Shown The Way free porn video

SHOWN THE WAY by Valerie Hope "Justin. Wake up, Justin." He groaned feebly, trying to roll away from the cruel light assaulting his comfortable darkness. His hands were restrained, as were his legs. He had no choice but to open his eyes. "Where " he managed through cracked and swollen lips. "We found you. Three days ago. It's taken us that long just to find out who you are." "Klaus. Where's Klaus?" The imposing silhouetted figure only shook his head. "Your partner didn't survive, Justin. I'm sorry. You have my deepest condolences." Justin coughed, and it awakened fresh agonies in his chest and neck. Cool hands reached from the sunlit haze around him and tried to ease his pain. Poor Klaus. A good cop. Didn't deserve to die. But that was the way of the badge, these days. You have to know what you're getting into when you sign on the dotted line. You weren't there to protect and serve anymore. It was a war out there, and Klaus had been a good soldier. Like himself. "Where am I?" "You're resting in St. Ambrose's ICU. You were shot up pretty badly," the man said. "Are you a doctor?" "No," the silhouette said, stepping forward. He wore military fatigues and his hair was cropped short in the style of the modern soldier. His left pectoral bore the ribbons of many, many campaigns and the scar which descended from his left eye to the base of his jaw was yet another testament to his valorous service. "I'm Colonel Bream. You don't know me." "What do you want with me?" "I heard about what happened to you and your squad. I thought I could come and discuss a few things with you." "What things?" The Colonel gestured to a chair just inside Justin Abbott's field of vision. "May I sit?" Justin managed a feeble nod. The Colonel sat heavily, betraying fatigue. He held out a hand and an unseen aide placed a folder into it. The old soldier leafed through it casually. "Detective Sergeant Justin Washington Abbott, Metro Police Rapid Response. Twice decorated for valor in the face of danger. Wounded seven times - eight, now - in the line of duty. Due to receive the Municipal Cross for dedicated service to the people of Metro South commonwealth. Joined the Metro Force in 2003 after four years' service in the Army as an infantryman. Promoted from patrolman to detective in eight years. Very impressive. Of late, placed in command of Third Unit Rapid Response Team in accordance with Federal legislation against the cartels. Your last assignment was to gut the courier system of the Malaggio cartel." "I almost had the sons of bitches, too," Justin spat. "We were set up. Somebody tipped Malaggio and his boys off. We were taken down like rookies." "I know, son," the Colonel said. "Only six of your unit survived." Justin shut his eyes to keep back tears of frustration and anger. Six left out of twenty-four. So many good men and women lost. "Who?" he choked. "Jerry Cabot, Everett Keith, Marlon Tompkins, Larry Kelly and Peter Karanikov are in ICU, in about the same shape as you. Gene Delveccio is still unconscious." "That's my whole fire team," Justin said. "What happened to the rest?" "When you penetrated the warehouse the Meraggios moved in outside. They eliminated your entire perimeter with a chemical attack." "That bastard gassed my boys," Justin said bitterly. "They didn't live long. Mop-up was quick. The perimeter teams weren't the real target. Apparently, Giancarlo Meraggio has a personal score to settle with you." "I personally captured over half his annual income last year," Justin said. "He swore he'd take me down. I didn't let him get close. Until " The Colonel put a warm hand on his arm. "Rest easy, Detective." "Tell me the rest," Justin said softly. "He'd rigged the warehouse. The counterfeiting presses and the labs you found were all fakes. You led your men into a bomb. To your credit, you managed to get your fire team into the office, which had its own ceiling and concrete retaining walls. It's the only reason you and your boys are alive. Klaus Mueller and Tommy Duncan were closest to the doors and they didn't make it. The rest of you sustained major injuries but were alive. The Metro Force carried you out in body bags to make it look convincing." "So Meraggio thinks I'm dead," Justin said. "We hope so," Bream said. "But that's not why I'm here." Justin struggled to sit a little higher, tired of looking like an invalid. "Then why?" "I'm recruiting," Bream said. "You and your men are all honorably discharged under Article Nineteen. You're pulling your pension as we speak, Detective. And under conventional rehabilitation, you and your men aren't going to be back in action unless it's pushing papers. But the Army has avenues that the Metro doesn't. I'm offering you and your men a chance to take another shot at Meraggio." "Explain," Justin said, obviously interested. Colonel Bream was very matter-of-fact and brisk. "You realize that you have lost both your legs, Detective?" Justin knew. Somehow, he'd known while he was asleep. He'd thought that if he hadn't mentioned it, hadn't looked down at them, then it hadn't happened to him yet. No more running in the mornings, no more racing Jerry and Marlon up the stairs to the briefing room on Friday. He sighed heavily - no use bitching about it now, so Meraggio had taken his legs away - and nodded. "All of your men are similarly injured. Everett Keith is gone from the waist down, dependent on dialysis simply for survival. Peter Karanikov lost his arms and his sight. Marlon Tompkins is paralyzed from the neck down and is breathing on a respirator. All of you can be repaired to a certain extent, but only after years and years of conventional rehabilitation." "Define conventional rehabilitation." "I mean medical science as it stands right now," Bream clarified. "Even the best geneticists and surgeons in the world can't grow you new legs. I'm sorry." "And you have an option," Justin asked skeptically. "You may not consider it as such, but it does give you an opportunity to be whole again and also to get another shot at Giancarlo Meraggio." "I'd sell my soul to the Devil himself for that," Justin said bitterly. Bream reclined, handing the folder back to his aide. "Be careful what you wish for, Detective." There was a long pause. Justin finally broke the silence. "Go on. I'm listening." Bream sat forward and regarded Justin over steepled fingers. "Are you familiar with the name Shamir ibn Rakad al-Hassra?" he asked. Justin beetled his brow. "He's suspected of funding the cartels when they first formed in the late 90's," the detective said. "He's untouchable. Lives in a fortress in the Caribbean and has a standing army all fanatically loyal to him. Believes that his work is going to rid the world of the United States for the glory of Allah or some idiot shit like that. Nobody can prove it, but the rumor is that he runs the four cartels somehow - Meraggio for counterfeiting and fraud, Luccese for drugs, Nkembe for slavery and gunrunning and Mendoza for slavery and gambling. Some of the real freaks in Washington still think that al-Hassra has some kind of 'master plan' and he's using the cartels to bring it about." Bream nodded. "And the Federal government wants to know what that plan is. And we want al-Hassra killed and all his cartel heads either dead or in prison." "No can do, chief," Justin said. "al-Hassra can't be extradited and he can't be dug out. There's no way for the U.S. to pull it off." "That's why God created Covert Ops, son," Colonel Bream said simply. Justin wasn't amused. "So you want to send some spooks in and take him out. Where do me and my boys fit in?" "We need you to do it," Bream said. "You know more about how the cartels work than anyone in the country. You've fought them all at one point or another. You know how they keep themselves informed and how they keep themselves supplied." Justin laughed a bitter laugh. "Us? Wasn't it you who just told me that we're shot to shit and most of us are in pieces?" "Yes, son, it was," Colonel Bream said patiently. "What if I told you there was a way for you to get a whole new body?" "I'd say you need to consider smoking something legal," Justin said. Bream motioned and the aide stepped from beyond the haze of his vision's limits and dropped an impossibly overstuffed file folder on Justin's bedside. "Project Hierophant," Bream said. "An initiative begun in the 1980s involving cloning and recombinant DNA. A first stab at eugenics, some said, creating a more pure and efficient human being for the future. It was the real reason behind the Human Genome project at the turn of the century. Project Hierophant is the fusion of about six different areas of genetic science. Now it's advanced past the prototype stage, but we have to have volunteers. There are too many ethical and moral problems to just draft people. Half our research team would walk away if they thought for an instant that we'd coerced anyone. I approached you and your men because they had the least to lose. "I checked," Bream went on. "None of you have any family or connections, no wives and few prospects. You're the perfect candidates." "To become some kind of superheroes? It sounds really cool, Colonel, but it doesn't get us any closer to al-Hassra. Unless you're counting on making us look Middle Eastern and training us to speak Arabic and shit like that." "He'd never trust you enough to let you close," Bream said. "al-Hassra is paranoid about who he lets close to himself, even in that fortress of his. He's guarded almost every minute of every day, particularly when the cartels are near him. Sending you in like that would mean you'd have to be in the military force on the island and you'd be kept far from where anything important was going on." Justin's brows lowered. "So how are you planning to get us close to this puke?" Bream's tone was controlled and even. "He takes his pick of the slave trade as they're brought through to serve as his household staff." "So we'd be what? Butlers? Shoeshine boys?" Justin asked. Bream cleared his throat. "You'd be his harem," he said simply. Justin didn't grasp it straight away. "What, you mean al-Hassra's homosexual? I thought that was some kind of sin against Allah or whatever Holy shit! You can't be serious." Bream only nodded. "You want to make us all into chicks?" Justin asked. "Not ordinary 'chicks,' Detective," Bream said. "In addition to having all your skills, memories and intelligence, you'd have physically perfect bodies. Immune to most infectious diseases, enhanced strength, senses, stamina - you'd probably be more efficient soldiers than you were before the attack. We'd see to it." Justin sank back in the bed. "But " "Over half the world's population is women, detective," Bream said. "They don't seem to think they have it so badly. And you'd be doing your country a great service in addition to getting a chance to take down Meraggio and his boss for all time." "The other boys?" Bream looked through his clipboard. "Keith and Tompkins have agreed. They said that they didn't have the equipment to be called men anymore anyway, so they don't have anything to lose and they get a shot at Meraggio. Karanikov is still thinking it over, as is Cabot. Kelly said he wanted to wait and see what you said about it before he made a decision, and as I said earlier, Delveccio is still unconscious - although I feel that he's going to go the same way as Keith and Tompkins, since he too will be paralyzed from the neck down and is missing one of his legs." Justin stared at the ceiling. "How soon do you need your answer, Colonel?" he asked. "ASAFP," the Colonel said "You'd be in the Project for three months before you were ready to move. If al-Hassra does have some kind of 'master plan,' then we're working against the clock anyway." Justin closed his eyes. "Put me down in the 'still thinking about it' column," he said. "I'll have an answer for you by 0900 tomorrow." The Colonel stood "It may be your only chance to get even," he said. Justin ignored him. * * * The Colonel and his aides came back at 0900 sharp, as Justin expected. Justin was being moved by a horde of none-too-gentle nurses into a more suitable position for talking. "Good morning, Detective," Colonel Bream said brightly. "You look like hell." Justin managed a wry smile. "I feel like hell, thanks." "Sleep well?" the Colonel asked. "Not a wink," Justin answered. "Dreams." "An unfortunate side effect of combat," the Colonel said with eyes that spoke volumes. Justin knew in that instant that the Colonel was a victim of sleepless nights himself. "China?" Justin asked quietly. "Quangxiu Province," he answered just as quietly. "But that's not why I'm here." Justin sighed just as his ruined body was lowered into place and the nurses dismissed. He fixed the Colonel with his hundred-mission stare. "I have some conditions, and some questions." "Understandable," the Colonel said. He raised an eyebrow towards his chair of the previous day, and Justin nodded in response. "Can you guarantee the success of this procedure?" Justin asked, tapping the folder for Project Hierophant that the Colonel had left with him overnight. "No," the Colonel answered. "But we've tested it. It's not lethal, or really dangerous anymore, not like it was six years ago. The real problem has always been the psychological effects on the subjects. They tend to develop emotional and mental disorders at a frightening rate." "Have you ever changed anyone's sex before?" "No human," Bream said. "We will have some of the top experts in gender psychology in the world attached to the project if you go through with it, however. No effort or expense will be spared for you or your men's safety and well-being." "Good," Justin said. "Is the process reversible?" Bream shrugged. "We simply don't know. We've never tried before. Medically, I believe it might be. But the human psyche is a fragile thing. I don't know if it could survive the trauma of two transformations. As it is, only the remarkably strong and resilient can survive one transformation without ill effects." "What happens if something goes wrong during the procedure?" "In all likelihood, you'll die," Bream said. "We're effectively going to chemically transfer your brains into new bodies. If that chemical balance is skewed, somehow, then the new body simply won't wake up when we revive it. It will be painless for you and your men. You'll go to sleep, and if you wake up it will be in a new body." "What're the odds?" Justin asked. "About a 5 in 6 chance of surviving the physical procedure and about a 2 in 5 of keeping it together mentally afterwards. But those are rough figures and they're based on old results. The project personnel get better every single time they run the procedure on a subject. Every subsequent project learns from its predecessors. You and your men will benefit from nearly 40 years of testing and experimentation. It's the best shot we can give you." Justin nodded. "What happens afterwards? After the mission, if it's successful?" Bream nodded, expecting the question. "You will all be provided with identities and an income at government expense. You can keep the option of serving your country if you like, or we can debrief and release you as private citizens. You can return to your homes if you wish or relocate. The government will take care of it all through the Witness Relocation Program." "Good," Justin said. "Now, supposing we go through with it and one of us cracks up during the mission. What then?" Bream gave the most important answer he'd given all morning, The one which Justin would base his decision on. "You're in command of your unit, Detective. You decide what it is your unit will and won't do by situation. You'll have your mission and the rest of it is at your discretion. Your service record is more than exemplary enough for us to trust you implicitly in the field." Justin nodded. "I'm glad you see it that way." Bream chuckled. "And I'm supposed to believe that you would have volunteered if I hadn't given you that exact answer?" Justin returned the chuckle. "Guess soldiers don't change, no matter what uniform they're in," he said. "Okay. I just have two conditions." "What are they?" "This has to be a unanimous decision by me and my men. One stays out, we all stay out. We're two men short of a full fire team, and we've all worked together before. We don't have the time to both learn everything we need to learn, go through the project and train up two rookies. Even shorthanded, we can work together better than we ever could with new personnel." Bream smiled. One by one, he laid signed documents in Justin's lap, naming them off as he did so. "Marlon Tompkins. Everett Keith. Jerry Cabot. Peter Karanikov. Gene Delveccio - he woke up this morning at 0600. The only one left is Larry Kelly, and he said he'll sign if you sign." Bream passed an unsigned, blank release form to Justin with a pen. The Detective looked at them as if they were live snakes for just a moment, then steeled himself with an effort and took the pen in his hands. A new life, a chance to walk again, a chance to get some revenge on that sack of slime that had killed his command. Only at the cost of his gender and his identity. He closed his eyes and saw Giancarlo Meraggio, wearing a $3000 suit paid for with the blood of his comrades and his friends. He signed the document. Bream took it instantly, passing it to an aide with a whispered instruction to go to Kelly immediately. He looked at Justin proudly, and even with a touch of fear in the respect. Any man who would sell so much just for revenge "You mentioned a second condition," Bream prompted. "Yeah," Justin said. "Can I be a redhead?" * * * Justin had been glad to see his men, just for an instant, before he was put into life support for the trip to Fort Craig, a top secret medical and training facility in the Tennessee mountains. They were battered and broken, missing pieces, but they were still his boys. Except that they wouldn't be for much longer. Justin barely made out the outline of the cargo door of the helo they were moving into through the tiny little window in his containment unit - called 'tin cans' in military parlance - and then only got the sensation of movement and acceleration. A voice came over the intercom built into his tin can after about thirty minutes. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant," someone said over the connection. "Lieutenant?" "Your new rank in the United States Army. If you can feel, we've placed something under your left hand. That's a Bible. Now, if you'll repeat after me: I, Justin Washington Abbott, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God." Justin repeated the oath and closed his eyes. No longer a cop, then, and back to being a soldier. It wouldn't have bothered him, ordinarily, to just be plain old Justin Abbott and let people tag him however they wanted, but soon he wouldn't be Justin Abbott anymore. "We're going to put you to sleep for a bit, sir. We'll be giving you mild sedatives over the remainder of the flight to keep you still more than anything else," the voice said. "Also, Project Hierophant is going to begin you on a program of somnolent learning to help ease your transition to your new body. Just go to sleep and we'll start trying to teach you some of the things you need to know." "Roger that," Justin said. "Go ahead." He began to feel drowsy and heavy just as he heard a voice over the intercom, seeming coming out of the very air around him, accompanied by strange, atonal music which made Justin think of Thanksgiving at his mom's house. "There is nothing wrong with being a woman. Your capabilities as a soldier and a human being are not decreased in any way. Women are superb combatants, organizers, commanders and technicians. Being a woman can be a very joyous thing." * * * Justin awoke to a feeling of movement. He opened his crusted eyes to see fluorescent lights marching by in an endless line through the little window of his tin can. He felt like he weighed a ton - the effects of the sedatives, he knew - and he began to feel the first real effects of the fear that he'd suppressed up until this point. He wished that there were someone there he could see and talk to, someone he could be strong for so he wouldn't have to acknowledge the fear and panic he was feeling. He chuckled, breaking the fear's hold. He'd wanted to bolt and run. He wouldn't have gotten far on stumps, he told himself wryly. And get two feet from that IV tube and you'd be one sick little gimpy puppy. Hell, at least he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore soon. He didn't care how great they looked in stockings and heels, just as long as he had legs again. He thumbed the intercom switch. "Where the hell am I?" he asked. "How are my men?" The orderly peeked through the little window in curiosity before speaking. "You're at Fort Craig, uh sir. You landed about an hour ago. Your men are fine, sir. They're right behind you. Everybody's groggy but the vitals are strong." "Good," Justin said. "Thanks, son." "You're welcome sir." Justin closed his eyes in hopes of getting some real, non-drug-induced shuteye before the party started. He was snoring lightly by the time he passed through the molybdenum steel gates which shut Project Hierophant away from the rest of the world. * * * Dr. Abell Norman surveyed the seven bodies floating in the nutrient goo which kept them biologically alive, just waiting for host intellects to be implanted to animate them. He rubbed his graying beard thoughtfully and then shook his head as he returned his attention back to Colonel Bream. "I feel like a teenager drawing naked women in the back of his history book," he said. "I can't believe you sent me pictures from Playboy magazine to start the specifications from." Bream chuckled. "al-Hassra has very specific tastes in women. We have to be sure that he picks our people to be closest to him." "I don't see how he can turn these away," Norman said, returning to his notes. "They will be fully mature and ready to receive in another nine hours, Colonel. The modifications and enhancements you suggested are all in place and appear to be biologically responsive." "Excellent work, Dr. Norman. We'll have your subjects prepped by 1600, and you estimate that the new procedure will be concluded for better or for worse by 1900." "Correct," Dr. Norman said. Bream did a quick time-table in his head, thinking aloud. "We'll move them to the new sleeping units by 2000 hours, then, and by 2100 they should be ready to meet Dr. Richardson, don't you think?" Norman nodded, checking over his notes against a table printed on a clipboard. "They should all be in REM sleep by then," he said. "We can't determine the exact hour - we can't put them all out because the new bodies have enhanced resistance to drugs - but that's a good rough estimate." "I'll be interested in seeing how Dr. Richardson works," Colonel Bream said. Norman chuckled. "I met her yesterday," he said. "She's very good." Bream cocked an eyebrow. "How good?" "She could talk you into heels and a miniskirt if we gave her the time, Colonel." * * * He found awareness. Somewhere - it didn't matter where. It seemed safe. A pool of light in an endless darkness. Feet stepped on something firm, lungs breathed something and the heart beat. Alive was all that mattered. "Hello," a voice said, emanating from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "How do you feel?" "I don't," he replied. "Don't you? And why is that?" "I think I'm dead," he replied. "Oh, no, you're not dead. But neither are you truly alive." "What do you mean?" "You're somewhere in between. Somewhere a little of both." "Who are you?" he asked. "The question is, who are you?" the voice replied. "I asked first." "I'm a friend," the voice replied. "Can you trust me that far?" He looked around at the endless blackness beyond the hard-edged pool of white light. "I guess I don't have a choice." "Not so," the voice said. "You always have a choice. You could surrender." "I'm not very good at that," he said. "Can you tell me your name?" the voice asked. "Justin Abbott. Lieutenant Justin Abbott." "Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant." "Yeah, great," Justin said. "Where am I?" "Where do you think you are?" Justin chuckled. "You must be a shrink." "What makes you say that?" the voice asked. "A normal person would have just answered me." "You're very perceptive," the voice said. "Although I'm not sure how to feel about not being classified as a 'normal person.' Yes, I am a psychologist. I'm here to help you." "I'm not crazy," Justin finished. "Everybody is a little crazy," the voice said. "I just have to make sure you're the right kind of crazy. And saying that you're not crazy, well, that tells me that you have something to hide, Lieutenant." "Who doesn't?" he asked. "Touch?," the voice said. "Why are you hiding things?" "Because they're nobody's business but my own." "Ever consider talking to someone about them?" "Nope," Justin said. "Any reason why?" "Because I can take care of myself. I don't need other people interfering." "You don't like other people very much, do you?" Justin shrugged. "Some of 'em are all right, I guess. Others I can give or take. Too hard to tell which is which." "So you don't trust anybody." "Roger that," Justin said. "It's worked for me so far." "It just seems kind of lonely, that's all," the voice said. "The world's a lonely place," Justin offhanded. "Don't feed me bullshit, Lieutenant," the voice said. "That's a pat answer, a rehearsed line. Give me the straight truth. Are you lonely?" "Yeah, I am," Justin spat. "What's it to you? Wanna fuck or something?" "No, but you obviously do," the voice said. "We were talking about trust and all of a sudden you're talking about sex. It must be on your mind pretty heavy to make that leap. How about it, Lieutenant? You horny today?" He smirked. "I'm horny every day," he said. "Comes with the territory." "How, then, do you expect to get laid if you don't trust anyone? It must not work very well if you're lonely all the time." "Fuck you." "When's the last time you got some, Lieutenant?" "Go to hell," Justin spat. "No, really. When's the last time you got laid? A week ago? A month?" Justin's voice was acid. "Three years," he said. "You happy?" "No, I'm not happy," the voice said. "That's terrible. A man who is so lonely and so horny not having any way to look after his own needs. It's tragic, really." "Yeah, a real tragedy," he said. "Get to the point." "I was just thinking that maybe if you opened up a little, tried to trust somebody, maybe you'd be able to fill that void." "I have a perfectly good right hand," Justin said. "And it's better than a broken heart." "Have you had your heart broken before, Lieutenant?" "Who hasn't?" Justin shot back. "I notice we're talking a whole lot about me. What about you? You're just some goddamn voice in the dark, I don't know you. I don't trust you. And I'm supposed to tell you my life story? Fat fucking chance, voice." The voice chuckled. "Fair enough. Ask me a question, then." "When's the last time you got some?" "Two nights ago. I'm very happily married." "Goody for you," Justin said. "Did you come?" "Several times. My turn," the voice went on. "Why did you sign that paper?" "Because it's a chance to have legs again. It's a chance to get back at Meraggio, maybe even kill the motherfucker," he answered. "Oh," the voice said. "That's all?" "What else would there be?" "I dunno," said the voice. "Maybe you wanted to know what it was like to be a woman, for instance." "Don't be stupid," Justin said. "I was born a guy. I was raised a guy. It's all I know." "Didn't you ever wonder, though, what it must be like?" "I guess so," Justin said. "Once or twice, when I was a kid. I never really thought about it." "Tell me something," said the voice. "When you were a kid and you wondered what it would be like. What were the things you wondered about?" "Sex," Justin said with finality. "What it felt like to be with a man, you mean?" "Not really," Justin replied. "I wasn't interested in men. I just wanted to know what it felt like, I guess. Like I said, I really didn't think about it much." "Did you wonder what it would be like to look good? To turn men on like girls turned you on? To look and dress like the women in the magazines?" "Nope, nope and nope," Justin said. "Then why did you ask Colonel Bream to be a redhead?" the voice asked. Justin snorted. "It was a joke. You know, humor? Surely you've seen pictures." "Cute," the voice said. "But you had to have thought about it, when you were thinking it over the night before. What kind of woman you were going to be." "All I was thinking about was the chance to kill Giancarlo Meraggio. If I have to be a chick to do it, then I'll be a chick. If I had to be a fire hydrant to do it, then I'd be a fire hydrant. I don't care what it costs me so long as that fat fuck dies screaming." "Did you think about it, the night before? What you'd look like?" "Sure. A little." "What did you come up with? Did you have a 'dream girl' in mind? Somebody from your past, maybe, or somebody you remembered from a movie? You can tell me. I won't let anyone know." Justin relaxed a little. It was more the reaction that he'd get from his boys that kept him from answering with complete candor, really. He'd never liked being the butt of the joke, and like all cops, respect was something very important to him. "Okay, sure," he said, sighing. "Yeah, I had a thought. But it was only that - a thought. I didn't dwell on it, I didn't think about it for more than about a second, nothing." "Who was she?" He blushed a little. "She was a Playboy centerfold back in the 90s, named Tylyn John. She was hot as hell. I thought she was the best looking woman I'd ever seen, and I thought that if I had to look like a woman I could do worse than looking like her. And that was it, okay?" "But she held on long enough for you to ask to be a redhead. Tylyn John was a redhead, right?" the voice asked. "It was a dye job, but yeah," he said. "I only asked that question because a) it was funny and b) I like redheads. Is there any crime in that?" "No crime," the voice said, "I'm just interested. Do you mind if I'm interested?" "Shrinks are never interested in anything that doesn't get them the dirt on the head they're shrinking," Justin said. "Well, look at it this way, then," the voice said. "You and your men are all going to be women. Every last one of you. So how can I use this 'dirt' against you? When you're a woman, do you think you're going to be a 'fag' if you want to look good?" "If I want to look good for men, you mean," Justin shot back. "No, if you want to look good for yourself," the voice said. "You said it yourself. If you have to be a woman, you at least want to be a beautiful woman. You could do worse. That means being a beautiful woman like Tylyn John is as good as it gets for women." Justin held his head. "I don't wait. You're talking in circles." "I have to. I'm a shrink. It's in the bylaws." "Do you or don't you want to be a beautiful woman?" the voice asked. "I guess I do," Justin said. "So why are you worried about being called a 'fag?' Or people laughing? Or wanting to look like a centerfold? Aren't centerfolds for the most part beautiful women?" "Yeah," Justin said, still confused. "And you said it yourself. You want to be a beautiful woman." "I never said that," Justin accused. "Sure you did. Just a second ago. I asked, 'do you or don't you want to be a beautiful woman' and you said 'I guess I do.' That says to me that you want to be a beautiful woman, and it doesn't even take a degree from Berkeley to figure it out." "You're twisting my words around." "I'm not interested in your words," the voice said. "I'm interested in what you're feeling. So you want to look like Tylyn John. Big deal! She's a beautiful woman. Gorgeous face, sexy body, hair any woman would kill for. I'm looking at a picture of her right now on the computer, as a matter of fact. You have excellent taste." Justin could remember clearly getting that magazine when he was in college and being absolutely dumbstruck at the picture of such a gorgeous woman. The look on her face made it seem like she had the pictures taken especially for him. "What are you thinking about, Lieutenant?" "The first time I saw a picture of her," he said absently. "How did she make you feel?" "Horny," he said. "And I don't know the word for it." "Try," the voice bade. "Unworthy, I guess," Justin said. "Not good enough. Inadequate and unattractive." "No way a guy like you could ever get a girl like her." "Basically," Justin said. "So did you think that she was better than you?" Justin sighed. "I guess so." "You did say that you felt inadequate and unworthy of her," the voice said. "Doesn't that mean that you thought she was better than you were?" "Yeah," Justin grunted. "She was better than me. She could have anybody. She'd never waste a second glance on a guy like me. I could whack off to her picture all I wanted and it was never going to get me the chance to even be in the same room as her. And I knew that all over the country there were pathetic little shits like me in bathrooms all over the place jerking their dicks and thinking the same thoughts that I was. She wasn't just better than me. She was better than anybody." "Any man, you mean. Any pathetic little shit jerking off in a bathroom," the voice said. "Yeah," Justin said, disgusted. "So tell me something," the voice said. "Imagine for a minute that you were Tylyn John. And you were all in costume and makeup and having your picture taken for the centerfold. What do you think you'd be thinking about?" Justin chuckled again, deep in his throat. "Probably about what I was doing to all those geeks out there stroking to my picture." "And what would that feel like?" the voice prompted. "I think I'd get off on it," Justin said. "Kind of a power trip thing." "You like the idea of having power over men?" the voice asked. "Yeah," Justin said. "It's kinda cool to think about. And a little scary." "You'd rather be the centerfold than the pathetic geek?" "I was the pathetic geek," Justin said roughly. "It wasn't much to brag about." The voice seemed amused. "But what about being the centerfold? What do you think that was like?" "I dunno. Tense, kinda. Driven to be that gorgeous, and still trying to protect yourself from the geeks who can't stay on their side of the fence." "But at the end of the day, do you think Tylyn John went to bed satisfied and happy?" Justin thought for a while. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. She gave a lot of relief to a lot of lonely men out there. Power trip aside, it was a pretty decent thing she was doing." "I agree," the voice said. "I like that idea, a lot." "So do I," Justin agreed. "So if I told you, Lieutenant, that you had it in you to be the centerfold - that you could be every bit as glamorous and sexy and beautiful, that you could have men out there all over the place spanking the bishop just at the sight of you, that you could have that power trip and spread all that joy, like she did, what would you feel?" Justin grunted. "I dunno. Proud. Excited, a little. Happy." "You wouldn't feel like a 'fag?'" "I guess not," Justin mumbled. "And do you think you'd be better than you were before? Better than the pathetic guy in the bathroom with the dirty magazine?" "I'd have to feel better than I was before," he said. "Girl like that can have anybody she wants. You'd never catch her diddling herself in a bathroom with a magazine. She wouldn't have to. All she'd have to do is slip into something slinky, fluff up her hair and go down the street. She wouldn't make it two steps before some man would be ready to saw off his right arm for the chance to do anything she wanted him to do." "So you're saying being a beautiful woman makes you feel better and more in control of your fate than being a man did?" Justin couldn't believe what he was saying. "Yeah. I guess I am." * * * Dr. Elena Richardson sat back from her console, rubbing her eyes and groaning. "He's tough," she complained, massaging her neck. "Real damn tough." "She," Colonel Bream corrected, "and yeah. All of 'em are as tough as they come. That's one of the reasons why we picked 'em." "If he - she - keeps up this kind of resistance, even to PADI therapy, it might throw your timetable," Dr. Richardson said simply. "Unacceptable. How much exposure can a human being take to Psychic Adjustment through Dream Induction before problems arise?" Colonel Bream asked. "Dr. Michaelis at Johns Hopkins believes no more than three hours per day." "Then Lieutenant Abbott gets three hours per day," Colonel Bream said. "They can't just physically be women, Doctor. They have to be women down to their marrow, or the whole mission will be a wash. We're relying on you. Can you bring her around?" Richardson sighed. "I don't know, Colonel. I wish I could give a definite answer." Bream put a hand on her shoulder. "Doctor, this is extremely important. Don't hurt the Lieutenant, but work on her as hard as you're able, as much as you're able. She has to be ready. The team is useless without a strong leader." "I understand," Richardson said. "What about the others?" Bream asked. Richardson consulted her notebook. "Nothing unexpected. All of them have the same outlook concerning fantasy. Their fantasy creatures are unattainable and godlike. They can all be made to feel like they've been elevated, that the existence they will have will be better than the ones they came from, and give them a psychological buffer against any disorders that may arise - 'it can't be that bad because I've never had it so good.' But we have to give them some sense of self before they wake up. Some kind of identity." "Is it something that they need to be convinced of?" Colonel Bream asked. "Not necessarily." "We can give it to them hypnotically." "That may be our best bet," Richardson said. "If they don't argue with their identities then they won't stand as much of a chance of risk when they start to accept who they've become. Dr. Briggs and Dr. Colton-Smith will have a much easier time then." "Do it, then," Colonel Bream said. "Thank you, Doctor. You're doing your country a great service." "I just hope I'm doing the same service to those brave men in there," she said. "They're in for one hell of a ride." "Braver than I am," Bream commented. "So, what is next?" "Well, once they have identities, once they have a point of reference, we can start to help them rebuild their manner of interaction with the world. Psychologically, we'll have to regress them to girlhood and re-raise them at an accelerated rate." "Is that as dangerous as it sounds?" Colonel Bream asked. "It would be," Dr. Richardson said. "But you haven't met 'Mommy' yet." * * * Lieutenant Abbott could faintly remember hearing things during sleep, but none of them really stood out as memorable. Gummed and crusted eyes opened to a large room, populated with strange, egg-shaped capsules which were open on one side to expose very comfortable-looking beds. In each bed rested a very beautiful woman, sitting up in the midst of a tangle of pink satin sheets and quilted coverlets, hair tousled in a most alluring way. All of them had very confused looks on their faces. A long-faced woman with kind eyes helped the Lieutenant sit up. Coughing up a throat full of foul-tasting crud, the Lieutenant sat unsteadily and rubbed eyes that didn't seem to be focusing as they should. Strange weights and balances struck the Lieutenant. Something wasn't right. "Who are you?" The long-faced woman smiled as she pressed a pneumo against the Lieutenant's shoulder and pressed the trigger. There was the hiss of a needle-less injection as she said, "My name is Dr. Lea Briggs, my dear. But most people call me Mommy." The Lieutenant smiled hazily. "You got it, Mommy." "Can you tell me who you are?" Mommy asked gently. The Lieutenant blinked. "Of course I can. My name is Lieutenant Justine Washington Abbott, United States Army. Commissioned yesterday. Before that I was Detective Sergeant Justine Abbott of the Metro South Police Rapid Response Team." "And these other women, around you?" Mommy asked. Something in Justine's head was making it hard to think. She found she was more interested in the softness of the sheets around her than she was in Mommy's questions. When she spoke next, her voice was girlish and muzzy and unconsciously sultry. She made a pouty little-girl mou? as she screwed up her face in concentration. "They're the other members of my team," Justine said. She pointed to a statuesque blonde with cover-girl looks. "That's my second, Sergeant Lori Kelly. We went through basic together before the China War in 2001. Good woman. The best." "And the other members of your team?" Mommy asked, smiling. Justine liked it when Mommy smiled. It made her feel good. Justine pointed, this time to a tall and lithe black woman with mocha skin and long, impossibly curly hair. "Communications, Sergeant Marlee Tompkins. If it can talk to another person, whether it's a scrambled satellite burst transmission or a tin can on a string, then Marlee can make it work." Then she pointed at a short, curvy brunette with bee-stung lips and a curtain of dark curls across her china-doll face, a willowy girl with huge blue eyes and short-cropped platinum blonde hair and a jaw-drop gorgeous raven-haired beauty with pale skin and sparkling green eyes. "Those are my grunts. Great girls, tough as nails and twice as sharp. Evelyn - 'Eve' - Keith, Jeri Cabot and Gina Delveccio. And that sorry sack of shit -" she pointed to a tall, curvaceous goddess with hair so blonde it was white and ice-blue eyes "- is our Demolitions and EOD specialist, Petra Karanikov." "They are wonderful girls," Mommy said proudly. They all beamed. "Aren't they pretty?" Mommy prompted. Justine nodded happily. "They're beautiful." "And so are you, dearie. Have you looked?" Mommy pointed upwards towards a small mirror above the bed. Justine looked up to see a tall, pale-skinned woman with wide green eyes and sensuous, kissable lips, a luscious expanse of cleavage peeking out of the pink satin sheets clasped around her chest, and a lush, shiny mane of straight red hair. Something tugged at the back of Justine's mind, a picture of a woman who looked like her, posing on a motorcycle wearing high-heeled shoes, but she couldn't bring it into focus. "Aren't you a beauty?" Mommy asked. "I can't believe how pretty I am," she said, touching her face. "Look at me." "Well, girls, what would you like to do first?" The regression drug, which slowed their thought processes down to about the level of a five-year-old, had them babbling with excitement. Finally, Petra's thickly accented voice rose above the throng with, "Justine is the boss. She should decide." "Well, Justine?" Mommy asked. "What would you like to do first, dear?" Justine blushed and giggled. "I want to learn to walk in high heels," she said, thinking of the woman posing on the motorcycle. * * * It was strange to Colonel Bream, watching what had been brave, wounded soldiers yesterday sitting stark naked except for high heels in a circle on the floor, playing with dolls and singing and giggling, all under 'Mommy's' watchful eye. Dr. Briggs had only used the drugs as a starting place and was basically regressing them through girlhood with the force of her will. She'd had to spank one or two of the girls for acting unladylike, but she apologized and hugged them close afterwards, drying their tears and rewarding them with chocolates or pretty ribbons. It was amazing. The new women were blank slates and Briggs was rapidly taking them through girlhood, teaching them the things they needed to know to be women in the space of hours. 'Mommy' Briggs was busy lecturing them on how important and good their mission was. Petra Karanikov and Lori Kelly were bouncing a ball back and forth when Lori finally used her bubbly cheerleader voice to ask, "What about boys? Will there be any boys on our mission, Mommy?" All the other girls giggled behind their hands. Mommy smiled. "You girls are a team," she said, "but you'll probably meet some boys before you're done. Do you like boys, Lori?" "I don't know. Maybe if they're nice to me." "Some might be. Some might not." Mommy stood. "That's why I want you to meet someone, girls. But we can't sit around in our skins for her. We all have to get dressed. Come on, girls." The girls leapt up with lightning speed (a combination of excitement and enhanced muscles and reflexes) and ran to their sleeping cubes. It amused Colonel Bream to see that Lori Kelly and Justine Abbott took the time to make sure their dolls were covered and resting comfortably in their beds before they opened the little wardrobes beside their medical units. Good. They took care of their charges before they took care of themselves. He wondered if it was because of the maternal instinct that Dr. Briggs was trying to engender or because of their previous command experience. He suspected it was a little of both. "What do you want us to wear?" Eve Keith asked. "Justine?" Mommy asked, deferring to the officer in command. "We're soldiers right now," Justine said. "We should all wear the same thing, like a uniform." "Can we wear something pretty, Lieutenant?" Marlee Tompkins asked hopefully. "Okay," Justine said. She took charge like a leader born. Digging in the little closet cube, she discarded several outfits before pulling out two separate hangers. She looked for a while and made her decision. "I like this one." Lori Kelly stepped up into the role of second easily. "You heard her, girls. Find your uniform and get busy." All the girls dug through and found the matching outfit in their wardrobes without questioning. It was a replica of a school uniform, with a snowy white blouse, blue wool blazer and a plaid pleated skirt. Attached to the hanger also was a small purse, shoes, knee socks and a hair bow in the same plaid as the skirt. Jeri Cabot was the first to speak up. "I'm having trouble, Lieutenant." "With what?" Justine asked. Lori moved to Jeri's side without thinking. "I can't undo these buttons with my long nails," Jeri said. "What am I doing wrong?" "May I?" Mommy asked, deferring to Justine. The commander nodded. "You're trying to go too fast," Mommy said. "Use the tips of your nails and the pads of your fingers, like I showed you earlier. Remember what I told you about your nails?" Jeri thought a moment. "They're weapons," she said. "That's right," Mommy affirmed. "The doctors here made them extra strong for you so you can't break them. But they're sharp, too, and they can tear the silk of your pretty blouse. So remember, if it's something you don't want to hurt, you have to be gentle and go slowly. Everybody?" "If it's something we don't want to hurt, we have to be gentle and go slow," all the girls chorused. Jeri attempted again and undid the buttons on her blouse first try. She smiled a triumphant smile as Lori clasped her fondly on the shoulder. "Now, girls, here's something you haven't learned yet," Mommy said. She held up a garment that would be completely new to all their experiences. "This is called a bra." * * * Justine surveyed her troops carefully. With instruction from Mommy, they'd gone through each of the garments in their wardrobe, learning about each one, how to put them on and take them off, how to wash them and care for the delicate fabrics. They'd ended with the uniforms they'd chosen. Although she wasn't aware of it in her regressed state, all her girls as well as herself were total fetish dreams - seven gorgeous, statuesque women all dressed in silk blouses, blue wool blazers and blue-and-green plaid skirts with knee socks. The shoes were ostensibly Mary Janes, but they had a two-inch platform and a seven-inch heel to keep the training for heels going. These women would have to be in heels constantly through the ninety days of their training, since all of al-Hassra's slave girls were required to be dressed provocatively at all times, and Justine's unit would have to be able to perform their duties wearing everything from stilettos and evening wear to bikinis or hoop skirts, bustles and corsets. Mommy led the girls back to the center of the room and introduced her 'guest.' Dr. Hannah Colton-Smith was a stunner, a tall and tanned blonde with a winning smile and a captivating intelligence shining from behind the deep brown eyes. She looked at the girls admiringly, hands clasped in front of her hips. Her voluminous lab coat hid her body well, but couldn't entirely disguise her lush curves. "Girls, this is Dr. Colton-Smith. She's going to start teaching you a little about boys." "Hello, girls," Dr. Colton-Smith said. "I'm very happy to meet you all. You're all as beautiful as Dr. Briggs told me." The commander stepped forward, extending a hand. "I'm Lieutenant Justine Abbott. These are my team: Sergeant Lori Kelly, my second in command, Sergeant Marlee Tompkins, my communications and ECM specialist, Sergeant Petra Karanikov, Demolitions and EOD, and Privates First Class Jeri Cabot, Evie Keith and Gina Delveccio, fire support." Dr. Colton-Smith looked amused. "A pleasure," she said. Mommy gestured for everyone to be seated. The girls sat in a half-moon around the two standing women. Dr. Colton-Smith took the floor. "As Mommy said, I'm here to talk to you a little bit about boys and girls and the things they do together," she said. "I'll be here every day to talk to you, and answer your questions and explain what I can. But you have to all make me a promise. That you won't be embarrassed or ashamed of yourselves. If you don't ask questions, you'll never learn anything, and you have to "Sorry, sergeant," Gina mumbled, focusing. "Can you make me that promise?" Dr. Colton-Smith asked. "I promise," all the girls said. "All right, then. Would you girls all please take off your panties, then?" There was a moment of tense giggling, but all the girls soon slid their panties down their legs and sat with their skirts up above their thighs. Dr. Colton-Smith unbuttoned her lab coat to show that she too was bare from the waist down except for stockings and shoes and she sat on a tall stool so that she could point her private parts at the assembled girls. "This is your vulva," she said. "Girls, I want everyone to touch their vulva. Now, watch my finger and touch your own parts as I show them to you. These are the labia majora, or outer lips. If you spread them apart, you'll see here the labia minora, the inner lips. This is the vagina, and just above that is the urethra - that's where you pee. And just above that is your clitoris. Touch it gently, now feel that? That's where a lot of your sexual pleasure is going to come from. "Now, who knows some other names for these things?" she asked. Lori raised her hand. "Pussy," she announced. "Right. That's a good one. Boys like it when you call it that. Boys like to hear girls talk in an unladylike way, it makes them excited." Evie Keith raised a long-nailed hand. "Would a boy like it if I said 'cunt,' then?" Dr. Colton-Smith smiled. "I bet he would. Now, if everybody will look down at where their vagina is and do like I'm doing, you'll see that after a moment you'll start to feel a little wet down there. It's normal - don't be ashamed. You want that to happen." * * * The girls went out to physical training that afternoon after a quick lunch - they ate like birds, all of them, but Dr. Norman had told Colonel Bream that was to be expected - and did standard military PT in addition to beginning training in gymnastics and ballet as well. In a manner that was almost a cultural stereotype, Petra Karanikov took to the gymnastics and ballet automatically, loving every second. She couldn't keep from pirouetting down the hallway as they returned. The regression drugs had been re-administered after PT and they had another session with Mother in how to act and behave like young ladies. The training was taking very well and she was very pleased at the responsiveness of her trainees. She was very kind and careful to do a lot of touching and hugging before they went to the next session, since if anyone was going to start to show the signs of cracking up, it would be during the next session. She told all the girls as a group and also individually how much she loved them and cared about them, and how proud she was of what wonderful young ladies they were becoming. After the two hours, the girls were led into the showers for a quick clean-up and then followed a hard-faced female officer into a theater-like area with seven seats. All the women were ordered to strip down to their skins. Justine did as ordered, folding her clothes neatly the way Mommy had shown her and shivering a little in the cold air of the theater. Her big nipples stiffened as her flesh pebbled a little, While she kept moving slightly from foot to foot. The hard-faced officer gave them all small bags and told them to dress in what they were provided. Justine's eyes widened a touch at the contents, but she didn't say anything as she did as she was ordered. She wrapped the white lace merry widow around her waist, getting used to the strange boning pattern as it made her stand up very straight and pulled in her waist to an even tinier diameter. Slow and easy, Mommy had said, and she managed to get all the hooks through the little eyelets on the back, even with her long nails. She couldn't suppress a little tingle of pride at the size on the tag in the bra cups - 36D, nice big breasts which made her look fantastic. After that she rolled up the gauzy white stockings and slid them up her bare legs - it felt like a caress and she loved the way they felt hugging her legs, all slick and warm - and attached them to the little ribbon garters on the merry widow. They dug into her rounded, soft buttocks a little but it was kind of a sexy feeling. Justine found herself getting a little wet as she slipped her little feet into the white patent platforms - something about her past remembered them as 'stripper shoes,' with the high platforms and the long, tapered heel which looked so sexy and feminine. As she settled her long-nailed fingers into the satin opera gloves and fastened the little satin ribbon choker around her slender neck, she felt every inch the beautiful woman. Pictures flashed in her mind of the woman posing on the motorcycle and it brought fresh dampness in the area between her thighs. All around her the team was finishing their dressing. Lori was dressed in a skimpy red satin teddy with black lace trim and adorable black vinyl go-go boots which made her long, trim legs even curvier and her large, spherical breasts even larger. The teddy had a little lace-trimmed slit which let the lips of her pussy bare. She couldn't resist stroking it a little with her fingers, sticking out of the little fingerless black lace gloves covering her hands. Marlee was in a leopard-skin teddy that pushed together her luscious brown boobs (they were bigger than Justine's, she was sure), matching gloves which covered her forearms and hooked over her middle finger with a little elastic loop so that her hands were bare. Petra was in a white satin corset which pulled in her already tiny waist and made her tits look positively enormous. She wore white patent-leather boots that came to her mid-thigh and white satin opera gloves like Justine's. Jeri was in black lace, a little lace halter black lace-topped thigh-high stockings with her platform heels. Gina wore a little green lace basque which cinched her waist and left her 38DD breasts free, and green stockings hung on to ribbon garters. Her black platforms with the seven-inch heel made her cute little butt stick out just a little, but in a cute and sexy way. Evie was in a pink satin bandeau which hugged her athletic body and displayed her curves to an extremely sexy effect. Pink thigh-highs and pink five-inch stilettos completed the outfit along with pink satin gloves with a really cute fringe on them. Justine's pussy was nearly dripping from seeing how beautiful they all were. It was like having an itch she couldn't scratch and it made her prance from foot to foot. Dr. Colton-Smith's voice came over the intercom. "How does everybody feel?" "Sexy," Lori said first, and the other girls agreed. "I feel like I could be a centerfold, I'm so beautiful," Gina added. Justine lowered her eyes at that. "Would everyone please take their seats? Make yourself comfortable." Justine slid into the strange, egg-shaped chair. There were indentations for her head and legs in the deep warm padding and she settled into them comfortably. There was a little hum from the chair and Justine could see little attachments sliding into place around her face and in front of her body. "You're all lovely young ladies," Dr. Colton-Smith went on. "But part of our duty is to teach you how to be women as well. Now, I want all of you to remember that we love you and care about how you feel. Does everybody see the big red button by their right hands? That's the 'stop' button. If at any time this gets to be too much for you, you can press that button and everything will stop. Stay where you are, and I or Dr. Briggs will come right down and talk with you to find out what's wrong. But I also want you to know that it's perfectly okay to like what's going to happen to you. It's part of being a woman. Everybody here wants you to get the most out of this program and succeed in your mission. Don't be ashamed or embarrassed. Just do what feels natural." What feels natural. Justine swallowed her unease and tried to relax, to do what felt natural. "Now, we're going to restrain your legs. It's so you won't accidentally hurt yourselves. Don't be threatened. You can reach down and unlock them yourselves if you want." The uniformed officer fastened shiny silver cuffs attached to the chair padding around their ankles. The insides of the shackles were padded as well, and it wouldn't take much for Justine to slip her feet out of the over-wide circlets. She relaxed. "Now, girls, I just want you to relax and feel good. Be comfortable, enjoy your new clothes and how you feel and how you look. We'll start the show in about thirty seconds." Justine could faintly hear a hiss and smelled something a little akin to roses and drain cleaner. It filled her nose and stung her eyes a little bit, but that passed quickly. And in a few seconds she began to feel sexy. Not just sexy, but extremely sexy. The padding of the chair almost seemed to be caressing her skin somehow. She shifted her weight a little and it sent thrills of pleasure up and down her spine. She gasped and bit back a little girlish moan, sinking straight white teeth into her full, soft bottom lip. The machinery above her head lit up a little and she felt a stripe of heat across her eyes. Warm, pulsing sensations flowed through her body as she felt a tiny earpiece rotate out and position itself over her ear. Soft, sexy music was playing through it. Pictures began to form in her mind. Strange pictures, pictures she hadn't ever had in her mind before. She saw images of men. Naked men. They flew by too fast for her to get really good impressions, but she found herself able to pick out the things she liked. Strong shoulders. Nice hair and eyes. Tight butts and abdominals. And big penises. Penises - Dr. Colton-Smith had told her that men liked it better when she called them cocks. Or dicks. She concentrated on them, fascinated by their size and their shape and how they were suddenly making her feel. She'd never really liked them or thought about them much before, but now. They were making her hot and wet down below, and she was starting to moan a little and writhe inside the chair padding. This isn't right, her mind said. This is all wrong. "No, it's not," a voice replied in her ear. It was the voice from the dream, the strong voice that had argued with her and made her think about those things she'd never had to think about before. "I'm a man, dammit," Justine said. "You might have done some things to me, but in my mind and in my heart I'm a man." "Do you feel like a man?" the voice asked. "Yes," Justine said firmly. "It doesn't matter what body I wear, my heart and mind are always the same." "Tell me, Justine, what did you do today?" Justine tried to force her mind away from the images of all the cocks she was seeing. "I got up early and learned to walk in heels. Then Mommy sat us all down and started teaching us about periods and keeping ourselves clean. After that we got to play for a little while. She taught Lori and I how to care for our dollies." "And this sounds like what a man does with his time?" "What have you done to me?" Justine nearly wailed. "We're helping you. We gave you a new body. Now we have to make sure you have the mind and heart to belong to that new body." "You've tricked me. Drugged me. Dammit, this isn't my life." "It is now," the voice said. "It has to be." A different image flashed in Justine's mind. A sultry, green-eyed beauty with pouty lips and a tousle of thick, soft red hair. Big, firm tits in a white lace merry widow, white stockings and white heels. White satin gloves, the long kind. "This is you, Justine. You." "No," Justine said, but her voice was weak and unconvinced. "Yes," the voice said firmly. "Your body. Your face. Your tits." "I didn't know it was going to be like this. I didn't know you were going to make me into a damned fag." "Tell me something," the voice said. "The woman you see. Do you think she's a lesbian?" "How the hell should I know?" "Do you think she is?" Justine shook her head to try and clear it. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about cocks. Big ones, small ones, fat ones and skinny ones, bent ones and straight ones. And there was a hole in her middle, a big emptiness that was starting to drive her crazy. "Do you think she's a lesbian, Justine?" the voice hammered. "No," Justine said. "She's not a lesbian." "What makes you think so?" Justine was fighting harder, trying to keep the images in her head at bay. "I don't know. Just a feeling. She doesn't seem like that kind of girl. Maybe she might like a little fun with another girl every now and again, but she's no dyke." "She doesn't seem that kind of girl?" the voice asked. "Yeah," Justine grunted, fighting for control. "You mean you don't seem that kind of girl." "I'm not a girl," Justine said stubbornly. "Put your hands on your chest, Justine," the voice said. "Do it now." Justi