A Perfect Fit free porn video

[My dreams are always surreal, but very rarely involve sex of any kind. So, when the image that inspired this story cropped up for a few seconds one night, it stood out in later recollection. I decided that it just might be worth fleshing out... so to speak.] A Perfect Fit by Optimizer As he carried in his carry-out dinner, he immediately noticed the glow coming into the darkened kitchen from the living room of his condominium. Many people would not have been sure if they had left a light on, but his career demanded meticulous attention to detail. The fact that the alarm showed no signs of tampering was another bad omen. Silently placing the boxes of Chinese food on the counter, he glanced at the phone. The line appeared to still be live; it hadn't been cut. As expected, the message light wasn't blinking. He had little contact with his family and the nature of his work discouraged socializing. All this had taken scant seconds. He drew the gun from his shoulder holster and advanced to the doorway. Flashy home ambushes were vastly more common in fiction than reality, and any operative sent for assassination would be unlikely to be clumsy enough to make his presence so obvious... but that was no reason not to be careful. He hadn't been in this kind of situation in years, but it was like riding a bicycle. The muscles remembered. He quickly peeked around the corner, and jerked back to review what he'd glimpsed. One man, sitting casually in the recliner, a book held open on his lap. No obvious weapons or backup. "I am unarmed, Mr. Harper," came the voice from the living room. "Please, come in. I am anxious to finally meet you." A rich, cultured baritone with a faint accent; Portuguese, or maybe Spanish. Latin American, certainly. But it had been close to a decade since he'd been stationed in South America... He stepped in cautiously, eyes roving, gun at the ready. After a rapid survey of the room, he moved to a secure point with a view of all entrances and adopted a classic two-handed Weaver stance, targeting the intruder's chest. "All right, you have sixty seconds to explain why you should live." A slight Mona-Lisa smile had appeared on the man's face. He was middle-aged; probably in his late forties but in excellent shape. Dark hair, slim mustache, a Latin cast to the skin; the suit he wore was impeccably styled. He seemed entirely at ease; either he was running an impressive bluff or else he was supremely confident. "My business will take rather longer than that, I fear." "So far, you're not convincing me. Fifty seconds." "I suppose introductions are in order. You, of course, are Stephen William Harper, former field operative and current intelligence analyst at the CIA. My name is Vinicius Filinto Henriques Ferreira. Does the name remind you of anything?" "Nothing in particular. Thirty seconds." "Perhaps you recall my niece, Juilia Carmina Melo Ferreira?" A split second to look up the name in his memory, then he squeezed the trigger - the muscles never forgot. But nothing happened. It dawned on him that his hands were empty. The gun was gone. No... he grabbed for the weight at his shoulder, and found the gun back in its holster. The handle felt cool as he yanked it out again, as if he hadn't been holding it at all. Alarmed, he re-targeted the man one-handed and tried to fire. Again, his hand was empty. Thoroughly confused, he saw the gun, holster and all, sitting on the end table next to Vinicius. He began to feel actual nervousness. Whatever else was going on, Ferreira was clearly an amateur; professionals avoided such drama. A frightened operative was dangerous. "I see you DO remember. Excellent reflexes, by the way." The smile was full and condescending now. "They are, however, quite useless against me, as you can see." Steve was understandably unnerved, but a former Army Ranger didn't give up easily, whatever the situation. He stalled for time. "What exactly is your game here?" he asked as he shifted his weight. "My 'game' is perfectly..." He stopped short as Steve made his move, leaping forward and swinging the base of his hand in a short arc calculated to snap the man's neck. It failed to connect and he struggled to keep his balance. He numbly registered that he was back on the other side of the room, and Ferreira was well out of reach. There was a pause as the two men regarded each other, displaying equally startled expressions. Then Ferreira burst out laughing. Steve felt a flicker of panic this time, but he clamped down on the emotion with long-practiced surety and maintained control. Clearly there was something going on here he didn't understand. Until he could sort things out, he'd allow Ferreira to think he was in charge. Cooly, he bit out, "That's a neat trick. How's it work?" Ferreira, too, had regained his composure - though his eyes still twinkled. "Magic, of course," he stated matter-of-factly. Hearing, out loud, the word that had been rattling in the back of his mind was oddly calming. Now Steve was SURE it was an angle, a con. An impressive effect, to be sure, and he was definitely in trouble... but that would make it even more valuable after he'd turned the tables, somehow. "Riiiiight..." he drawled. "Your disbelief is quite understandable, even under the circumstances. Most 'mystics' are fools or madmen or charlatans. Only a few, a VERY few, know how to contact the... entities that lie beyond this plane, and fewer still dare to face the terrible risks and costs of such contact. I myself would not have attempted it..." he trailed off, and favored Steve with an icy stare. Steve had been a ruthless handler for over seven years, and a soldier and 'wet-work' field operative for nine years before that. He still felt a thrill of anxiety at that stare. "...but you and your people... INSPIRED me." Again, stalling for time was called for. "It was nothing personal. I wasn't even..." Steve began. "Spare me," Ferreira interrupted. "I know she meant nothing to you. But I am here to MAKE it personal." It had been a minor incident midway in Steve's career with the agency. He doubted he'd even thought of the operation three times since then, but now he wracked his brain for details. He'd been acting as station chief in Brazil at the time; he'd assigned one of his operatives seduce and turn a young secretary at the then-newly-formed ABIN (Brazil's current intelligence service). They'd been able to intercept and cut off a mole from an allied country with the information she'd turned over. There had been no way to hide where the tip had come from, however, so he'd transferred his agent to another country and cut the secretary - Julia Ferreira - loose. "Do you know what happened to her after you monsters played with her heart? No, you never bothered to check. She fell into despair, still pining for your snake of an agent. Then she took to drugs, and came apart quickly. She was killed on the street by her pimp, less than a year after your little triumph." The bitterness and venom in his voice confirmed that Ferreira was definitely NOT going to be professional about this. He paused for a moment, reflecting, sadness and regret writ large on his expressive face. "Julia had been very dear to me. I could not have loved her more had she been my own. When I returned from my travels she was gone, and my brother, her father, was a broken man." His attention returned to the present, as he looked up at Steve. "I swore vengeance that day. It has taken years to prepare, years full of dark deeds and fearsome bargains. But I gained the power to find those who had wronged my blood, and give to them my wrath." "I know you're angry," Steve said, placatingly. "But as I said, I wasn't personally involved. I never even met..." Ferreira cut him off. "What is the phrase? 'The buck stops here?' You approved it, oversaw it. YOU are responsible." "I'd think you'd be a lot more pissed off at the guy who actually carried out the..." Another brusque interruption: "He has already been dealt with. Simply to get the attention of what are commonly called 'demons' requires... certain sacrifices." He radiated grim satisfaction. Steve had always been good at reading people; it was a vital part of his job, and indeed a survival skill in his profession. Very few people, even pros, could lie to his face. Ferreira was not a pro; obviously a passionate man, he wore his heart on his sleeve. Steve knew now that he wasn't lying. This man really believed what he was saying. Given what had already happened in the past few minutes, he couldn't be sure the stranger was actually insane. Of course, if he weren't, it might be WORSE... Ferreira was speaking. "I give to you now my curse. You shall know what Julia knew, feel all she felt. You, too, shall betray your country for love." He smiled. "And I shall be the instrument of your downfall. The beings I have bargained with are far beyond the human. They do not fit in our little categories of 'good' or 'evil', they are truly incomprehensible. But I have met their price, and they are not without a sense of humor. Together we determined a punishment exactly tailored to your crime." He gestured, and Steve felt a fleeting moment of dizziness; his vision blurred for an instant, then resharpened. It was almost too short to recognize. He stood for a few heartbeats, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing else happened. He exhaled, only then realizing he'd been holding his breath. "Fuck, you almost had me..." the rest of the words died in his throat as he focused on Vinicius. The stranger with the jet-black hair and fiery eyes suddenly seemed larger, more powerful, more threatening, more compelling. He wanted to look away, and yet he found himself staring, fascinated and frightened, as Vinicius laughed out loud. The sound seemed undefinably different, confusing and absorbing in some new way... As Vinicius spoke, Steve was transfixed by stirring overtones in that deep voice that he had missed before. "You do not even yet realize your fate. Go, examine yourself. Your manhood." He chuckled again. Steve turned away slightly, still furtively glancing at the disturbingly striking intruder. His manhood? What did that... In a flash, his hand was at the crotch of his trousers. For several seconds he probed, terror mounting. Something was wrong. WHERE WAS IT? His hand plunged under his waistband, reaching down. He didn't find what should have been there... but further down, he found something else, something his brain refused to process for what seemed a very long time. There was a pussy there. He had a PUSSY. The thought floated on the surface of his mind, unmoored and alien, refusing to sink in. He fled Vinicius's mocking laughter, racing to the bathroom. He knocked the door closed and tore his pants down. Sight did what touch alone could not, driving understanding home. There in the mirror was a slit between his legs, partly concealed by his bushy pubic hair... and nothing else. His form seemed otherwise unchanged; the same clean-shaven, chiseled face, the same toned arms and legs. But the one difference outweighed the others. He was a man with a vagina. The world wobbled. He recognized the sensation from when he'd been shot early in his career... he was going into shock. After a while - he wasn't sure how long - he tentatively reached down to feel it. His fingers reported the usual sensations he recognized from countless sessions with women in the past. But the data coming directly from his crotch was impossible to integrate, nonsensical at first. Vinicius pushed open the door, his cruel amusement unmistakable. Again Steve was struck by something newly unsettling about his tormentor, something gripping that further strained his already barely-held composure. He mustered his courage and barked out, "What the fuck is going on? What kind of bullshit trick is this?" But he couldn't keep all the hysteria he felt out of his voice, spoiling the effect. "It is all real, I assure you. All that and more. As I shall now demonstrate." He stepped forward and stood behind Steve, so they were both facing the mirror. He took hold of Steve's face, turning it forward. Steve saw Vinicius's reflected eyes boring into his own, and could not look away. Some part of himself wondered why he wasn't even TRYING to attack Vinicius, but the idea was somehow... impossible. He could no longer make himself believe he could EVER overpower the commanding gentleman, even without the protective magic. Vinicius reached around and began unbuttoning Steve's shirt, unhurried. He slipped it off and dropped it onto the floor. Then he pulled the t- shirt up and over Steve's head; he unthinkingly lifted his arms to help. Resistance never even occurred to him. Another change was apparent now; his nipples were larger, and the areolas around them had greatly expanded. It was bizarre seeing those erect feminine nipples on his hairy, muscled chest. Dread filled him as Vinicius's hand reached up and approached one. He gasped involuntarily as his strange tormentor began to gently stroke and tweak the rapidly-stiffening nubs. It felt incredible, amazing. He looked at Vinicius in the mirror and was again captured by those striking, arresting eyes. He could not even think of looking away, though the contempt he saw in them made him feel small and helpless. His knees trembled. His breath came faster now, and when Vinicius pinched a nipple it pushed a low moan from deep in his throat. Vinicius's other hand reached around at waist level, its target unmistakable. A wild mix of terror and anticipation shot through Steve's heart, which was hammering in his chest. The world slowed to a crawl as Steve realized what was about to happen... and realized how powerless he was to prevent it... and realized how darkly exciting he found it to be so utterly at the mercy of this cruel, powerful man. Then fingers grazed teasingly across his vulva, and he inhaled sharply, hissing. He could sense how wet he was, how his newly- traitorous body ached to be touched there, and much more forcefully. His hips bucked forward slightly, involuntarily, but he couldn't bring himself to move more than that. He wondered how he could feel so weak and so frozen in place at the same time. A digit glided along his moistened slit and he openly whimpered. He wished he could push it away but he simply leaned back into the firm arms of his captor, and allowed himself to be felt up. The well- lubricated finger slid over his clit and he yelped with pleasure, his head rocking back and his eyes closing unconsciously. His world narrowed, centered on the new chasm at his groin. His nipples sent random sparks of pleasure as he opened his legs as wide as they could go, limited by the pants around his ankles. He could hear himself moaning and whining like a bitch in heat, though he was not truly conscious of anything but the ecstasy being forced on him, growing exponentially. But then he felt a mustached face rub against his ear and his eyes snapped open. He saw himself draped across Vinicius, as his iron hands mercilessly roamed across Steve's strangely mixed new flesh. He saw himself writhing, excited... WANTON. The musk of an aroused female filled the air, and the understanding that it came from HIM somehow added to the excitement. He felt so naked, so exposed. But most of all, he saw Vinicius watching, dominating him in every way, making him into his plaything. It was Vinicius' proud face that triggered his orgasm. It was far more intense than any he'd had before. It swept him away utterly, carrying him in wave after irresistible wave until they receded enough for him to be aware of his surroundings again. He discovered himself collapsed, panting desperately, bent over the counter in front of the mirror, legs wobbling, barely managing to remain upright. His pussy (there could be no denying its reality now) was still quivering in erratic little spasms, forcing hitching gasps each time, as the fingers withdrew. They slid around his hips, leaving a wet trail of his own juices. He raised his head with effort. Vinicius was there in the mirror, triumphant, gloating. Steve felt utterly humiliated, conquered. Before, the few times he'd made a mistake or been outmaneuvered, it had filled him with rage. Anger would not come, now; only despair, and - doubly hateful - a strange and confusing acceptance, even satisfaction. All these emotions flashed through his mind in a whirl, before Vinicius' had fully stood up. Steve watched his violator survey his victim, clearly enjoying the helpless expression he could not suppress on his face. He felt himself blushing - BLUSHING - but he could not look away from those enthralling eyes. Alarm filled him as Vinicius ran a hand down his ass and began exploring his lips once more, now from behind. "No, please, no more..." he pleaded, hating the submissive, supplicating tone in his voice - but unable to sound, or even feel, more assertive. A stern look from Vinicius and he no longer dared even beg. Firm digits teased and probed anew; more swiftly than he would have believed possible - faster than any man could ever recover - he was groaning uncontrollably. He'd seen women have multiple orgasms before (or, at least, he was as sure as a man can be that they weren't faked), but experiencing one was entirely different. His second orgasm was as devastating as the first. He wasn't able to remain upright this time, and he fell to the floor on hands and knees. As he knelt there, panting, he felt the tears come. He hadn't cried since childhood but everything was racing out of control. He looked up wildly at Vinicius and was no longer able to deny what was so upsetting about him - he was GORGEOUS, breathtakingly handsome. Steve was observing everything about the man in an entirely new light. The proud, aristocratic features; broad shoulders; strong hands (his new nether anatomy twitched at the sight, almost yearningly); trim waist and belly without a hint of paunch; long legs... He let out a sob, despair mixed with unwanted but undeniable longing. Vinicius watched him cry for a time, an appreciative grin on his face. "Now I think you see. At least, a little." His voice sent chills up Steve's spine. It was beautiful, mesmerizing. SEXY. "Ate amanha," Vinicius said, mockingly. He walked out of the room without a backward glance, but Steve's eyes were riveted on his firm, tight rear. Moments later, he heard the front door open and close. Steve lay on the cold bathroom floor, weeping quietly, for a long time. Eventually he recovered enough self-possession to get up and pull on his clothes; he didn't look in the mirror. He robotically checked the house. Everything seemed secure - though he wondered if he'd ever feel secure again. All that he'd ever believed about reality, about HIMSELF, seemed to be crumbling. He found his dinner sitting in the kitchen where he'd left it, a lifetime ago. He sat down heavily on a stool and began mechanically eating the cold noodles, trying to think. He'd gone through training to resist many forms of torture. He'd been in combat several times, and he hadn't cracked then. Sure, he'd been rattled and off-balance by the gun disappearing and... such, but he would never have just SURRENDERED like that, not for anything. Obviously the changes were more than physical. The physical was bad enough. He didn't need to touch himself to notice that things were... off. His shirt rubbed his new nipples in an odd way. Even as he thought about it he could see points rising, visible under the cloth. And his briefs were disturbingly loose. Just walking around pointed out a conspicuous absence. But when he thought about what had happened in the bathroom... the shock was immediately mixed with a resurgence of excitement, of LUST. Some new part of him had LIKED it, had FED on the delicious helplessness. And thoughts of Vinicius himself sparked an even more chaotic flurry of emotion. As long as he thought in the abstract... if he thought about SOMEONE stealing his dick, and toying with his mind, and FINGER-FUCKING him, he could be properly indignant, even outraged. But if he thought specifically that Vinicius had done so, his fury collapsed. Remembering the man's hands, so surely and confidently reducing him to jelly, caused his skin to flush and his breath to come more rapidly. He was SCARED to be angry at Vinicius. (Steve finally, absently noticed that he wasn't using the man's surname anymore, even in his thoughts.) He was commanding, intimidating, and alluring... and each fed into the others. He knew that it was wrong, but it didn't FEEL wrong to be aroused by, and attracted to, his sheer animal power. Steve finished eating and made his way to the living room, intending to sit on the couch. Before he'd arrived there he'd changed his mind. He had to understand his situation, figure out what was going on. Unknowns were dangerous, and his own body was now a critical unknown. He went upstairs, closed the blinds, and took off his clothes. There was a mirror over the dresser. Aside from the nipples and his crotch, things seemed the same. He was a bizarre mix - a fit, lean man with women's genitals. He walked about in a small circle and confirmed a suspicion he'd developed - his gait had changed slightly, his hips were subtly reconfigured - not wider, just shaped differently. A quick, experimental snap-kick revealed unexpected flexibility, it reached inches higher than his previous limit. He wasn't unusually hairy for a man, but his legs looked strange beneath that clearly feminine groin. Reluctantly he examined the... vagina between his legs. The task proved to be more difficult than he'd anticipated; he ended up laying on the bed with a hand mirror. Aside from its terrifying location, it proved to be a disquietingly normal example of the type. Pert, symmetrical lips; a cute clitoris demurely hiding beneath its hood. A short distance within there was even what had to be a hymen. He would have found it attractive, placed in other surroundings. The attention of his hands, however, was causing it to stir alarmingly. He bolted off the bed with alacrity and wiped off his fingers. He moved to the mirror, shifting attention to his nipples. Again, except for their placement, they were entirely typical out to the edge of the areolas: at that point his normal chest hair reappeared. They were by now erect and firm, and sensitive to his exploratory contact. Somehow they seemed connected to the awakening flesh below, bestirring his arousal further. It felt SO good. In his imagination, Vinicius' magnetic eyes watched him as one hand descended and began to rub his new lips and clit. His back arched, almost involuntarily. He began to picture himself putting on a show, displaying his submission, affirming what Vinicius had made of him... his toy, his pet, his... his SLUT. Steve's sighs waxed into moans and then shrieks as he came again, almost as violently as before. As the pleasure faded he came to a sick realization of how thoroughly the hooks had sunk into his very being. Gathering the scraps of his willpower, he pulled his hands away from his still-eager, throbbing flesh and fought to calm down. It took time, much time, but eventually he'd restored some sense of equilibrium. As noted, Steve was not one for surrendering. He assailed the problem from many angles as the evening wore on, but it was like there were now trapdoors scattered across his mind. Considering certain aspects or specifics of his situation would drop him down a slippery ramp toward shuddering lust, and only immediate and frantic effort would keep him from entertaining dangerous fantasies... and succumbing to them. His pussy's appetite and aptitude for pleasure displayed no apparent limits as the night wore on. It took a firm and careful rein on his own thoughts, consideration of the issues only in the most general terms, to retain his self-control. He went to bed, very late, demoralized and without even a vague idea how he could proceed. Even that was disquieting; normally he slept naked, but he found that he needed a shirt to protect his... chest from unwanted stimulation. He feared what tomorrow would bring... but the despised new parts of his psyche felt a cloudy anticipation, too. Steve woke at the sound of his alarm and sat up. There was no confusion about his circumstances; it had been a restless, fitful night, and from the few snippets he could recall it was perhaps a mercy that he didn't clearly remember his dreams. But the bed was wet where his crotch had lain. He showered, briefly and unthinkingly; he could not risk devoting too much attention to his altered body... but he also couldn't go to work smelling like he did. He pondered calling in sick but he didn't want to stay home where it was clear he could be easily gotten to. He chose a stiff, thick shirt, hoping it would hide the nubs on his chest if they awoke. The rest of his morning ritual was comforting in a way, but tension underlaid the whole proceedings. He wrestled with the decision he had to make all along his drive to work. Presenting his credentials as usual, he was admitted to the secured areas and he sat down to go over his morning briefings and case reports. In the end, he couldn't do it. He came close, several times, to alerting his boss that he'd been compromised. But he never quite made it to Edwards' office. It wasn't just that it was career suicide; he had a strong sense of duty and patriotism, and was willing to put that over his own ambitions... if only barely. But acknowledging what had happened... exposing his complete humiliation to others... it was just too much. Telling his superiors that he'd been magically castrated - telling ANYONE - well, no man could face that without pause. He'd be probed, studied, examined. Treated like a lab animal. And snickered at... Work, too, was reassuring. He was incredibly relieved to confirm that he wasn't looking at other men in a sexual way. Thoughts of Vinicius' appearance had to be quickly stifled for the shivers they brought, but his co-workers were just other guys. Just as happily, he still found women attractive... though if he went too far in that vein, he started to feel his fantasies and desires warp in unfamiliar directions. Still, he could function on a business level. In many ways his day went entirely normally. But he felt like an imposter going into the men's room, walking past the urinals and sitting at a toilet to pee. Wiping was emotionally but not physically excruciating. He took a chance and did some digging on Vinicius, striving to adopt a mindset of abstract research, though it was hard to maintain; his interest was more than academic, after all. Still, there was little to discover; mostly travel records. He'd apparently never attracted much official attention. A Brazilian citizen from a well-off family. Studied anthropology and history abroad in several countries. Well- traveled since then, too - he'd been on every continent, including Antarctica. It wasn't clear where his money came from, but Steve didn't dare initiate a more thorough search that might be noticed. No known ties to any organizations of interest. He stayed later than usual, putting off the inevitable. Deviating from routine too much might draw attention from the internal agency watchdogs, however, which he could not afford in his current predicament. He ate dinner out, dread and excitement mounting simultaneously. When he pulled into his garage, his stomach was churning with the volatile mix of desire and fear. He was mentally rehearsing what he'd say and how he'd react if Vinicius was there... but he had little confidence that he'd actually be able to follow through. He entered the kitchen gingerly, and when he saw that the living room was dark he was pierced to the heart with relief... and disappointment. He recognized that he was psyching himself out, but the rigid grasp he'd always kept on his emotions was getting rather frayed. A quick tour showed that the ground floor was as he'd left it. He felt more reassured still as he went up the stairs and saw that the lights were off. Again, a survey cleared the area. He stood in the bedroom, glad to be spared a confrontation... or mostly glad, at least. He almost screamed when the voice came from behind. "Good evening, Mr. Harper." Displaying the reflexes he'd been complimented on last night, he whirled around in a flash. Vinicius sat in the chair in the corner, casual and relaxed. Once again Steve was transfixed by the man's handsome appearance, even as his mind frantically tried to account for his sudden presence. The Brazilian had NOT been there when he'd swept the room seconds ago. "You... I don't... Please, leave me alone..." It was hard to talk, to think; he just wanted to drink in that amazing face, that lean body. He knew that he should be shouting, cursing, but he suddenly felt so confused. All of the strong words he'd planned had dissolved, vanished. His nipples were perking up, so hard and sharp that his shirt couldn't conceal them. It was embarrassing, but part of him WANTED Vinicius to know how turned on he was becoming. "Hush." At the word Steve's feeble protests ended and he fell silent, abashed. "I promised I would come today, and I am, as they say, a man of my word." The white, even teeth flashed by his grin were captivating. "Are you truly so sad to see me?" Given leave to speak, he cried "Yes!", his voice breaking. He remembered the root of the term 'hysteria' and almost despaired. "You... changed me... attacked me..." He could feel himself flushing, LUBRICATING, at the images in his mind. A mock frown wrinkled his brow. "Indeed? I don't recall spirited opposition." He almost leered then, but somehow even that was... SOPHISTICATED, coming from him. "It must have been terrible." The warmth he felt on his face... he must be bright red. "I didn't... You... I wouldn't have..." He didn't know what to do with his hands. "What did I do that was so upsetting?" "You... touched me, held me... felt me..." "That doesn't sound so fearsome." The feigned puzzlement gave way to a serious expression. "Show me. What did I do that offended you so?" "Please, don't make me..." "Show me," he ordered, in a tone like steel. Steve collapsed inside. He could not stand up to Vinicius, he was like a physical force. Where had his willpower gone? Yesterday he had been a cold-blooded killer. Now he was timid and bashful... and his blood was anything but cold. With trembling fingers he reached up to his chest and pinched his nipples through the shirt. "First, you squeezed my... my chest..." Sternly: "No." It took him a second. He quailed within, but he felt his still-alien clitoris swell when he understood what Vinicius meant. The holster slipped off and was cast away; slowly, he began to unbutton his shirt. "You... you took off my shirt, like this." It fell to the floor. "And then?" He looked away shyly. "You took off my undershirt." Slowly he pulled it over his head and dropped it softly to the ground. "Did I? What did I do after that?" "You squeezed my nipples." He began to play with the strange, stiff nubs on his chest, marveling at the sensations they evoked. It was like an erection, but more concentrated, and there were two of them, and they seemed to be connected to EVERYWHERE. His pussy was flushed, straining... Vinicius allowed this to go on for some time. Steve was moaning softly; he'd never made much noise during sex before, but the feelings swamping him demanded expression. Eventually, his audience queried, "You find this unpleasant, then?" Lying was out of the question. "No," he whispered. "What was that?" Compelled, he spoke in a loud, husky voice. "No." "How does it feel?" The delay was brief, barely perceptible. "Good, oh God, so good," he panted. "I LIKE it." Why had he added that? It was true, but it felt so... NAUGHTY to admit it. Vinicius' frown had returned. "We must explore further, then, and find what upset you so." He seemed so casual, and yet Steve couldn't imagine refusing him. "What happened next?" "You... you touched me. Down there." "Where?" Like a schoolteacher, eliciting the proper answer. "On my... my PUSSY." Oh, God, why did it feel so good to say it? "How could I?" The accent was so charming... "You are still wearing pants." He was suffused with embarrassment; he hadn't been reenacting things properly... and then, as he became aware of that thought, he was embarrassed by how thoroughly involved he'd become in Vinicius' game. But it couldn't shake him loose of the control; indeed, his breath came faster as he began to unbuckle his belt. "I'm sorry, sir." The honorific just slipped out, naturally, without a conscious decision. He kicked off his shoes, one by one, and eased the pants down; slowly, flirtatiously. He realized he was doing a STRIPTEASE for the man who'd stolen his maleness. Where resentment, where RAGE should have been, there was only shame... and a growing, dazed wonder at how erotic it all was. He stepped out of the pants and turned slightly as he began to slide off his briefs, gradually. It was indescribably exciting, so sexy. His reservations meant nothing anymore, they hardly registered; he was in another world now, where other rules applied. The only anxiety he felt was fear that Vinicius wouldn't find him attractive. His audience simply regarded him, infinitely superior, a lord surveying a peasant. Steve kicked the briefs away with a flair and ran a hand down his belly toward his...his snatch, his twat. It was on fire, HE was on fire. It didn't feel alien now; it was too powerful, too deeply rooted to be anything but part of his being. He fell to his knees, legs spread. He plumbed the strange and wonderful new convolutions of his crotch, feeling the delicious slippery friction, hearing the slurping wetness, smelling his own new musk. All for Vinicius, who had ignited this glorious conflagration within him. He gave voice to passionate moans and whines; he had no control, it was was if his pussy was crying out directly. It was so much like his fantasy of the night before that he wondered if Vinicius could read his mind. As he raised his head and gazed into those oh-so-compelling eyes, he felt as if they were peering into his very soul, that every secret within him was laid bare before this irresistible presence. He felt tiny and humble... and unbelievably hot. A hint of a smile on that face; he knew, he MUST know. "Oh, oh God, oh please, oh my Gooood!" Again his climax was intense and cataclysmic and unmanned him, completely and literally. As a man an orgasm had been a final thing; once he had come, arousal dropped precipitously, and didn't return for a time. His new parts didn't have that limitation; arousal receded somewhat, but came nowhere near zero. He was still hungry, STARVING for more. It was enough for him to remember how degrading this all was, though... or at least, how degrading it should have felt. There was barely a flicker of resentment, however. He was ashamed... but eager. Vinicius was smiling broadly. "That didn't appear so upsetting. Tell me, how do you feel?" He didn't even WANT to lie. "Hot," he panted. "Sexy." "You enjoyed that, did you?" "Yes," he admitted coquettishly. He was FLIRTING! "Do you wish me to leave now?" "No!" he anxiously and unthinkingly exclaimed. "Well, then, I appear to have done you a favor. It is only right that you repay my kindness," Vinicius admonished sternly. Steve suffered a thrill of terror. He thought he knew where this was headed, but he realized that he was too worked up, too far gone, to refuse Vinicius now. He'd do practically ANYTHING... and understanding that, he felt himself become even wetter. The man stood up from his chair. "Come, approach me." Steve began to stand, but the words came sharply. "On your KNEES." He crawled forward, face burning, but whimpering with lust. To Steve, Vinicius looked... magnificent from down on the floor. His submission was total. He reached Vinicius' feet and stopped, trembling. Unbidden, he bowed his head. He could feel juices running into his pubic hair, onto his belly... The moment stretched... and then he called down. "Remove my shoes." He reached forward. "Yes..." Viciously: "Yes, WHAT?" Steve paused. It was appalling how little resistance he could mount, how the words were squeezed out of him. "Yes, Master." He shivered. The cool air running over his naked skin, perking his nipples... it did nothing, he was still so HOT... The shoes came off, one by one. The pungent smell should have been off-putting... but it was arousing instead. It was his Master's smell. "Now, the pants." He reached up, fumbling for a moment, unhooking the belt, pulling it free. His hands grew surer. The pants had a single button, easily undone. The sound of the zipper descending made him shiver again. He WANTED this. It didn't feel like the desires were being imposed from without. It was like he was awakening to parts of himself that had always been there, latent, waiting for the proper time to stir and bloom. It felt natural, right, and wonderful. He pulled the pants down. Vinicius wore boxers. That struck Steve as more manly than briefs... and that was somehow more sexy. He was gratified to see that, despite Vinicius' affected detachment, he was sporting a prominent erection, stretching the sleek fabric. Steve wanted desperately to please him. There was something else he wanted desperately, too. He leaned forward and took hold of the boxers with his teeth. The smell was intoxicating, the feel of the smooth cloth against his cheek was delicious. It had to be real silk. Slowly he descended, slipping the undergarment to Vinicius' ankles to join the pants. He sat up again and regarded his Master's cock. Intellectually, he knew he should have been disgusted, repulsed; that awareness was purely abstract, however. In reality, it was concretely fascinating. It was somehow more immediate, more impressive, more REAL than any he'd seen before. He'd never inspected any prick so closely or intently in his life, not even his own. It was... not beautiful, exactly, but... enticing. Stimulating. Suggestive. It was uncircumcised and the head glistened slightly, extending out past the retracted foreskin. Master's pubic hair reminded him of nothing so much as the mane of a proud lion. The balls hung low in the scrotum, too masculine for words. "Touch it." Was Vinicius' voice just a bit throaty, a fraction strained? Steve hoped so. He needed no further encouragement, and gently took hold of the member. It felt amazing, strong, powerful. It might as well have been electrified for the tingling that ranged through his whole body at the contact. He stroked it gently for a time, marveling at the feeling, and at his own enthusiasm. Admiring the naked lower half before him, he wondered what an ENTIRELY unclothed Vinicius would look like, and hoped to find out soon. He was ready to do more, much more, but despite his straining anticipation, he could not dream of proceeding without permission. Permission was not long in coming. "Suck it," Vinicius instructed. There was no doubt the voice was husky now, despite the authority in the inflection. Quickly but deferentially, Steve took the head into his mouth and began to gently suck and lick. He wracked his brains for tricks that women had used on him before. Odd, he hadn't thought of his own erstwhile member until now... it seemed absurd, silly, to miss it when he had THIS spectacular penis to play with now. The tastes and smells were delightful, ambrosial. The feel as he took in more and more was... FULFILLING, in a way he'd never imagined before. No tongue had ever reached so deeply, had ever stimulated so many senses at once. Everything simply... fit. CLICKED. He wondered why he'd never wanted to do this before. It was sexy, and FUN! He could feel it get harder as he worked, and he heard Master breathing deeply. He opened his eyes and was presented with a view of a blowjob he'd never expected to see, but which was profoundly erotic. He realized he was gasping and moaning himself as he slurped with unabashed pleasure. He ran his hands up Master's legs and placed his hands on the ass he found, pulling himself as close as he could, trying to get that majestic prick as deep in his throat as possible. Master let out a gasp, and then he began to come. Steve had heard that some women could orgasm without direct stimulation, by emotion and fantasy alone. Tasting Vinicius' cum, feeling his cock pulse in his mouth, knowing that he had succeeded, drove Steve wild. He drew as much joy from the knowledge that he had made his Master come as he did from the waves of heat and pleasure radiating across his body as he wriggled his hips. He greedily swallowed every last drop, and for the longest time felt nothing but a glow of satisfaction and perverse pride. Vinicius, for his part, was silent - apart from heavy breathing - for almost a minute. He watched mutely as Steve tenderly licked and milked his wilting penis, ensuring that not a drop of semen spilled. Steve couldn't tell what he might be thinking. His normal sensitivity was overwhelmed by his powerful emotions, his ardor to please and to submit. He took the lack of countermanding orders as tacit permission to keep kissing and enjoying his Master's delightful cock. Unexpectedly, without warning, Vinicius shoved him down. Steve, taken by surprise, fell onto his side. He looked up, shocked. He'd been trying so hard to make Master happy... Vinicius glared for a moment, then turned away, reaching down to pull on his clothes. He didn't look at his victim for what seemed a long time. Steve simply lay where he had fallen, unsure. Eventually Vinicius sat back in the chair and regarded him coldly. The game was over, clearly. Steve was disappointed - he was still very aroused - and confused. But he was far too intimidated to do more than collect himself off the floor and wait - kneeling, head bowed - for Vinicius to say something. Finally, he spoke. "How does it feel? To be so humiliated? To be a COCKSUCKER?" The word could have been wickedly sexy, but the tone robbed it of any pleasure. His voice was spiteful, poisonous. He glared; hateful, furious. Steve quailed inside. "Please, I'm sorry, I don't... I didn't mean to..." He felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He was so frightened; what could he have done to upset Vinicius so? "Enough!" his tormentor barked. He was silent a few seconds more, and then he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Having regained his composure somewhat, he spoke again. His voice was more controlled, but still cold. "It would appear your reluctance was more feigned than real." With his lust dwindling, Steve found himself able to think a bit more like his usual self. He had recovered a tiny amount of indignation. "It's magic making me do this. What's YOUR excuse?" He wished he could sound accusatory instead of merely petulant. Vinicius smiled indulgently, his good humor apparently restored for the present. "True, those of us driven to explore the limits of reality often go beyond conventional strictures in other areas. I freely admit that my sexual tastes ARE unusual, but the beings I... 'contracted with' care nothing for what humans consider 'normal'. They took my proclivities into account when crafting my revenge." He reached forward and ran his fingernails up Steve's chest. The former man arched into the caress, letting out a soft "mmmmmm," almost a purr. "I see your own objections are fading," Vinicius teased. "No!" Steve cried. "I don't want this!" But even as he said that he could feel his nipples crinkle anew. "What do you WANT from me?" he cried out, frustrated and confused by the man's whipsawing moods and his own helpless reactions to them. Vinicius was positively beaming now as he stroked Steve gently. "I want exactly what I said. I want you to betray your country. I made certain contacts when I was searching for particular texts and sites in China: they were necessary if I wanted to secure permissions for my journeys there." He smiled vindictively as he pulled on his shoes. "I care nothing for the affairs of nations, but it will amuse me when you select the most damaging nuggets of information for me to relay to the PLA's Second Department." Steve was horrified. He'd NEVER hand over state secrets! But then, he'd done so many things in the past few minutes he'd never imagined doing... "That is enough for tonight." He stood and nodded his satisfaction at Steve and the gaping expression on his face. "Adieu, for now." Steve looked away, but couldn't help listening intently as Vinicius strode from the room and down the stairs. For the second time in as many days, Steve wept uncontrollably. The next morning was much as the previous one had been, only filled with even more despair. He tried to lose himself in his work during the day, and mostly succeeded. But leaving his office that night, he impulsively decided to at least TRY to do something about his situation. It was Friday; he always kept a small 'escape kit' in the trunk with cash, a change of clothes, and other useful items. Instead of going home, he went to a random hotel and checked in. He had dinner in the hotel restaurant and went back up to his simple twin-bed room. He was almost surprised that Vinicius wasn't waiting for him. He ignored the flash of disappointment and sat down at the desk to think. He forced himself to remember what had happened last night, to consider everything as dispassionately as he could. He told himself it was a problem to solve. Steve was very good at puzzles, at finding answers with incomplete information. At determining the why from the what. At understanding people's weaknesses... A few pieces clicked into place, all at once. Vinicius had been furious immediately after the blowjob. (Steve wrenched his thoughts from dwelling too fondly on that subject.) He had been enjoying things up until then... as he should, since the situation was designed to appeal to his 'proclivities'. Steve had been doing everything to please him... It had GOTTEN to Vinicius! He had forgotten his drive for vengeance for a moment, because of Steve's sincere enthusiasm. Vinicius was not truly ruthless, not professional. He was sophisticated and intelligent, but also firey, passionate - he let his emotions get in the way. Revenge ITSELF was unprofessional. Steve didn't think Vinicius was instinctively cruel. He had become angry because he had - if only for a moment - stopped thinking of Steve as a victim and had thought of him as... not a lover, perhaps, but at least a person. Vinicius might enjoy DOMINATION during sex, but that was not the same thing as CRUELTY. It was an interesting theory. He THOUGHT it held together, but he was also aware of how little objectivity he possessed regarding the man. He was OBSESSIVELY attracted to the dashing Latin adventurer. He WANTED it to be true, he wanted Vinicius to care for him. It also pointed out, to his agent side, a way that Steve might gain some power over Vinicius... but only by becoming a more perfect sex slave. He blushed at how tempting that prospect was. No further revelations came that night. He ended up watching the cable news shows for a few hours, half-expecting Vinicius to appear each time he turned around. (He always kept up on current events; sometimes the most surprising connections could be made.) Eventually, around eleven, he decided to sleep on it. He was both relieved and somehow vaguely saddened that the warlock had been evaded so easily. Unfortunately, slumber proved difficult to capture. Tossing and turning in the dark, he finally admitted to himself that he was quite horny. Here away from home, though, perhaps he would be safe in exploring himself a little... His fingers ranged along the unfamiliar geography of his loins. He tried to distance himself, pretend he was feeling up some woman and not his own anatomy, but it was no use. The idea just didn't have the charge it should. He knew what WOULD get him off, and in a mortifyingly short time he was applying that knowledge. Picturing Vinicius' face and form brought immediate results. In his fantasy, Vinicius was there, naked and glorious, running his hands along skin that ached for his caress. Moisture gathered swiftly between his lips, and he could feel blood rushing there, swelling his pussy and making it ready... for HIM, for that gorgeous, irresistible man. "Oh, Vinicius... oh please... mmmmm... oh, god..." He could not remain silent. The tension climbed by degrees. What would it feel like, to kiss him with that moustache? Would it taste as good as his cock? He drew forth and pictured every moment of last night's oral service, now wishing to do it again, all that and more. His nipples were so hard, his pussy so wet... "Oh god, oh Master, oh... oh fuck me, please, oh god Vinicius, fuck me! Oh fuck oooooohhhhhhh!" Picturing that superb prick inside his eager vagina was the last straw. He screamed, heedless that others in nearby rooms might hear. His hips bucked as he climaxed triumphantly. It lasted much longer than any he'd had as a man, fading gradually, leaving him panting but almost at peace. Perhaps he could actually sleep now. "THAT sounded rewarding." The voice was unmistakable, the tone was playful. For several seconds Steve fumbled clumsily for the light switch, and finally got it. He and Vinicius blinked at each other, eyes adjusting. In his dazed state, halfway between excited and befuddled, Steve wondered if he was dreaming. He was very quickly coming to not care, however. Vinicius was nude and semi-erect; he sat casually at the near edge of the other bed. No discarded clothes presented themselves to Steve's quick inspection of the room. Part of the reason that inspection was quick was that he was an experienced operative whose life had depended on rapidly sizing up a situation. Mostly, however, Steve's eyes were magnetically drawn to Vinicius' stunning body. He was, as Steve had already concluded in an entirely different context, in excellent shape. Not fat-free like a bodybuilder, not polished and artificial like a model, just... fit, healthy. His body looked LIVED-IN, with several interesting scars here and there, adding character like beauty marks. Steve's heart was pounding as he drank in his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his legs, his arms... everything he saw was thoroughly sexy. He'd believed he was wet and excited before, but he was reaching new peaks in just the few moments since the light had come on. He could not speak, he was dumbfounded. The surprise, the embarassment of being caught masturbating like that, the sudden rush of lust... it was too much. He could only stare, helpless. Vinicius' lazy smile told Steve that his confusion was obvious. He realized with some corner of his mind that he'd instinctively pulled up the sheets to cover his chest. "I would apologize for intruding, but it seems I am invited," he drawled. Steve blushed and looked down, but he could not deny it. Longing filled his soul. It wasn't fair, him appearing now, when he was so worked up... Vinicius continued, "Please, don't stop. Now that the light is on, I'm curious to see." Steve had thought he'd been mortified earlier... "Yes, Master." Tentatively yet ineluctably he pushed the covers away, exposing his nakedness. He'd never been exhibitionistic before, but now the idea of playing with himself under Master's supervision was irresistably sexy. Despite himself, he still felt flattered to see Vinicius' erection rising. He moved, changing position, making sure that Master would have a good view. His new hips were indeed more flexible than the old. He was grateful the changes had been so thorough; his legs would never have been able to spread so wide before. He snaked a hand down to the exceedingly moist flesh below while the other gently rubbed and pulled his nipples. It seemed natural and obvious to pleasure himself that way, as if he'd always done so. Having Master watch was indeed electric, exciting. It was unspeakably hot, being so naughty, and him seeing it all. He was so wet now, so inflamed, as he moaned deep in his throat, animal, bestial. He WAS an animal - but tamed, desperate to please his Master. Vinicius' erection was at full mast now; the image was sexy by itself, but the fact that he was the reason for it stirred the new blazes within Steve that much higher. It was like he could FEEL Master's eyes on him. He was rubbing his clit with his middle and index fingers, hard and fast; it was smaller than a penis but so CONCENTRATED, purified; it was for nothing but pleasure and it was VERY good at its job. He wriggled and writhed, muscles tensing, until at last he looked into his Master's eyes and release arrived. As ever now, he was uncontrollably vocal, screaming his ecstasy. It was as if the pleasure was coming straight from Vinicius' beautiful brown eyes. As he lay there panting, Vinicius stretched out on the bed and gestured, beckoning Steve forward. Eagerly he leapt up and settled over his Master. He knelt on the edge of the bed, to Vinicius' right, and bent forward, taking the inviting hardness into his mouth and beginning earnest worship. In seconds he was deep-throating, and idly reflecting that he'd never enjoyed pubic hair in his face quite so much. For that matter, the hair on Master's legs was somehow exciting to touch... He jerked with surprise when he felt the hand begin probing the folds of his pussy, but he caught himself quickly and resumed fellatio with scarcely a pause. As time passed he found it increasingly difficult to focus, however; his attention kept switching between the delights in front and behind. It was a wonderful dilemma to have, though; and it was touching that Master should devote some attention to Steve's pleasure, too. Perhaps it was the magic, or Vinicius' skill, but his next orgasm arrived simultaneously with his Master's. It was a remarkable experience, climaxing while so many senses were being stimulated at once. He'd never been religious, but his novel submissive impulses and emotional state made swallowing cum almost like a communion. It was in that frame of mind that Steve turned and laid himself next to a panting Vinicius, wanting nothing more than to be close to him. Tentatively, timidly, he leaned forward but no rejection was forthcoming. Kissing him was at least as good as he'd fantasized. The strong, agressive tongue explored the inside of his mouth, driving him wild. He reached forward, pulling his Master close, losing himself in the wonderful intimate contact, the smell and taste and feel. He groaned and squeezed, needy, surrendering completely to the moment. Just humping Vinicius' leg, he came one more time. Then they lay next to each other, Steve running his hand up and down Vinicius' returning erection. After a time, Vinicius reared up and laid Steve out on his back, and deliberately parted Steve's legs with his knee. He moved his prick close to the opening there, and gave a meaningful look in Steve's eyes. Steve qualied inside. If Vinicius pushed, even a little, he would acquiesce. He knew it, and Vinicius knew it - Steve could see it in his eyes. It scared him how much he WANTED it. He stared at that cock, and knew it would split him open, take him over. He would ride it to his ruin, but oh God, it would feel so good... Some small part of him that was still Steve held back. Somehow he intuited that THAT, at least, was still his choice... but if he freely gave himself in that way, it would seal Vinicius' ultimate victory. He was not willing to concede that defeat... yet. Gazing at that lordly shaft, however, he was not sure he could hold out forever. He was seriously wondering if he'd last the night. He wasn't quite able to say "no"... but he didn't say "yes." Vinicius hovered there a moment longer, then smiled and laid back down on the bed. "Not tonight? Well, all in good time." His confidence was frustrating, maddening... but totally sexy, too. "Still, what shall we do with this?" he mused, indicating his prick. Steve, with a mix of relief and regret and returning arousal, rose to the task and brought his hands forward, intending something different this time. Somehow he felt guilty about not letting Vinicius fuck him, and he wanted to try to make it up to him. He began to massage and stroke the beautiful member, only occasionally using his mouth for brief licks and kisses. It took time, but Steve was in no hurry. He watched at close range, with unabashed fascination, as the cum emerged from the meatus; everything about sex with Vinicius was compelling. By now he felt no trace of reluctance as he licked up the spilled semen. They lay together again in the afterglow, still in contact but without quite the same urgency. Eventually Steve whispered, "I hoped you'd come." It just slipped out. Part of him was ashamed that he'd admitted it, ashamed it was true. But there it was. Vinicius smiled complacently. "And so I did. There is nowhere you can hide from me." It should have sounded terrible, threatening, but it was somehow... comforting, and heartwarming, and thrilling all at once. A new feeling, one he couldn't think of the word for... Vinicius continued, smiling. "Still, this place is amply suited for an assignation. I commend your choice." Steve looked away shyly; he knew he was being teased, and he'd never liked that before, but from Vinicius it was cute. "How do you do that? How did you get in here?" He wanted to deflect conversation from himself, both in defense of what little self-respect he maintained and out of curiosity about Vinicius - professional and personal. "With the power I have purchased, it was trivial." A bit of Latin machismo showed, then, as he hastened to add, "Not that I haven't made my way into some difficult places on my own, of course." "Like where?" Steve asked coyly, his turn to tease a little. "Well, I do recall a wealthy collector who was churlishly unwilling to grant access to certain stone tablets..." Fortunately, the Brazilian seemed to be in a talkative mood. Steve was glad, partly for the gratification of his curiosity... but more importantly, he never wanted him to leave, he wanted only to lay next to this amazing man and bask in his presence. Steve had been a good interrogator once, and he applied that skill adeptly to keep Vinicius rambling. He was a charming storyteller, full of anecdotes and tales from his many and varied adventures. "...so I worked my way around behind them until I was literally a foot behind their mounts." "But what did you do? You didn't have a gun or anything!" He felt like one of the adoring girls in Indiana Jones' classes. But then, the word 'dreamy' applied to Vinicius on so many levels... "It was no trouble. I shouted and struck both horses on their flanks. The beasts startled, threw their riders, and galloped off. Once I'd snatched their rifles away they were much more polite." Steve listened, entranced, until it was quite late. When Vinicius discreetly yawned, Steve immediately moved to lay him back and make him comfortable. The bed should have felt crowded but Steve relished the closeness as they drifted off to sleep. Waking the next morning, Steve was confused for a moment. It was the first time he'd slept so deeply since Vinicius had appeared in his life. The man was gone. He knew what had happened last night should have bothered him deeply, and yet he could not but remember it with fondness. His incongruous happiness did not fade for quite a while. He showered and packed, then went down to the restaurant for a hearty breakfast. It was only when he arrived at home that his normal personality managed to start reasserting itself. It was a bit like waking from a dream. Actions and circumstances that had seemed perfectly reasonable and rational were suddenly, obviously bizarre. He had been an exhibitionistic cocksucker and had drawn nothing but pleasure from it! His previous contentment melted into a queasy horror. He needed to clear his head, to feel like a MAN again. His first attempt failed badly, however. He didn't make it to the end of the street before turning his motorcycle around and fleeing back to his garage. His new anatomy responded very differently to the thrumming bike between his legs. Instead he got in his car, drove to the firing range, and ran a couple hundred rounds through his pistol. Cleaning the gun afterward at his kitchen table was familiar and reassuring. Then, he went down to his basement and got his old free weights out of storage (he knew he wasn't going to be using the agency gym for a while). He fired up the 'workout' playlist on his iPod and wore himself out exercising to the metal and grunge. He went for a jog as the sun set. By the time he returned home, he was feeling more like himself than he had in days. The whole situation was just a problem to work out. He'd been in tough scrapes before and pulled through, he'd managed to salvage some botched operations when others would have given up. Admittedly, this was a VERY tough problem, but there was always a way. All these thoughts were running through his mind as he walked in through his front door. They all vanished instantly as he caught sight of the flowers in the living room. He scampered over at once to see. A dozen long-stemmed red roses in a beautiful crystal vase. Leaning against the base was a small envelope. He opened it excitedly and found a brief handwitten note: I enjoyed last night very much. Thank you, V. The script was elegant and sophisticated, as he'd known it would be. He felt the goofy grin spreading across his face and didn't care in the slightest. It was so sweet of Vinicius to do this! Last night had been wonderful indeed; not just the sex - though that alone had been mind-blowing. It was laying in bed afterward with him, talking; the cuddling, the intimacy... The intelligence analyst inside him finally made a another connection, one he should have made days ago. He wasn't just reacting to Vinicius like a girl, physically and emotionally. He was reacting like a specific TYPE of girl; a young woman, shy and perhaps who'd been a little sheltered, but with a flowering sexual curiosity and a romantic streak. Such women were prime candidates for subversion in the proper circumstances. Julia had been one... He tried several times that evening to throw the flowers away, but every time he got near them, he fell under their spell anew. No matter how strong his initial resolve, he'd end up admiring the blooms, and smelling them, and thinking how thoughtful and endearing it was of Vinicius to bring them. He couldn't bear the thought of parting with them! Each time he'd find himself deciding to dry and preserve the roses once they started to wilt. He started avoiding the living room, and sat in his bed upstairs, despondent and fearful of every noise in the house... and at the same time eager, avid. His earlier confidence was gone. He awoke, bleary and not at all rested, early the next morning. It took a few moments for him to realize that he had not been visited - at least in person - at all the day before. He tried to ignore the part of him that was unhappy about that and worried about what it might mean all through breakfast. He came to no conclusions, however. He just didn't have enough data. He noted, not without significant distress, that his psychological changes were ongoing. Any time he thought of Vinicius, or got even a little bit horny, he turned into a giddy, swooning teenage girl. He was falling in LOVE with him! In truth Vinicius was a remarkable, even admirable,