The Maid In Plain Sight free porn video

The Maid In Plain Sight *** The surgeon looked his patient in the eye. From behind a surgical mask and a pair of clear safety glasses, his eyes looked alert. "Before we begin, I have to ask you. Are you sure you want to go through with this?" asked the surgeon. The patient nodded. "You understand that these procedures are major, and it's going to be a long time before you can change anything back. Some of it can't be reversed. This is your last chance to back out." The patient narrowed his eyes, and nodded again. "Then let's begin." The surgeon placed the anesthesia mask on the patient's face, and on a nearby gas cylinder, he opened a valve. The patient felt a soft puff as gas began to flow out of the mask and onto his face. "I'm going to count down from ten." The surgeon began counting down. By the time he got to seven, the patient was out. *** The cigar smelled of rich loamy soil, reminding El Blanco of a warm moist breeze after a summer storm. The Cuban people had suffered greatly under communism, but they could still make a damn fine cigar. Declining the offered match with a shake of his head, he carefully placed the unlit cigar back into its rosewood box. He could smoke later; now was the time for business, not pleasure. El Blanco leaned back in his chair. The shift in weight made a low squeak. He looked up across his large desk at the man standing at attention. One of his lieutenants. Realizing he once again had the leader's attention, the lieutenant resumed his report. "Don Blanco, no one has seen him," said the lieutenant. "None of our men on the street have heard anything. We've doubled the reward offer as you asked. It's been months. If he's even alive, he must be on the other side of the world by now." El Blanco rubbed his temples. The hit had been planned precisely. The tip from his spies had been well worth the bribes. But despite a coordinated, well-armed attack on the DEA's safe house, somehow his target had survived and slipped away. And as of yet, none of his spies in the DEA or the FBI had gotten wind about the target turning himself in, or being in witness protection. The gangster pointed a tanned, girthy finger at the lieutenant accusingly. "I want that bastard found, and I want him brought to me. That cabron was undercover here for months. If he ever testifies, I'll be in federal prison for life. So double the reward offer again. Double the surveillance. Whatever it takes. I cannot let this insult stand. Bring him to me, my friend, and you will be greatly rewarded." El Blanco began to shuffle through the messy pile of documents covering his desk. Amid the neatly typed surveillance reports were large glossy photographs: a slim, clean cut man in a suit, talking to a pair of men in windbreakers emblazoned with the letters DEA; the same man adorned with a bushy moustache and blonde hair tied into a neat topknot, standing next to El Blanco himself, dressed in alligator skin boots and luxury islandwear; various computer generated projections of the man with different facial hair styles and hair styles. Wordlessly, he waved a dismissive hand at the door, indicating the meeting was over. The lieutenant nodded, turned on his heels, and exited El Blanco's office. As he walked down the sunlit hallway, he saw the maid cleaning a large ornate mirror. He smiled to himself. Although hidden modestly behind a simple grey maid's uniform, the obvious roundness of a pair of large breasts and a big feminine ass filled out her clothing and sent a wave of pleasure that awoke his nether regions. The lieutenant licked his lips hungrily and pressed himself against the maid from behind, crotch nestling between the round buttocks. He ran his fingers up the bottom of the maid's uniform, feeling the back of the maid's pantyhose encased thigh and enjoying the texture of nylon over smooth skin. The maid froze in fear, then looked at the reflection of the perverted lieutenant. Grinning, his hands crept up and around and began to fondle the maid's full, heavy breasts through the uniform. He started grinding his growing cock against the maid's ass. The lieutenant leaned his face forward into the maid's tied back hair and inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of scented shampoo and the faint aroma of sweat. As one of his hands began to creep downwards towards the maid's nether regions, he saw the maid's demeanor change in an instant. In the mirror, the lieutenant saw the maid smile lustily and grab both of the lieutenant's hands, aggressively place them back onto the large breasts, and use them to knead. The lieutenant could also feel the maid's hips begin on his crotch, up and down, like a stripper on her pole. The feeling of the maid's large round ass caressing his erect cock through maid's clothing and his own caused him to shudder. The maid laid an arm around his neck and placed a hand on his tented crotch and began to stroke him through his pants while moaning huskily. After a minute of the erotic dance, the lieutenant came in his pants. He backed away and laughed. After a playful slapping the maid on the ass, the lieutenant started walking away. He looked over his shoulder and winked at the maid, who responded with a flirtatious smile. Although he had dreaded reporting his failed search to the boss, he still took advantage of the island's amenities during his visits, which included compliant maidstaff. Of course, he knew not to cross the boundary of actually trying to have sex with them; that privilege was reserved for the boss. But the feeling of being able to coerce beautiful women into returning (or at least pretending to return) his lusty attention thrilled him. The maid watched the lieutenant as he walked down the hallway and rounded the corner. Once he had disappeared from view, the maid's shoulders visibly relaxed. That had been a close call. Stanley Fairchild breathed a sigh of relief and began to adjust his hair and uniform. While confident that his surgically-created breasts and ass would fool the lieutenant, if one of those wandering hands had gotten to his crotch and found his tucked cock and balls, he knew that he'd be discovered immediately. Thinking back to the pseudo-lapdance and handjob that he had successfully distracted the lieutenant with, he gagged. Stanley looked at himself in the mirror. The beautiful Latina maid with the caramel colored skin, big breasts, and soft curves was a far cry from the angular Caucasian man in the photographs on El Blanco's desk. If you know what to look for, it might be somewhat possible to perceive the subtle resemblance between the face he used to have and the one he now possessed. Thankfully, the lieutenant -- the one leading the worldwide search for Stanley, undercover agent -- had paid more attention to his chest than his face. The maid picked up his rag and resumed cleaning the mirror. Once finished, he dropped off his rag and spray bottle of window cleaner at a nearby closet, grabbed a broom, and began sweeping the hallway. As he swept, he got closer and closer to the end of the hall and with it, the door to El Blanco's office. Holding an ear to the door, he heard nothing. He knocked softly. No response. A quick jiggle confirmed that the door was unlocked. He steeled himself and slowly, quietly, opened the door and peered in. No one was inside. Stanley checked the hallway and saw that the coast was clear. He slipped into the office and quickly shut the door behind him. The combination of beams from the afternoon sun, the rich leather furniture, and the varnished wooden paneling gave the office the feeling of a grand old hotel. The walls were dotted with trophies: a golden AK- 47; a set of dangerous-looking Japanese swords; a framed one hundred dollar bill; stuffed heads of several endangered game species. Stanley's hand slowly slid over a leather sofa, and he had flashbacks to meetings he had attended here, albeit with a very different appearance and a different identity. Stanley stepped over to the desk and began to shuffle through the mountain of documents and photos. From what he could read at a glance, they were about him. He began skimming for any mentions of his current whereabouts or the names of the cartel's DEA spies. He found none. He began going through the photographs. He stopped at a photo of a young woman in black at a funeral, taken with a long-zoom telephoto lens. His wife, Lauren. Another photo. Lauren again, coming home from work. Lauren, going to church. Stanley shuddered. The cartel must still have Lauren under constant surveillance, even to this day, lying in wait for Stanley to show up. Setting the photos down, Stanley searched the area around the desk but found no clues. Noticing a stubbed-out cigar in an ashtray, he held the back of his hand up to it. Still warm. El Blanco must have just been here. Stanley's arched, feminine brows furrowed. How could he have left without Stanley noticing from outside? Suddenly, Stanley heard what sounded like two slabs of meat hitting each other. He scanned the room, searching for the source of the noise, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He heard it again. Then -- a slap, and then a muffled scream. It seemed to be coming from behind the bookshelf. Stanley walked over to the large sturdy shelf and stuck an ear up to it. He could feel a slight breeze on his face. He looked at the windows -- all shut. Stanley checked the back of the bookshelf. Instead of finding a space between the bookshelf and the wall, he saw that they were flush together, as if they were connected. The bookshelf must be hiding a secret passage, he realized. Then from behind the bookshelf he heard a new sound -- a series of noises, getting louder and louder -- footsteps! Someone was coming. Stanley scampered out of the office and back into the hallway. After he closed the door behind him, he heard a long high-pitched noise-- like a metal gate that needed new oil in its hinges. A mechanical clank. Then the sound of footsteps, and someone settling into the leather chair. Not wanting to push his luck, he scurried off to clean somewhere else. *** The hot water washed over Stanley's body, cleaning away the accumulated grime and sweat of a hard day's work. But despite thoroughly scrubbing, he still felt dirty from his encounter with the lieutenant. He turned around, letting the shower hit his upper back. His neck and back were sore not just from his daily labors but from the burden of having to carry around two large breasts. Still, even though they were a literal pain the neck, they were useful. The incident with the lieutenant had demonstrated that. He shut his eyes, and saw it again; his memory of the afternoon's assault; the reflected image of a beautiful Latina maid falsely moaning with pleasure as the tall dark man behind her violated her dignity. The man's hands grabbing and squeezing, his cock pressed up against her big ass, demanding satisfaction. Stanley bit his lip and felt his manhood come to life. In his mind's eye, the man's face morphed into his old face, and his mental doppelganger ripped off the maid's pantyhose and underwear and exposed the maid's trapped cock. Back in the shower -- back in the real world -- as Stanley fantasized about his old self violating his new self, he began to fondle a heavy breast with one hand and stroke his fat brown cock with the other. He panted as his smooth, slender arms searched for pleasure, one crudely fondling his breast, and the other stroking himself; slowly at first, but gaining speed. In his imagination, the maid was trapped, helpless to watch herself experiencing forced pleasure, helpless as the male Stanley cruelly assaulted her. He could feel the orgasm building within his pelvis, the pleasure reaching a crescendo. Suddenly, Stanley's erect cock throbbed and sent thick spurts of semen onto the shower wall; and in his mind the maid's did the same, only hers landed all over her face and mouth, coating herself with the dirty shame of her secret. The doppelganger licked the semen off her face and kissed her, roughly. Stanley's knees buckled and he could feel his ass cheeks sliding down the shower wall. He sat there as the wave of pleasure subsided. In the afterglow, the feeling of hot water against his face and chest reminded him of warm rain. As the hormonal rush wore off, Stanley felt dirty once again.He was here to uncover the cartel spy ring within the DEA, and to return to his normal life as Stanley Fairchild, married man. He hadn't feminized himself to get male attention, and he hadn't come to the island to live out a life as Maria Benavidez, single woman. He spun the shower handle counter clockwise, and the water shut off. *** The sound of a helicopter flying overhead startled Stanley. But as the sound diminished, he resumed walking, his black flats carried him down the hallway to El Blanco's office. El Blanco would be visiting the mainland this week, giving Stanley a golden opportunity to search for clues. Once at the door, he checked that the coast was clear. His fingers quickly pulled out bobby pins stored in his hair and he began picking the lock. In seconds, the door swung open and Stanley walked inside. Carefully shutting the door behind him, Stanley looked towards El Blanco's desk. Nothing there. Damn. Stanley hurriedly went through the desk, systematically searching through the drawers, but there were no documents, books, ledgers, anything that could help him uncover the cartel spies. Stumped, he sat on his plump ass, facing away from the desk and towards the far wall, to the bookshelf. Perhaps El Blanco stored the documents in there? Whatever was in there, it was worth hiding even from his fellow cartel leaders. The disguised man walked over and began scanning the books. There were several rows of thick, leatherbound books. He pulled some out at random, hoping that pulling one would operate some mechanism or that it would contain a button, but they were just normal books. Books about the Spanish Inquisition. Volumes of poetry. Works of nineteenth-century Russian literature. Nothing. El Blanco, despite his career as an international drug dealer, was apparently a well-read man. Stanley stepped back, and rethought his approach. When he had overheard El Blanco returning to his office from the secret doorway, he had heard some kind of mechanical noise. Perhaps there was a hidden switch? Not a book? He looked at the bookshelf again. On one bookend, a human skull looked back. Alas, poor Stanley, it seemed to say. He smirked and picked it up -- or tried to, for after rising an inch it rose no further -- and at the top of that inch he felt something within the shelf click -- and the middle third of the bookshelf seemed to become weightless as it receded a few inches backwards into the wall. Stanley pushed the middle section of the bookshelf and it rolled back several feet, making a noise like a rusty gate, before coming to a rest, exposing a small open doorway behind the left third of the bookshelf. From the doorway, a set of stairs descended into what looked like a dimly lit basement. Stanley took one last look at the office before walking down, into the unknown. As he walked down the stairs, breasts and ass jiggling uncomfortably under his uniform, he noticed a small ventilator fan built into the upper wall of the basement. This must have been the source of the breeze. The only source of light was single bare lightbulb sticking out from the wall. From the base of the stairs, Stanley looked around. The only feature of note was a plain door, which judging by its position and the secret doorway, lead into a room located directly underneath El Blanco's office. "Well, this isn't creepy or anything," Stanley said to himself. He considered his options again. Go back to El Blanco's office and keep searching there, or explore the secret basement. He shrugged and pressed onward and opened the door. As the door opened, he heard a man mutter, "Came back for more, eh?" "Hello?" asked Stanley, affecting a Spanish accent. "Is someone there?" "Wait, you're not Blanco," said the voice. Stanley walked forward. El Blanco's secret room was a concrete box, illuminated by a single lightbulb. Across from the door at the far end of the room, there was a man sitting in front of the wall. He had long, matted hair, a long, ragged beard, and was dressed in tattered rags. He was covered in bruises and dried blood. The man's hands were chained together with old fashioned shackles, which were in turn chained to a metal loop drilled into the wall. In the corner was a plastic bucket. Stanley looked around. To his left was a workbench, with what looked like carpentry tools neatly arranged on top; vice grips, screwdrivers, hammers. To his right stood a camera on a tripod, aimed at the man. And against the wall, a plain steel folding chair in front of a plain metal table. On top of the table was a closed laptop computer. A long cable ran from the laptop to the camera. Otherwise the room was bare. "Who are you?" asked Stanley. "I used to go by Anthony Lind." The man's voice was low and raspy, and it took a moment for Stanley to recognize a cockney accent. "What are you doing here?" "I could ask you the same," replied Anthony. "Well, I asked you first." Anthony rattled his shackles. "Oh, just hanging out, you know, the usual," he said wryly. "And you?" Stanley avoided the question. "Chained, beaten, tortured. You must have really angered El Blanco." "Bingo," said Anthony. "How?" The man shrugged and said, "I'm a spy. I used to work for British intelligence. That used to be one of those 'I'd tell you but I'd have to kill you' secrets, but if you watch those videotapes you'd see that El Blanco's already beaten the secrets out of me." He gestured towards the camera. "And why is a British spy in a drug dealer's basement?" "We got intel that the cartels were getting into the international terrorist money laundering business. I was assigned to infiltrate the cartel and investigate El Blanco. Long story short, someone betrayed me and here I am." Anthony looked down, defeated. "So, I'm guessing you're not working for him. Are you the cavalry? Are you here to rescue me?" Stanley narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry, but no. I'm not here to rescue you. And I can't let you go, at least not now. He'd know someone was here, and besides, the island is crawling with guards. You'd never make it." Anthony smirked. "I can hold my own, don't worry." "From your condition, I doubt you could even throw a single punch, let alone take on an entire army of guards. If you want to get out of here, alive, you're gonna need a plan. A good one." Anthony frowned but said nothing. "And besides, I have my own mission here." Stanley said. "I just can't risk it right now." He walked over to the laptop and powered it on. "If you're trying to break in, it's not gonna work," said Anthony. The laptop powered on and a prompt appeared, asking for a retina and fingerprint scan. "He's got biometric security," Anthony explained. "Damn it," said Stanley. "Sorry love, looks like you're out of luck." He rattled his chains again. "How about you set me free?" "Sorry Lind, but I need access to El Blanco's data, and this is the only lead I have." Anthony's face fell as he realized the maid was serious. They both sat in silence. "But maybe... We can work out a deal." Anthony raised a quizzical eyebrow. *** In a small closet, the young man moaned lustily. A hand sprang upward and covered the man's mouth. "Shhh," said a voice. The young man nodded. He closed his eyes and kept quiet. The hand slipped away from his mouth and back down towards his erect cock, where it joined a beautiful maid's mouth. The closet was once again nearly silent, but for the low noise of a soft pair of pillowy lips bobbing up and down the shaft of the man's penis. Stanley wondered how much longer it would take for Roberto to cum; his jaw was beginning to ache. The man, who had closed his eyes and rolled his head back in pleasure, didn't seem to be in any hurry to finish. Stanley withdrew the man's cock from his mouth, and it came free with slight slurping noise. Roberto looked down, alarmed. They had made a deal; was the maid about to renege? But when he saw what the maid was doing, his eyes widened with joy. Stanley had unbuttoned the top of his maid uniform, and unhooked his bra, exposing two soft, large globes. He looked up at the man and smiled angelically, then stuck Roberto's cock between his pressed together breasts and began sliding it up and down between his soft tits. The man began to moan audibly before remembering to cover his mouth. But after a solid minute, he still hadn't finished. Stanley gritted his teeth for a moment then began to suck on the tip of the man's penis, while still massaging his breasts up and down the shaft. The man's body spasmed, and Stanley knew his ordeal would soon be over. Unexpectedly, the man grabbed the back of Stanley's head and forced his penis in deep as he began to cum, shooting his hot seed into Stanley's mouth. It took all of Stanley's willpower to avoid gagging and coughing. Angrily, he swallowed all of the cum, then wiped off his face and tits with a rag. After putting their clothes back on, Roberto held up a key in front of Stanley. "Here you go. Your copy of the key to the supply room, as promised." He dropped it into Stanley's open hand. "Just don't get greedy, otherwise they'll know." Stanley forced a smile and said, "Thank you." The man grinned and said, "No, thank you." As Stanley turned around and opened the door to leave, the man grabbed his elbow. "So you want to get together again sometime, Maria?" Stanley stammered out a non-committal response, and they left. As the man left to go back to his rounds. Stanley suppressed a retch; that was the fourth blowjob he had to give this week. The only currency he had to offer the island guards were sexual favors. He desperately wanted to brush his teeth and gargle an entire bottle of mouthwash. Unfortunately, he still had some more "shopping" to do. *** In the basement, the maid sat quietly as he watched the prisoner eat. Anthony noticed his watchful gaze and smiled at Stanley. Stanley, confused, said, "What?" "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking. You're like my guardian angel." Stanley snorted. "Trust me, I'm no angel." Anthony put his bowl down and in a low voice, said, "You know what I mean." He got up and sat next to Stanley, and placed his hand, rough, scarred, pale, on top of Stanley's, smooth, soft, tan. After a moment of silence, Anthony went back to his bowl and resumed eating. When he finished, he handed the bowl back to Stanley. "That was great, thank you." He stood up and did a few stretches, exercising muscles that had gone unused for months. "You know, with all the food and the medicine you've given me these past few days, plus actually being able to move around again, I think I'm almost back at one hundred percent." After a shave, a haircut, and a little bit of regained muscle, the pitiful prisoner had become an almost handsome middle-aged man of about forty years old, if you ignored the broken nose and bruises. Stanley thought back to the favors he had had to trade in and suppressed a dry gag. "Don't mention it." "You know, you still haven't told me who you really are, yet. Or why you're helping me." Stanley thought for a moment, then shrugged. It would all be over soon, anyways. Besides, it felt like a relief to talk to someone without pretending to be someone else. "I'm.. I'm like you. I was working undercover in the cartel. Then traitors in the DEA tried to kill me." Anthony nodded, and motioned for Stanley to keep going as began doing push-ups. "I knew I couldn't go to the government for help. If I went back without uncovering the spy ring, the cartel would find me and kill me. And I couldn't live with myself if I went on the run forever. I.. I have someone I care about, and if we ever want to have a life together..." In his mind's eye, all he could see was Lauren. "So I changed my appearance. Drastically. There's this cosmetic surgeon, his wife was an investigative journalist, and the cartel murdered her. I asked for his help, and he agreed to do it. So he changed how I look. A lot." Anthony sat up against the wall and rubbed his crooked, broken nose. "I might be in the market for a new face soon." "Well he did more than give me a new face. He gave me a new voice, a new ethnicity, and a new gender. Mostly." At this, Anthony's eyes widened. "You're saying, you used to be a man?" "I still am, where it matters. Look, most of this is reversible. And I needed a cover that the cartel would never suspect. They'd never look for a male cop if he were a female maid, and especially not inside their own goddamn house." Stanley crossed his arms, underneath his big breasts. He beamed triumphantly at his own brilliance. Anthony leaned in. He studied Stanley's face, searching for tells, clues that the gorgeous young woman he saw was not always so. After a minute, he gave up. "I hope you gave him five stars on Yelp." Stanley smiled. Anthony asked, "So after you got your extreme makeover, what next? How did you get here?" Stanley grimaced. "There's this maid service, it's cartel-run. They use it to recruit beautiful women for their island staff. And there's... things... I had to do to. Things I don't want to talk about." He felt the bile rising in his throat. He continued. "But it'll all be worth it. As soon as El Blanco gets back, we're gonna steal his data and figure out who the moles in the DEA and MI6 are. We get back home, the rats go to jail, I'll actually be able to trust Witness Protection to keep me and my wife safe and not sell me out, and El Blanco will go to jail. Hopefully I'll even be able to go back to standing up while I pee." Stanley smoothed the edge of his uniform over his hose covered legs. "Figuratively speaking." Anthony began doing squats. "And if it doesn't succeed? Have you thought about what you'd do then?" Stanley looked down and coughed. "I see," said Anthony. "We're gonna succeed," Stanley said. He squeezed his brown hands into fists. "We have to." Anthony changed the subject. "You still have someone waiting for you back home." "Yeah. My wife, Lauren." Stanley smiled. "You must really love her if you're willing to go through all this." "I don't deserve her, to tell you the truth. You know, when she told her parents she was going to marry me, a penniless Navy man, and not the preppy WASP they had picked out for her, they disowned her? Cut her out of an inheritance worth millions." "And?" "And she's still married to me, a mid-level government employee." "Say no more," Anthony replied. "Does she know you're still alive?" "After the botched attack, I went into hiding. I wanted to contact her, but I couldn't do it with my old face. She was under constant surveillance. And once I had everything in motion, I couldn't do it. I didn't want to come back, just to leave again. As far as she knows, I'm still missing, probably dead." Anthony's face turned serious. "Listen, when this is all over, no matter what, go back to your wife. Whatever you think you might find out here, you've still got something worth keeping. Don't throw it away." Stanley merely grunted in acknowledgement. "I'm sure she'd give anything just to have you back, whatever face you're wearing." *** El Blanco stepped into his office and collapsed onto the sofa. After a week of travelling and inspecting his operations, he was glad to be back home. The setting sun painted his walls a mix of red and orange. He was about to drift off into a nap when he heard a knock at the door. "Who is it?" he asked, irritated at this interruption. From behind the door, "Maria. The maid." Ah, Maria. The young new beauty. He had been saving up his first time with her for a good occasion. Now seemed as good a time as any. He got up and opened the door. Waiting outside, in his standard grey maid uniform, was Stanley. But today, he had put on heavier makeup, and wore a pair of four-inch heels instead of his usual flats. He was holding a tray, carrying a bottle of aged whiskey and a glass with ice cubes. "Please, come in." As the maid walked past him in short, careful steps, and up to the desk, El Blanco's eyes were glued to her swaying hips. Stanley set the tray down, and poured a glass of whiskey. He offered the glass to El Blanco. El Blanco took it, grinning. With his other hand, he reached around Stanley, grabbing his ass, and pulled him close. He set the whiskey down on the desk. "You're beautiful," he said. "Thank you," said Stanley, smiling flirtatiously. Internally, he was panicking. El Blanco had completely ignored the drugged whiskey. In his chest, Stanley could feel his pulse racing. The gangster pulled Stanley close and kissed him deep, his tongue invading Stanley's without warning. The disguised cop squirmed as El Blanco began to fondle his breasts. Stanley offered the whiskey again. "Don Blanco," he said, "Why don't you-" "Stop talking," said El Blanco, and grabbed the offered whiskey and tossed it away to the floor. El Blanco pushed Stanley, who fell tottered backwards on his heels so that he was sitting at the edge of the desk, legs wide open. The criminal leader jammed his hand underneath his skirt. "I've been waiting for this." El Blanco grabbed the crotch of Stanley's pantyhose and pulled downwards, ripping it open down the middle. He grabbed Stanley's flimsy panties and pulled them down. El Blanco looked down. Instead of the vagina he had been expecting, he instead saw Stanley's tucked penis. Confused, he bent down. "What the hell is-" He was interrupted when the bottle of whiskey broke over his head, knocking him unconscious. *** Anthony and Stanley set up the laptop on El Blanco's desk and powered it on. El Blanco was seated in his leather chair, unconscious. He was bound to the chair with ropes gagged with Stanley's ruined pantyhose under a strip of duct tape. The computer beeped and displayed the biometric log-in prompt. "Here we go," said Anthony. He picked up the laptop, and placed El Blanco's right thumb onto the built-in fingerprint reader. Stanley held El Blanco's eyelids open as Anthony scanned them one by one. The laptop accepted the biometric data and began to boot up. Anthony and Stanley smiled at each other. But their cheer soon melted away as they began poking through El Blanco's files. Anthony tapped at the keys. "There's.. There's way too much data here. Banking data, corporation documents, contracts. It could take years just to go through the email." "Good thing I got this," said Stanley as he connected a flash memory drive. "Good girl," said Anthony. Stanley scoffed. He unconsciously gagged as he remembered sucking off the computer technician to obtain the memory drive. Anthony started the process to copy the data over. "Looks like it'll all fit, it's just gonna take some time." On the screen, a progress bar began to slowly fill, and the computer estimated it would take thirty minutes to copy everything. Anthony paced around the room. "Did you prepare the exfil plan?" "There's a boat at the docks, it's fueled, and it's got navigation aids and emergency supplies. Plus there's a new moon tonight. We'll be able to make it to the mainland." El Blanco moaned and began to come to. "Shit, he's waking up," said Stanley. He scanned the room. "Grab that." Anthony followed Stanley's gaze to the ostentatious gold-plated AK-47. He walked over and pulled it off of the wall, and with the experience of a trained operator, released the magazine which was... empty. "Damn. No ammo." He dropped the rifle. "How about those?" asked Stanley. Anthony looked up at wall again to the pair of Japanese swords hanging on the wall. "Seriously?" Stanley shrugged. "We don't have any other weapons. And besides, I thought you double-0 types trained in that kinda stuff." Anthony unsheathed the longer sword and quickly swung a few practice slashes. "Well yeah, but-" El Blanco was awake, and staring directly at them, furious. He motioned that he wanted to talk. Anthony slowly made his way over to El Blanco and held up the wicked sharp edge of the sword in front of face. "You shout, you do anything funny, and I'll lop your head off, understand, guvna?" El Blanco nodded. Stanley pulled the tape from El Blanco's mouth and pulled out the pantyhose. "Well?" he hissed. El Blanco took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then, he spoke. "I must say, Stanley. And clearly, you are Stanley. No one else would have done what you've done to get here. Congratulations are in order. Your disguise... impeccable. You kept us on a wild goose chase when you were right under my nose the entire time." Stanley merely crossed his arms. "You've got me right where you want me. And tonight, you'll ride off, with all my secrets in your possession. Then you return home, the prodigal son." The cartel leader opened his eyes and stared directly at Stanley. Anthony and Stanley glanced at each other, wondering where this was going. El Blanco sighed, theatrically. "I must admit, I was selfish. I wanted revenge. You made a fool of me, and I wanted to put you into my little dungeon and torture you, just as I had with old Anthony here. You know, some of the crazier stuff I did with him, I read about in my history books." El Blanco chuckled to himself. "I wonder if he'll ever tell you. But I digress." Suddenly, within the room, in the hallway, and all around the island, red lights started flashing, and an alarm blared. "You see, that computer says you'll need twenty more minutes. But with this panic button I've just pressed, you've only got... three minutes until my men get here in force." Stanley looked at El Blanco's hand, which had popped open a hidden compartment on the armrest and pressed the red button inside. "Thanks for tying me to my own chair, by the way." "Bastard!" Anthony said through a clenched jaw. "So, now you've got a choice. Take what you've got and run away, hiding in a skirt, never to come home as Stanley Fairchild. Or hole up here until you finish the transfer. Live as a woman, or die like a man. Decisions, decisions." He laughed, uproariously this time, until Anthony sliced his head off in a single blow. Fountain-like, El Blanco's now- unadorned neck sprayed bright red blood in rhythmic spurts, spattering the tasteful landscape painting behind him. The severed head arced gracefully and rolled several feet, coming to a rest by the door. "Fucker always did like laughing at his own jokes," said Anthony. He spat on the cartel leader's corpse. The screen displayed forty percent progress: eighteen more minutes to complete the copy; two minutes until the guards arrived. "What do we do?" said Stanley. "There's nothing we can do. We're not going to survive a fight," said Anthony. "They're bringing a gunfight and all we've got is a sword." "But-" "Stanley, it's over. All we can do now is adapt and make the best of it." Anthony walked over and held Stanley by the elbow. "Listen, for this next part, you're gonna have to trust me. This is the only way you get to go home. If we both make a run for it, they'll know Maria was involved. And then you'll really be fucked." "What?" Anthony leaned over and kissed Stanley softly on the lips. "For luck." Out of nowhere, the sound of a large group of men sprinting and shouting reached their ears. In the office doorway, Anthony stood behind Stanley and held the blade of the sword up to his throat. As the guards, bearing body armor, masks, and automatic rifles rounded the corner and spotted the two men, they slowed down. "Get any closer, and the maid gets it!" He prodded Stanley. Stanley took the cue and screamed. His high pitched wail reverberated down the hallway. The guards, still walking forward slowly, began shouldering their weapons. In a flash, Anthony lowered the sword away from Stanley and with a swift kick, booted him forward onto the hallway floor. Stanley fell flat on his face and breasts. It hurt more than he expected. Anthony, now completely exposed, barely had time to leap sideways away from the door when the guards opened fire. Stanley covered his head and tried to remain as flat as possible. Bullets whizzed overhead. The volley of automatic gunfire turned the doorway and the office behind it into swiss cheese. The guards, now out of ammunition, reloaded their rifles but kept advancing, guns at the ready. Their empty magazines clattered as they hit the hallway floor. As the guards began passing by him, ignoring him, Stanley crawled to the wall. One of the guards recognized him. "Hey, Maria! It's me!" It took a moment for Stanley to recognize Roberto underneath his mask. He looked back at the guards. They were stacking up outside the office, SWAT-style. "I'm going to get you out of here," said Roberto. He grabbed Stanley's arm and began dragging him down the hall, away from the office and Anthony. The other guards were breaching and clearing the office now, moving quickly but methodically. Stanley scrambled to his feet and ran towards the office. "Hey!" yelled Roberto. As Stanley reached the door, he peeked inside. In the office, the guards were standing around in small groups. One group standing around El Blanco's headless body. One group aiming guns and flashlights into the secret bookshelf passageway. The last group was inspecting a broken window. One of the guards was on the radio now, instructing the men to search the island grounds. Stanley looked at the laptop computer. It was nearly completely obliterated, peppered by a line of bullet holes. Whatever secrets had been on there were lost forever. He gingerly stepped around and discreetly glanced at the laptop's external ports. The flash drive, like Anthony, was gone. *** Stanley shivered and his fingers pulled the draped blanket tighter. In the aftermath of the botched plan, Roberto had taken Stanley, whom he knew only as Maria, back to the maid quarters. The moonless night's breeze chilled him. Roberto was sitting next to Stanley now, attempting to comfort him with a beefy arm around his shoulder. He still had his assault rifle slung across his back. The walkie-talkie on his hip occasionally chirped and squawked in distorted Spanish. "Don't worry, Maria, you're safe now," he said. Stanley faked a smile and said, "Thanks." "The bastard who killed the boss, he's gone. We've searched the entire island. One of our boats is gone; he must have taken it to the mainland." Without me, thought Stanley. "Do you need anything?" asked Roberto. Stanley thought about his situation. El Blanco was dead; the laptop was destroyed; and whatever data had actually been copied to the flash drive was in Anthony's possession. There was nothing else Stanley could do on the island. Stanley felt his eyes welling up. All his efforts, the crossdressing, the surgeries, the sexual humiliations, had come to nothing. Roberto silently held Stanley's hand and patted it comfortingly. Stanley felt a wave of nausea. He thought about starting again from square one. Working his way into the home of El Blanco's successor. Seducing Roberto, and the next man, and the next man. Or. El Blanco's final taunt echoed in his brain. "Live as a woman, or die like a man." In his mind he saw Lauren, and heard the advice Anthony had given him in the basement: "Don't throw it away." Stanley wiped away his tears and pulled off the blanket. He turned to Roberto, and, telling the truth, said, "I want to go home." *** One year later... Sofia hummed to herself as she swept the floor. She was in a good mood. It was almost the end of her work week, and by the end of the night, she would be on a plane back to her home country and to her family. She smiled as she thought about her son. He was doing well in school, and she had high hopes for him. Sofia had been unable to finish her education; instead, she had come to America to work and support her brothers and sisters. But now, her son's visa application had been approved, and soon she could bring her son to the United States, where he could go to good schools in a safe neighborhood, and reap the rewards of the hard work she had sown. A framed photo caught her eye. In it, a serious looking man in a fine suit towered above an elegant looking woman in fine clothing. The woman held a happy-looking baby on her knee. Her longtime employers, the Sandersons. Despite the difference in power and class, they had treated her well over the years, even sponsoring her immigration paperwork. And of course, her son's as well. She wiped a tear from her eye. They had died in the same hospital room, hands reaching for each other. Such a tragedy. Sofia composed herself and continued sweeping. When they died, she had been afraid of losing her job, but more importantly the opportunity for her son to immigrate. Thankfully, the Sandersons had considered her part of the family, in a way. Their lawyer, a thin, dried-out looking man, had told her that they had set aside money in their will for her and her son, and even a pool of money she could earn if she wanted to keep working at their mansion. After she had hugged and kissed the surprised lawyer on the cheek, she asked: If the Sandersons were dead, who would she work for? The lawyer smiled and said that the Sandersons had designated their daughter to inherit their wealth and property -- what was left after settling accounts with creditors and taking care of Sofia. Apparently some terrible falling out had happened long ago and the Sandersons had disinherited their own daughter. But apparently they had had a change of heart and quietly added her back to their will once her husband had died. Somewhere else in the house, a clocked chimed five o'clock. Quitting time. Sofia untied her apron and picked up her cleaning supplies. Walking into the rear service area, she neatly returned her apron and broom to their cabinet. As she gathered her coat and purse, she saw the other maid hurriedly checking her appearance in the mirror. After the daughter had moved into the Sanderson home, she had brought along a younger maid. The younger maid noticed Sofia getting ready to leave, and said in Spanish, "Have a good vacation, Sofia!" Sofia replied, "I will, Maria. By the way, how did your date with Esteban last night go?" It had taken a while to convince Maria to agree to go on a date with him, but after Sofia had clucked about how strange it was for a beautiful young woman like Maria not to go on dates with men, she had given in. Maria blushed. "It... it went well." Sofia sidled up to her and in a low, mischievous voice, said, "I hope you preserved your virtue." "Don't worry, Sofia. I'm a good girl." Indeed she was. Despite the intense pressure that young men could put on women, Sofia had already learned through the grapevine that Maria, a good Catholic girl, preserved her purity and didn't have premarital sex with men. Not that anything else was off limits. Sofia left the service area. She didn't see Maria's smile turn into a disgusted grimace at the thought of going on a date with Esteban. Sofia walked into the kitchen and saw her employer pouring a glass of wine at the counter, quickly flipping through a folder of documents. Her hair seemed messy, unusual for her. The documents were probably for her charity: the one she had started after inheriting her parent's wealth. The slender, elegantly dressed young woman, just as beautiful has her mother, noticed Sofia and waved. "Hey, Sofia. Are you leaving now?" the young woman asked. "Yes, I am, Mrs. Fairchild," said Sofia. "Please, Sofia, I told you, you can call me Lauren." The woman said. She laid a friendly hand on Sofia's shoulder. "Listen, if you have any trouble during your vacation, if you need anything, don't hesitate to get in touch with me." "Thank you, Mrs. Lauren, but really it's okay." Though Sofia had been quite anxious when the Sandersons' daughter arrived at the house, Lauren had shown even more kindness to Sofia than even the Sandersons did. In fact, she allowed Sofia to take two straight of paid vacation time. Lauren had actually offered Sofia an even longer vacation, but Sofia had politely declined, not wanting to take advantage of her employer's kindness. Sofia left the house in a hurry, her mind preoccupied with her vacation plans. Stanley, in his maid uniform, was still straightening his appearance when his wife Lauren appeared, glass of wine in hand. "Is Sofia gone?" he asked. "She's gone," replied Lauren. "And now we'll have two straight weeks together." Stanley chuckled. "I can't believe we almost got caught, right before she left. Two whole weeks -- it'll be nice not to worry about privacy. At least, inside the house." He thought about the cartel men surveilling the house from their van parked down the street. "So tell me about this date with Esteban," said Lauren, amused. "Oh god," said Stanley. "Sofia made this whole stink about it. I didn't want her to get suspicious about why Maria never goes on dates, so I agreed to do it." "So did you.. You know, do anything?" Stanley groaned and made a scrunched expression. "I told him that good Catholic girls didn't have sex, so he demanded a, you know." He pantomimed a blowjob. "So did you?" "I had to," said Stanley. "It was the only way to get him off my back." Lauren drained her glass and set it on kitchen table behind her. "You know, sometimes I wonder if you enjoy that sort of thing." "You know I don't," said Stanley. "I told you, we have to play our roles. The cartel is still watching us." Though lately it had been getting easier and easier to slip into the role of Maria, he thought. Taking short, decisive steps, Lauren's high heels clacked against the tile floor. She walked up behind Stanley, put her face over his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her perky breasts, smaller than Stanley's, pressed firmly into his back. She held him in a tight hug. "Maybe I'm just jealous that he gets to go on a date with you and I can't," she said into his ear. Lauren, her face in Stanley's neck, breathed in. He smelled faintly of perfume and sweat. She nuzzled his cheek. Stanley relaxed and ever so slightly, leaned back, pressing his body into hers. Lauren reached one of her slender, pale hands, and began to massage one of Stanley's breasts through his grey maid uniform with manicured fingers. Despite knowing for months now that Stanley's breasts were created with surgery, every time she touched them, they still surprised her with how natural they felt. In response to her touch, Stanley could feel his trapped cock throb and harden. "The cartel won't be watching us forever. And besides, now that Sofia's gone, we can have our own 'dates' at home," he said teasingly. "I suppose we'll have to make do," replied Lauren. Softly, she started kissing Stanley's cheek. His soft, delicate face still surprised her as well. Stanley shuddered in pleasure, and exhaled. His cock began straining against his panties and pantyhose, straining to break free. He pressed his thighs together. "Do you like when I do this, Maria?" asked Lauren. "Do you like being used?" Stanley nodded. Lauren, still kissing Stanley's face and fondling his breast, used her other hand to reach up underneath the front of Stanley's skirt. In response, she started kissing and fondling even harder. Grasping for the top of his pantyhose, she firmly started pulling them down. Lauren's eyes met his in the mirror: his, pleading, hers, hard and focused. She reached her hand into his panties and pulled out his trapped manhood. His long, fat cock, freed from its prison, stood up proudly. His maid uniform flowed around it like a rock dividing a waterfall. Thankfully, his manhood was still exactly as she remembered. Slowly, she began to stroke his cock. "Does all this turn you on?" "When it's with you," Stanley said softly. Stanley reached one hand up and grabbed the back of Lauren's neck and with the other, reached back and gripped Lauren's willowy ass through her expensive dress, and pulled her closer, into him. His breath ran ragged. From each hand his fingers squeezed her the fabric of her dress. He squirmed in pleasure. She could feel his large, jiggling, feminine ass pressing against the front of her pelvis. He leaned his head back against her shoulder and kissed her mouth with his own, tongues enjoined. He peeked at their reflection in the mirror. The sight of his elegantly dressed blonde wife assaulting a curvy hispanic maid turned him on. Knowing that the curvy hispanic maid was him drove him crazy. With her mouth and her hands, Lauren attacked Stanley's feminized body more vigorously. Fondling, kissing, stroking faster. Stanley moaned into her and gripped her even closer. Eventually, she felt him stiffen -- both body and cock -- and long spurts of white cum shot out of his cock and onto the service area mirror. They stood together, embracing, as the moment passed. Lovingly, Stanley kissed Lauren. "Mmm... what was that for?" "A peace offering. I'm sorry, but your vacation from Maria will have to be postponed a bit, dear," said Lauren. Stanley's eyes opened wide. "What?" "It's for the charity. A potential donor wanted to have dinner with me, here, tonight," said Lauren. "I would have said no, but she's offering a lot of money. Enough to help a lot of people." Stanley scrambled to put his uniform back together. "Why didn't you tell me?" Lauren shrugged, "I'm telling you now." Stanley grumbled and grabbed a rag and a spray bottle. On his knees, he started cleaning off his semen from the mirror. Lauren smiled and playfully fondled his upraised ass. "If you behave tonight, we can still have our 'anonymous sperm donation' session later." *** Stanley picked up the empty dinner plate and set it down in the kitchen, before returning to the dining room, where he stood back to wall, hands folded in front him, demure. As it was a special occasion, he had dressed in a classier uniform: black, not grey. "Thank you," said the guest, Diana. A woman, who at first glance looked thirty, but with some signs of graceful aging, which seemed to enhance, not diminish, her beauty. Like Lauren, she was slender and pale. Her blonde hair, like her clothes, weren't flashy, but elegant and tasteful. Other than a string of pearls around her neck, her jewelry was relatively plain gold. At the sight of the beautiful woman who resembled Lauren, Stanley's trapped cock pulsed. "Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I asked to meet with you specifically," said Diana, in a light upper-class British accent. Lauren put down her fork and nodded. "I'll be perfectly honest. I didn't want to meet with you because I wanted to donate money," said Diana, white teeth flashing into a smile. "First, I brought you a gift." Diana picked up the long cardboard tube she had brought with her and handed it to Lauren. Lauren accepted it and opened it. She stuck her hand inside and withdrew a long Japanese sword in a black sheath. "Oh, um, thank you," she said. Not knowing what to do with it, she laid it on the top of the dinner table. Stanley tensed. The woman nervously wrung her hands. "You know, a year ago, I was nothing. Not at all the woman you see here today. I had been betrayed and left for dead, and was rotting away in a dungeon when I was saved by an angel." "An angel?" Lauren asked, confused. A dungeon? An angel? Was it..? "Yes, a beautiful guardian angel saved me and set me free. And although I couldn't help her, I did end up getting away with this." Diana reached into her handbag and pulled out a flash memory drive. "Unfortunately, it didn't have what we were looking for." Stanley's mouth fell open. "What it did have, was access to a gangster's secret bank accounts. Some of which I may have... borrowed. They came in handy." Stanley studied the woman's face, searching for clues. That nose didn't look broken. "You see, the angel's also gave me some wise advice-" Anthony winked at Stanley. "To hide in plain sight." (end)