts grow more prominent as you speak. The new mounds push into your shirt, and your enlarged areola and nipples push into your shirt sharply.

“It looks pretty feminine to me.” The voice says matter of factly.

You stare in horror at your chest as the voice says. “Actually, no man could have a torso as small as yours, can they?”

You don’t quite understand this until you take off your jacket, tie and shirt to reveal your new torso. You now have slender arms and narrow shoulders, adding to your new pleasing hourglass shape. Your boobs are not massive but compared to your petite frame, they look gigantic.

“Change me back!” You cry out. “Make it go away!” You beg.

“Not gonna happen.” The voice tells you. “I told you that you are me. And I am a beautiful Indonesian woman. Speaking of which, would any English man have a face like yours?”

You look into the mirror on your desk. Sure enough, you have the features of a typical Indonesian woman; large eyes, full cheeks and high cheekbones, thin nose, dark skin tone, long black hair, and a petite figure. Your jawline is strong and defined, accentuating your perfect facial structure. You look at your reflection, disgusted by how attractive you actually are. You cover your face with your hand as you sob uncontrollably.

“Don’t worry, dear. It will become easier as it begins to make sense.” Says the voice.

“Easy for me? How the fuck is this easy for me!? My life is ruined!”

“No, your life is now how it should be.”

“What does that even mean!?” You shout at the ceiling. “You’ve turned me into some kind of freak! I hate this!” You slam your fist against the desk. “I want to die!” You scream.

“Calm down.” The voice whispers. “Everything will become clear soon. First, let me ask you some questions.”

“What?” You ask nervously.

“What is your name?” Asks the voice.

“Benjamin!” You feel compelled to say.

“And, where were you born?” The voice asks next.

“Guildford, England!” You reply.

“No, our name is Kamariah.” The voice explains. “We are from Yogyakarta in Java!”

As you hear this, memories begin flooding into your mind. Memories of your childhood in Indonesia. You remember playing soccer with your friends on the streets, eating mangosteen fruit while walking home, learning about Islam, and going shopping with your mother. These memories flood through your brain.

“What languages do you speak?” The voice inquires.

“Only English?”

“We covered this. We speak Indonesian. We have been trying to learn English but are barely at beginner level.”

You suddenly see yourself in an ELS class. So frustrated as you try to remember the basics of the English language. You are jealous of the other students who seem to grasp it much faster.

“And what is your job? Whose office is this?” The voice asks.

“This is my office. I work here as an executive.”

“No, we work here as a cleaner. Remember that this office belongs to George, who we have been giving special favors to all weak?”

You remember cleaning the office meticulously, thankful for the company getting you a visa. You also remember the handsome white manager, George, who works in this office. You remember him telling you to clean this floor and that he would give you a raise if you did well. You remember getting on your knees and him standing over you. You remember him undoing his pants and…

“Ahhh!” You yelp, covering your mouth. You’re embarrassed as you remember yourself pleasuring him. You feel dirty, ashamed, and angry. You had done something shameful, and you knew deep down that it was wrong. You felt guilty knowing you were betraying your country, religion and family. Yet, there seemed to be nothing you could do about it. That memory fills your thoughts as tears fill your eyes.

“Do you enjoy sex?” The voice asks next.

“What?” You reply in confusion.

“Sex. Do you like having sexual encounters with men?” The voice continues.

You shake your head in denial.

“Yes, we do. We love it; we crave it. We want big cocks all day.” The voice explains. “Our bodies ache for it. Our pussies leak constantly thinking of it. You must remember!” The voice scolds.

You remember watching the boys walk by at high school and your first time being fucked when you were 18. You remember begging for more. You remember it being an older man with a big dick whose warm cum filled you up. You remember being taken from behind, your ass slapping against the wall as the man took your virginity. You remember feeling his dick inside you, his balls slapping against your ass. You remember wanting more, more cock, more of him. Finally, you remember crying out in pleasure as he came inside you.

“Do you like being fucked?”

“Yes!” You cry out as the last memories of your old self fade. The voice now vanishes, leaving you in silence in the office. A silence that breaks quickly as the door begins to open. You hide behind the desk as a man walks in, a man you now recognize as George.

“Who is there?” He asks.

“Only me.” You reply.

“Kamariah?” George says as he carefully locks the door behind him.

“Yes, it me.” You reply seductively in your strong accent as your come out from behind the desk, showing your naked body to George.

He takes in your naked appearance while staring at your breasts, tight stomach and flat tummy, round bubble butt and long legs. His eyes travel lower down to your pussy and back up again to meet your gaze. He licks his lips before smiling at you.

You moan loudly as George closes the space between your quickly and grabs your waist tightly, pulling you close. You wrap your arms around him as he kisses you passionately. You kiss him deeply, moaning into his mouth as you grind your crotch onto him. You reach down to grab his bulge under his pants and squeeze gently, making him groan softly. He pushes you back against the desk and unzips his fly. He pulls down his boxers, and his thick cock springs free.

You bite your lip as you look at his thick tool. It is already dripping wet with precum as it bounces before you. You lick your lips and smile as you lean forward, taking his shaft into your hands. You slowly stroke him up and down as he moans. You take a firm grip and pump his length rapidly, enjoying how he feels in your hand. You feel his cock throbbing in your fingers as he starts to breathe heavily. You giggle as he gasps for air, grabbing your hair roughly and pushing you back onto the table.

George pins you against the surface as he lowers himself down on top of you. You gasp as he presses his stiff cock into your slick folds, sinking deeper and deeper. He grunts as he thrusts stronger and faster inside you, grunting each time his tip hits your cervix. You love it so fucking much, the feeling of a cock sliding between the lips of your glistening pussy. You moan loudly as he pounds you relentlessly, slamming his hips into you and filling you up completely. He leans down to nibble on your neck, biting down firmly as you whimper and writhe beneath him. He grips your wrists above your head with one hand as he pumps his cock inside you with the other. He fucks you ferociously, his pelvis hitting yours every time his hips hit you. He bites down on your shoulder, holding you still as he slams into you. You can tell he’s close and hear him grunt and pant as he comes deep within your pussy. He keeps pumping his load inside you until finally, he collapses atop you, breathing raggedly.

After a few moments, he rolls off you, collapsing beside you on the desk. Both of you are sweating and breathless after their intense encounter. You turn to look at him, seeing that he has a massive grin across his face. You chuckle and lay your head upon his chest, resting it there as he wraps his arm around you. After a moment, you begin to relax, listening to his heartbeat. You feel safe and happy lying here with him.

***

Kamariah’s English has improved a lot in the years since she arrived in England. However, it is not perfect, so she has decided to carefully teach her children Indonesian so they can communicate with her as quickly as their English father.

George didn’t mean to impregnate Kamariah that day and didn’t mean to marry her. But once he realized that she was pregnant, he felt like he had no other choice. Not that she let him regret it, as she did everything to keep him happy. Hence the three mixed-race daughters currently make up the rest of your family. You hoped another child would come soon as you want a son.

George worked hard in his high-stress job. Kamariah was unsure how he bares it but was thankful that he supported her so strongly. She would never want a job like that for herself, no matter how much it paid. She is happy as a housewife and mother and glad that she is a woman who gets the opportunity to live this way. She is so pleased that she never was and never will be a man who had to work so hard for his family.