The Barford Files - Chapters IX And X(Finale) free porn video

IX: Situation Normal, All Femmed Up Although Nicola's mother, Gia, attempted several times to divert Charlene to "try on dresses", her platinum blond daughter apparently regarded this as a ploy. An attempt to steal Charlene away from her own daughter. Ignoring all of Gia's protests, and advising Charlene to do the same, Nicola finally got the giggling teenager into her own room, within which a heavy perfume scent hung in the air, and a vanity table offered up a full suite of makeup items. To say that the room was the epitome of femininity was an understatement. The bed, with all its clean white sheets, certainly looked comfortable. Charlene didn't have time to look closer, however, as Nicola's lips had once again connected with her guest, and Charlene moaned with the deep kiss. The enraptured teenager couldn't help but consider a woman like Nicola worth going homosexual for, given the way she always made love to Charlene. Grinning, Nicola briefly broke away and hurried over to the widescreen TV in her room, where a black box next to it was revealed to be a Blu- Ray player. "I wanna watch a movie. Have you ever seen Rocky Horror?" "That's the one where they dress up and act out the film in the theaters, right?" Charlene asked. Nicola nodded. "That's the one. I was with a Rocky Horror group a few years ago. I'll let you guess who I was after the movie's over. So have you seen it?" Charlene shook her head. "I saw a few scenes online, though. I'm gonna guess you were Frank." "Oh, Goddess...I wish!" Nicola giggled. "Well...since you're a virgin, I guess I'll have to pop your cherry tonight. That's what we always do when we have virgins in the theater. Virgins are people who are seeing the movie for the first time." Once Nicola started up the movie, she hurried back to sit next to Charlene on the bed. As the movie ran, Nicola took her through all of the callbacks she remembered from her time with the Rocky Horror group, and she even taught Charlene the 'Time Warp' dance. It was the one evening, in all the time she had spent in Bullchester, that she could say she had a lot of fun, and it was in the company of someone she genuinely liked. So far, at least. There was still that wary side of Charlene that was determined to get home so she could check on her brother, but she figured that she could do that after the movie was over. Eventually, the movie got to a segment where Frank N. Furter and the cast went into a tender and stimulating musical number wherein Frank's 'captives'...all of them compelled to release their inhibitions by diving into his castle's indoor pool...began making love to one another as they sang. By this time, Nicola and Charlene were arm in arm in the bed as they watched, and as the tender song continued, Nicola turned Charlene's head towards her, and the two locked in yet another passionate kiss, pressing their lips together as they moaned. As the film continued, they began undressing as the passion between them began to build. Their shirts came off, followed by their pants. As they continued to kiss, and pant heavily, Nicola found the high-energy music number 'Wild and Untamed Thing' distracting to the moment, so she quickly fumbled for the nearby remote control and stopped the film, tossing the remote to the side so she could return her attention to Charlene. "You sure you don't wanna have a sleepover, kitty-cat?" Nicola purred, stroking gently at Charlene's hair as they laid next to each other. "I can tell by the look in your eyes that you might change your mind about leaving." Charlene sighed. "I wish I could stay. Really. But I..." Nicola interjected with another deep kiss. Her hand fished down to rub at Charlene's crotch softly and suggestively, feeling the moistness of the teenager's panties, which were now stained with her cum. Charlene's own hand fished down towards Nicola's crotch, and she was able to find the panties the platinum blond young woman was wearing... ...but her fingers found the concealed surface of a small, fleshy bulge where a feminine slit should be. Charlene's eyes slowly opened wide as Nicola kept kissing her very deeply. Her sensible id's voice was overpowering now. She was a GUY?? What the hell...but she sounds so...so female!! Charlene immediately wrestled out of Nicola's embrace and scrambled off of the bed fearfully, her eyes boggling as she bent down to pick up her pants, keeping her eyes on the former boy. Nicola looked completely mystified. "What...?" she asked weakly. "You...you were a fucking guy??" Charlene exclaimed, grabbing her shirt and putting it back on as she stared at the platinum blonde in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me??" Nicola shrugged. "You never asked. Why? What's so wrong with being... what I am? I'm not ashamed. I love being what I am now." Charlene was fearfully quiet in the next moment as Nicola stared back at her, raising up her hands warily. "Please...calm down...kitty-cat..." "DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Charlene angrily growled. The outburst stung Nicola, who now had a fearful look on her own face. "I...I wasn't...gonna hurt you..." Tears began to well up in the former boy's eyes. "...I love you, Charlene. C-Can't we just..." "If they could..." Charlene tried to work it out in her head. "...if they could make you this way...th-then they could...they could..." They could make Stanley as female as...as whoever Nicola used to be. Charlene's sensible id concluded. It's time to GO. NOW. Picking up her footwear, Charlene rushed out of Nicola's room as quickly as she could, rushing down the stairs of the house, and ignoring a bathrobe-wearing Gia in the hallway as the spooked teenager raced towards the front door, opening it and hurrying out of the house, leaving Gia mystified in so doing. Once she was outside, she paused for a moment to slip on her loafers. When she heard Gia call Charlene's name, the frightened teenager hurried off, quickly distancing herself as far as she possibly could from Nicola's home. Racing towards the bus stop, she saw that a bus was pulling out of the stop. She began running after it wildly, straining her endurance to its limits as she went as fast as she possibly could to be able to reach the next bus stop so she could get on. Benefitting from a red light as the bus proceeded along its route, Charlene was able to hurry over to the next stop in time to get on, although she was panting very heavily in doing so, given all the energy she had spent. Her head was covered in sweat, and her legs throbbed terribly. But now that she was on the bus, and in a seat, she was able to relax and recuperate as best she could for the bus ride she needed to take back to her Barford home. As it was night time, there were only a couple of people on the bus, and none of them made any move to bother Charlene as she waited for her stop. A part of her was terrified to see what her brother currently looked like. Once the bus arrived at her Barford stop, Charlene hurried over to the house, noticing that the lights inside were off. She immediately rushed up the stairs near the front door and began knocking loudly upon Stanley's Bedroom door. She quietly tried turning the doorknob. As she had suspected, it was locked. She tried knocking again. "Stanley?? Could you open up, please??" After a moment of silence, Charlene heard two words, spoken weakly. "Later," a high voice resembling her brother's replied. "Sssleeping." Charlene sighed fretfully. "Could you just open up for two seconds? Please??" There was no further response other than her brother's steady breathing. "Shit!" she hissed to herself. Her only other option was to get to bed, but she hoped to be able to wake up in advance of her brother rising from his own slumber so she could finally see if he was worth sparing the feminine fate that Nicola was so obviously lost to. Her regrets about Nicola was very much on her mind as she drifted off to sleep, locking her own bedroom door prior to turning in. * * * The sound of a very loud and obnoxious clanging forced the eyes of Cameron Merrywether to open, and acknowledge the sharpening sight of the Court Bailiff on the other side of the bars to the balding blackmailer's cell. Rising to a sitting position, he smoothed a hand over the hairless surface of his bald spot. "Let's go," the Bailiff growled. "On your feet. They're ready for you." Looking down, regretfully, at his own orange prison jumpsuit, Cameron rose to his feet and began walking slowly towards the bars of the cell, the door of which was unlocked and pulled open by the waiting, straight- faced Bailiff. The cell area was strangely quiet as Cameron silently followed behind the Bailiff, his head filled with regrets for his crimes. He knew they would somehow find him and take him away. The escape to Bullchester never worked out as well as he had imagined. It was finally time for Cameron to pay the piper. The Bailiff led him through the door on the other end of the cell block, and then led him through an orange hallway towards another door at the end. Opening this door, the Bailiff motioned for Cameron to walk through it. When he did, he found himself in a large courtroom, where the sound of a slowly banging gavel could be heard where the Judge sat. He recognized the person sitting next to a man he knew to be the Prosecuting Attorney as Graham Brooks, who represented the ad agency that was once under the purview of Eustace O'Reilly prior to his suicide. Among those in the stands in the back of the courtroom were four other familiar faces. His wife, Pamela, his daughter Charlene, and his son, Stanley. The expressions on the faces of everyone in the courtroom were more or less the same. Their eyes were all accusingly, and shamefully, on Cameron. Standing next to Stanley, with her arm around his shoulders, was Barbara Walsh. "Has the Jury reached a verdict?" Cameron knew who the voice of the Judge belonged to. Looking up at him, he saw the face of Eustace O'Reilly angling his head towards the Jury to his right. A woman...the foreman of the Jury, at seat 1...rose to her feet, and when Cameron glanced upon the face of this woman, he immediately recognized who it was. It was Irene Moore. "We have, your honor," she began, keeping her eyes on the Judge. "We find the defendant, Cameron Merrywether...guilty, as charged." Cameron let out a heavy sigh of regret, but his eyes widened in horror when he heard everyone around him begin applauding loudly. His wife beamed happily as she clapped, as did Charlene. His son hugged Barbara Walsh with genuine affection as the applause continued. The tall, blond amazon next to him...who he recognized to be Evangeline Pierson, dressed here in a somewhat provocative version of the gray pinstripe outfit of an attorney...grinned as she regarded her client. "You certainly deserve this, Cammy!" she mused aloud, over the applause. Four reverberating bangs of the Judge's gavel silenced the room as he turned his attention to the condemned man in the orange jumpsuit. "Cameron Merrywether, it is the judgment of this court that you be sentenced to...time to get up! Time to cook! Then go clean wherever you look! Then shop and pay for what you took!" Cameron blinked as the Judge repeated those same words. He also heard everyone else repeating those words as well as he gazed around him nervously. Irene Moore. Graham Brooks. Barbara Walsh. Stanley, Charlene, and Pam. They were all looking right at him, repeating the same words, over and over. Time to get up! Time to cook! Mercilessly louder, and louder as they all stared right at Cameron. Then go clean wherever you look! Tauntingly, and accusingly, and with bright smiles on their faces. Then shop and pay for what you took! Time to get up! Time to cook! Then go clean wherever you look! Then shop and pay for what you took! Time to get up! Time to cook! Then go clean wherever you look! Then shop and pay for what you took! Time to get up! Time to... * * * ...cook! Then go clean wherever you look! Then shop and pay for what you took! It was always necessary for Cameron to reach over to the digital alarm clock to hit the button that would silence the cacophony. It took a bit of effort for him to reach over the previous morning, but this particular morning proved a little more difficult for the weight he had amassed from eating so much food by the time he was ready for his foamy shower. Looking at the time this morning, however, he noticed that his eyesight was a bit blurry, even at a close distance to the glowing red time display. Sitting idly next to the clock this morning was the blurry image of a rectangular, florally-decorated container he had never seen before. Frowning in confusion, he reached for this package with a chubby hand and found that it was held shut by a button latch. Opening it up revealed the blurry presence of a pair of feminine-looking eyeglasses. Or so he surmised them to be through his now less-than-perfect eyesight. He also, at this time, noticed a pair of large bumps at his chest which made his eyes widen. Quickly putting the glasses on, he saw his vision improve to crystal clarity. Cameron then sat up in his bed, letting out a slight moan which sounded a bit higher in its pitch. He then stared down at the large breasts his bigger frame had apparently developed. They were hardly of the 'man-boob' variety! They were too...feminine! Anxiety began to build quickly as a hand went to his head. To where the bald spot was supposed to be. Although the stubble he had felt the previous morning had grown just before he turned out the lights to slightly longer follicles, he was now feeling something he did not expect which made his anxiety all the worse in that moment. Curls. Struggling with his weight to get out of bed, he hurried over to the mirror in the more fancy bedroom he had earned through a much better dinner he had prepared last night, and when his eyes fell upon the reflection of his own face, he gasped loudly. On his head were a mass of silvery-white curls. The bald spot was now completely buried in the full head of hair he had grown. His face looked much less masculine, as well. Softer. Older, even! The jowls of his cheeks now looked a little more pronounced. His body began to quake nervously as he continued to stare at his much more effeminate appearance, which reminded him very much of his own grandmother when she was in her more elderly years. As much as his mind was now in an ever-tightening knot of worry, his developed instincts compelled him to double-check the clock. "Ooooh, dear..." he lamented aloud, in a higher and more effeminate voice. "...I-I'd better..." A hand went to his throat over how strange his own voice sounded as he moved towards the guest bedroom door. "...get to work on th-the breakfast...yes...I hope I hh-have time...oh dear...I hope I...I-I get it right...this time...time to cook...yes...time to cook..." For all the failed cooking that Cameron had been eating, he was certainly developing something of a palate. He hoped that this would help him in his cooking. As the success of his breakfast offering would show, tasting his food as he cooked it proved extremely helpful. Irene Moore liked it so much, in fact, that she insisted on seconds. But Cameron had concerns of his own, although his developed nervousness made it difficult for him to just blurt it out. "Mmmmrs. Moore, Ma'am..." Cameron began, blushing over how high his voice sounded now. "...umm, can I please...ask you a question?" Irene glanced up to Cameron as she swallowed down a mouthful of food. An eyebrow raised up as she spoke. "You may." Pushing the center bridge of his glasses up his nose a little, he stammered out his inquiries despite his visible hesitation. "What's...happening with...with me? I mean...look at me, I..." He indicated his large breasts. "...I shouldn't be looking like this." Irene frowned in confusion. "You've never heard of 'man-boobs'?" "Well...yes, but...there are other things." His voice cracked in the high register a bit as he spoke. "I...don't have a bald spot anymore, and..." "So? You have hair now," Irene interjected, shrugging. "But it's...it's white," Cameron distressfully noted, fidgeting with his chubby hands. "Honestly, I...I'm starting to look like an old lady!" Irene had to conceal her amusement. Cameron was quite easily succumbing to the 'kind old woman' archetype the Sisterhood's client had wanted for the elusive blackmailer. She would be the perfect standard and prototype for the Maid business that they agreed to have Evangeline Pierson establish within Bullchester. Irene gestured to her half-eaten meal with her fork in appraisal. "This is really good. You're becoming a natural born chef, sweetie. I hope your lunch and dinner are just as good." "Butbutbutbut...w-what's...going on with me??" Cameron whined. "What's happening to me??" The crafty Sisterhood woman now gestured to the area where Cameron had cooked his immaculate breakfast. "Look over there, dear. Spotless. All pans cleaned and stored away, all cooking utensils washed and wiped. It was only a couple of days ago that you first tried your hand at cooking in this kitchen. You left a really big and smelly mess there. Remember how tough that was to clean off? You were here for hours." "Oh yes! It was horrid!" Cameron answered, recalling how bad his mess was. His tone, however, quickly turned pleasant as he smiled. "But I sorted out that whole mess, didn't I?" "You sure did," Irene replied. "Since then, every time you have cooked, you have wiped off your section, you've cleaned every dish, returned everything to where you found it...not a smudge to be found. Now tell me...why is this, dear?" "Because..." Cameron's thinking now seemed to be on auto-pilot, given the subtle conditioning he had been given during the night. "...I can cook...?" Irene nodded, a devious smile on her face now. "Why else?" "I can...clean?" "Good," Irene responded. "And when we're short on what you need to cook and clean, what do you do?" "I shop!" Cameron replied. Irene leaned in close to her helpless subject, tilting her head to the side curiously. "What else do you know how to do, Cameron?" Cameron began to speak, but...as much as he knew other things, it seemed very hazy now. He couldn't quite put his finger on it at all. He couldn't properly define them. "I...I-I don't...I mean, I should..." Cameron stammered. "...but..." "So there's only three things that you know how to do?" Irene feigned confusion. "What are they?" "Cooking." Cameron hesitantly answered. "Cleaning. Sh-shopping." Irene smiled, nodding her head. "Again." "Cooking. Cleaning. Shopping," Cameron repeated. "Oh, but there must be other things..." "Well, when you can figure out what they are, you just keep doing what you're good at, yes?" Irene reasoned. The dining room was silent as they finished their respective meals. Once Cameron had cleaned the dishes and the utensils they used, Irene gestured in the direction of the stairs to the second floor. "My bedroom needs cleaning, Cammy." "I-It does? Oh, I...I should get right on it. Yes, yes..." Irene watched the round-bodied, effeminate man...who was now on the verge of becoming a sugary-sweet old woman, and a talented housekeeper...hurry over to the staircase. His transition was on the verge of completion. Cameron could no longer remember his past in advertising. The talents Irene had imposed on both his conscious and subconscious mind was now solidly in place. There was no escaping the fate that was in store for Cameron Merrywether. She couldn't help but wonder how good his wife was when it came to making a bed for her husband back in New York. * * * "And that is how you can always make your bed look like one that's ready for a guest renting out a hotel room." Pam explained as the eyes of the cameras continued to stare upon her. She then walked away from the twin bed and towards the camera, flashing her perfect grin as she spoke. "It looks like that's all the time we have for today, neighbors and guests! We'd like to thank our special guest, Jessica Alba, for stopping by today to provide some insight on the benefits of motherhood! Come back tomorrow, when we'll have super Chef Gordon Ramsay stopping by the house! Hopefully, I won't make the mistake of feeding him raw Quiche'! Last thing we need is to turn the Merry Weather Show into Hell's Kitchen!" After waiting for the studio audience laughter to die down, she began waving to the camera, flashing her perfect smile, as the audience began clapping loudly. "Have a great afternoon and an even better evening, everyone! Bye-bye!" As Pam had done with the previous two episode tapings, she headed for the carpeted staircase to her left and began casually climbing up, as if she were heading up to a second floor bedroom. The audience continued their loud applause and cheers for a long moment before an empty Living Room set. "Aaaand cut!" the director hollered. The audience applause dissolved to the muttering of the studio audience as they rose up and made their way out. Pam had already descended the more rudimentary wooden staircase outside of the Living Room set, and she was already heading towards the vanity table hidden behind the set. Her hairdresser, Blanche, awaited her there. Shelly Piper hurried over, flashing her own toothy grin as Pam settled in the makeup chair. "Another great episode in the can, honey! All we have to do is have tomorrow's episode taped and we'll have an entire first season to show off! I've been hearing nothing but good things from the studio heads, sweetie...trust me. Your future is golden!" "Does this mean I can go back home?" Pam asked. "If only for a day? I want to check up on my children." "Oh yeah! Sure! Sure!" Shelly assured, maintaining her perky, rapid-fire manner of speaking. "We can absolutely give you a good 24 hours to yourself...but you'll need to come back the very next day! You're booked for more promotionals and interviews bright and early that day! You should be able to handle them like a champ!" Pam nodded as Blanche continued her work, shaping her subject's hair into something a little more casual. As Shelly observed this, she couldn't help but to share her thoughts in that moment as Blanche worked. "You know...one visit to the Butterfly Salon, and you wouldn't really need to..." "No." Pam snapped her head towards Shelly, a dead serious expression on her face. "Pam..." Shelly sounded wary, even as she was smiling. "...I honestly don't think you should read into your daughter's reservations about that place. Just one visit. If you don't like it, you don't need to go back." "Let's get one thing straight, Shelly." Pam remarked with a tone of absolute conviction. "I will not, and I will never go to that Salon. I did state those terms in the contract I signed, and I'm not going to alter my thinking for anyone." "Yes, but you're doing this over an unfounded fear from your own..." "Shelly!" Pam suddenly, angrily snapped. "The discussion is over! Besides..." She gestured to her smiling hairdresser, who was putting the finishing touches on Pam's hair. "...Blanche is doing a fine job. You are aware that she's an employee of the very same Butterfly Salon you want me to go to, yes?" Shelly nodded, sighing fretfully. "Yes." "So? Why go to the Salon if the Salon can come to me, through Blanche?" Pam reasoned. "Drop the subject. Thank you." Although Shelly nodded, flashing her perfect smile in so doing, she chose to drop the matter for the moment... ...although she knew that a contract re-negotiation would no doubt be necessary at this point, courtesy of the Sisterhood. Shelly didn't want to force it, but given Pam's developing diva attitude, it was clear that the woman wasn't giving Shelly any choice. Shelly exchanged a knowing look with Blanche against this more subtle initiative. After all, one visit to the Salon would be all that was necessary to cleanse Pam Merrywether of the independent initiatives she seemed to be forcing upon her own show. The expenses of the jazz band she wanted to use for the show's opening theme were not only high, but there were band members who were spouse abusers and womanizers. While Pam's independent spirit may have won the day for the moment, Shelly was confident that their new star would lose that spirit in the end. It was just a question of finding a way to get Pam into the Salon. * * * Charlene actually beat the alarm by about fifteen minutes when her eyes opened. The awareness of her pre-determined morning resolve aided in making her all the more conscious as she pulled aside the covers and hurried to the door of her bedroom, shutting off the alarm mode of her alarm clock prior to doing so. When she moved to the door of her brother's room, however, she saw that the door was slightly open. Bursting into the room, Charlene saw that the bedsheets were disheveled, indicating...by her perceptions...that Stanley could have been pulled out of bed in the middle of the night. Was he kidnapped? She quietly surmised to herself. She then noticed that Stanley's computer was turned on, and the Word Processing software called "WordProc"...a part of the "Proc" computer productivity suite...had been opened up. A page had been opened and a message had been typed on the monitor screen which elaborated on the situation further... Charlene - In case you're wondering, your brother is just fine. In fact, he's just found a new job...and no. It's not the kind of job that you're probably suspecting. He had to get up bright and early this morning to be trained. That's why he's not in bed right now. If you would like to see your brother again, meet me at the address below. Text "YES" to the smartphone number below the address to acknowledge to us that you have received this, and that you will be at the noted address at 4 pm later this afternoon. We are not the enemy, Charlene. In fact, we quite seriously want to be your friends. We're doing all of this for a reason. Hopefully, we can help you to understand. You can still have a very happy family, and a huge circle of caring friends, here in Bullchester. I look forward to meeting you. - A P.S.: Nicola misses you very much. She really wants to see you again. A?? Charlene expected to see a B. Or a B.W., for Barbara Walsh. Who is 'A'?? She wondered to herself. Must be...wait a minute. Tamara mentioned someone...Abigail? No...Alis...AGATHA. THAT was the name. The 'Mind-Fuck-Fu' woman. Charlene began to think on the situation. If she agreed to meet Agatha at 4, that would give her all the time before then to strike out on her own and find out where her brother was, and perhaps try to make a break for the city borders whether it was too late for him or not. When she engaged her smartphone's text message app, she saw that a message had been sent while she was asleep. It was from her mother! She immediately tapped 'Mom' on the list of contacts, resulting in the displaying of her message. Hi, honey! Guess what? They're giving me 24 hours of off time. I will be coming back to the house tonight so that we can catch up on things, and maybe have a nice dinner together. Hope you and Stanley are behaving yourselves! See you tonight, say around 7-ish! Charlene sighed heavily. Never rains, but it pours. She mused to herself. After making herself breakfast, Charlene got dressed quickly and headed outside, intending to begin her search in the city. As much as she was very hesitant to go in by bus, she figured she'd at least wait until the bus got to the stop nearest to where the city portion of Bullchester began, and then walk around from there. As she came out of the front door of the house, however, a familiar face, dressed in a peach-colored sweatsuit, was jogging by. When she noticed Charlene, she flashed a smile to the wary teen. "Cher!" Tori pulled off her wireless earbuds. "I didn't expect you to be up this early! You starting a..." "Not now." Charlene raised a hand in restraint, and walked fast, trying to ignore Tori. The platinum-haired teen hurried behind her, however. "Hey, wait a minute...what's wrong? Is this about what happened last night with Nic?" "You know, eh?" Charlene mused aloud, still hurrying over to the bus stop at a walking pace. "Wow, word sure travels fast in a city like this, doesn't it?" Tori hurried in front of Charlene, frowning as she spoke. "Cher...Nic thought about killing herself last night. If it wasn't for Gia's intervention, she probably would have actually done it." "'She'?? Nicola isn't even a she!!" Charlene yelled. "She's more like a...a Nicholas!!" "She was a Nicholas, Charlene." Tori continued to glare at Charlene. "And yes, I was a guy too. So was Jack. But we've all changed. We've all been shown just how horrible it is to be the boys we were." "More like you've all been brainwashed." Charlene countered. "Freedom to do what the Sisterhood allows? That's not freedom! You're all living your lives through a fucking filter!!" "Do you know anything about what Bullchester used to be like?" "Yes, Tori...or, whoever you used to be." Charlene angrily confirmed. "I know all about it. Guys pushing their weight around more often than in the average american city. Guys being jerks before the Sisterhood came in." "And you're still against what the Sisterhood is doing??" Tori sounded aghast. "Talk about being brainwashed!" "Oh, bullshit, Tori!" Charlene shot back. "Are you gonna persecute me now for being into nice guys? I have my standards! You think I want to date anyone like that...that disgusting guido I saw Nicola with at the club?? You think there's no diamonds in the rough anymore?? No nice guys who don't beat up on women, or treat us like sexual conquests? You're full of shit if you've been sold on that...that nihilistic pig-slop!" "Cher, I never said nice guys don't exist anymore!" Tori asserted. "Maybe one day, we'll meet one! I mean, there are still guys in Bullchester, you know! I haven't lost faith, and neither should you!" As Tori spoke, Charlene began to think on what Tamara had said about the tactics used by the Sisterhood. About how they arrange diversionary tactics to get around people like Charlene, as they obviously did with her the night she went to Luck Be A with Tori and Nicola. With Charlene away from the house, Barbara basically had free access to Stanley. A much more wary expression was now on Charlene's face. "Where's my brother, Tori?" Tori just shrugged, looking mystified. "I don't know." "Yes you do," Charlene advanced threateningly on Tori now, who warily recoiled. "Just like you knew where I live. Funny how you were conveniently jogging around my block when I came out. They probably told you to do that, didn't they?" Tori raised her hands in restraint. "Now wait a minute, Cher. I always do an early morning jog. Shit! Paranoid much?" Tori gasped as Charlene clamped her hands upon the former boy's forearms in a tight and angry grip as the teenager's face looked much more furious. "Where, is, my, brother?? Where's Stanley Merrywether??" Tori looked genuinely scared now. She had heard about what had happened to Mrs. Burlington. She had hoped she would come away unharmed from this tense encounter. The former boy finally broke the silence, feigning defeat as she did. "He...he's at the Gentlemen's Club in the city. He was there once before. He couldn't resist going back." I fucking knew it. Charlene thought to herself, her sensible id louder than ever. Training, my ass. They're turning him into one of their whores. The wary teen shook her head, talking to herself even as she continued glaring at Tori. "Not what I think, eh, Agatha?" Charlene then released the platinum blond-haired former boy, rushing past her to hurry to the bus stop. "Stay the hell away from me, Tori!" She called out as she distanced herself from the scared Sisterhood advocate. Letting out a long and distressed sigh, Tori pulled her smartphone out and engaged the name she needed to send the requisite text message to, tapping out the letters very hesitantly before she sent it. Charlene is on her way over. With a look of regret in her face, Tori stowed away the smartphone and resumed her daily jog, relieved that she was still in one piece. Charlene chose to stand by the back door of the bus as it rolled out of the bus stop. She kept her eyes peeled, glancing suspiciously to any and all occupants of the bus as it continued along its route. She gazed upon the front door whenever it stopped, and she kept a distance from anyone getting off, ignoring any confused or bewildered expressions they gave her in return. At one stop, a familiar-looking redhead stepped on. She recognized this woman from her visit to Gourmandizer's. It was the woman...perhaps, herself, a former man...who promoted the local religion inside the supermarket. As she knew the bus stopped there, Charlene figured that she was setting up for another day of promoting. It was inevitable that this woman...Gemma...would notice how wildly paranoid Charlene looked. Her eyes locked on the red-haired woman as she rose to speak with the wary teenager. "Good morning," Gemma began, pulling out a handkerchief and bringing it towards Charlene's forehead. Charlene, however, recoiled, fixing a wide-eyed glare on Gemma. "I'm just wiping your perspiration, child," Gemma softly noted. "Leave it," Charlene quietly growled. "Do you need someone to talk to?" Gemma asked. "No," Charlene quickly answered. "Please leave me alone." Gemma boldly placed a hand on Charlene's shoulder. "If it's sanctuary you need..." "Get your fucking hand off of me, bitch." Charlene was right in Gemma's face now as she growled. After a tense moment, Gemma took a step back, raising her hands in restraint. "Suit yourself." The red-headed woman stepped over to an empty seat, settling into it, and completely ignoring the paranoid teen as Charlene continued her vigil at the back door of the bus. When the bus finally settled near the Gentlemen's Club building, Charlene hurried out, and ran right towards it. As she passed the front columns of the building, however, a cold hand grabbed her forearm... ...and her thoughts immediately went wild. Her alertness and her thinking processes had suddenly become a jumbled mess. It was impossible for her to think straight as the dark-haired woman who had grabbed Charlene pulled the younger girl in to her hiding spot behind the column, wrapping both of her arms around her from behind as she rubbed a hand against the bare skin on the side of the teenager's wide-eyed head. The woman spoke into Charlene's ear, feeding her the requisite instructions. "You will be unable to speak to me in anger. Angry words will be difficult for you. You will be as a blithering idiot whenever you attempt profanity. You will be as a blithering idiot whenever I command 'silence', up until I say the word 'speak'. You will follow me, wherever I go, until I bid you 'farewell'. Whenever you try to strike me, you will give me a tender, loving caress instead." The dark-haired woman loosened her grip on Charlene for the moment, and as she suspected, Charlene whipped around to attempt a blow... ...but her expression was one of confused astonishment as Charlene's hand slowed, and began rubbing, softly, at the woman's cheek. Charlene tried a head-butt... ...only to softly press her head against the woman's chest. The woman gently placed her hands on the back of Charlene's neck, which was moist with sweat. "Yes," she purred. "Agatha is your friend. Not your enemy." Charlene's head defiantly came up as she glared at Agatha. "Why are you ffgllrpphhr...? W-what the ffflrrrpphlmyrrr?" Charlene tried an ear clap with both hands... ...but they settled gently at both sides of Agatha's head instead. "We weren't expecting you until 4pm, dear," Agatha softly remarked as she brought Charlene's hands away from her head. "But then, I figured that your sense of defiance would compel you to get an early start on the business of finding your brother." "So you did plant Tori by my house," Charlene calmly surmised aloud. Agatha nodded. "Mmm, yes...although Tori was considering a habit of jogging around your block anyway. Barford is nice enough, after all, and Tori was under the impression that you were a friend. I meant what I said about Nicola, too. She does miss you, despite her suicide attempt." "Where's my brother?" Charlene fearfully asked. "You didn't read my note?" Agatha raised an eyebrow. "She's training." "She's here, isn't she?" "Oh, Goddess, no," Agatha replied. "I'm an administrator, not a monster. Stanley is training for a new line of work alongside Barbara Walsh. She wanted him to start bright and early. I believe Barbara intends to bring him to Rubie's Mall afterwards." "Yeah. Gotta bring him to the Butterfly Salon, after all, for his conditioning," Charlene sarcastically mused. "My brother isn't a rotten apple, you know." "Oh, I know," Agatha assured. "We're just...taking steps to ensure that he will remain as such." "You mrrrhphlgggrldrg...!" Charlene squinted her eyes shut angrily. "Brrglggphwymmquyggr...!" Agatha had a smile on her face as she shook her head. She then wrapped an arm around Charlene's shoulders. "Let's go in, hmm?" Agatha offered, leading her through the black-tinted doors of the Gentlemen's Club. "I'll buy you a drink." Charlene's body seemed to be on auto-pilot as she walked in alongside the dark-haired woman. She felt compelled to follow the woman wherever she went, much as there was a part of her that wanted to turn away and run. That more defiant voice, however, had been completely muted. Charlene expected Agatha to guide her to the bar, but she led her past that area. The club's bartender was in the process of taking inventory on the drink bottles anyway, and he was in no position at the moment to serve anyone. "New York is such a rough-and-tumble place." Agatha remarked as she continued to lead the paranoid-looking girl through the darkened interiors of the Gentlemen's Club, apparently towards the back of the main stage. "I'm not surprised that you came into Bullchester with such an entertainingly feisty personality. You were born in Woodhaven, weren't you? We're actually thinking of picking a locale in Queens for someone to represent us in. What do you think? Woodhaven? Richmond Hill? Forest Hills? We'll put someone as influential as I am in there. Someone who can make Queens the next Bullchester, in time...or would you rather we went to Manhattan? Take out an apartment in Park Avenue? Maybe your old home, hmm? The one you wanted to go back to?" Stepping up onto the stage, and walking around the dance poles as she talked, Agatha pulled open the door to what turned out to be the stage's dressing room. As Charlene stepped in, she heard the quiet sounds of a hairbrush being pulled through a thick mane of hair. "We can give you whatever life you wish here, Charlene." Agatha invitingly explained. "No matter how pure, no matter how sinful. You're already female, so you wouldn't have to worry about our little...habit...with men. You would never be judged, either. No shame, no suspicions, no harassment. Even if you took a job here as an exotic dancer." Something was odd about the woman brushing her hair in front of the brightly-lit mirror. She wasn't dressed in anything remotely resembling a stripper's outfit. She was wearing a much more pleasant summer dress bearing earth-toned colors. Her movements were slow and gentle as she continued to brush her own long mane of hair. From the angle Charlene was observing this woman at, she could not see the young woman's face as she continued to tend to her long brown hair, and stare upon her own image. Agatha led Charlene closer to this woman until she stopped the curious teenager a few feet away from the woman staring into the mirror. "She doesn't have any interest in exotic dancing, in case you're wondering...but, I fancy her talent for photography should make the time she spends working for the local newspaper very profitable." Agatha then regarded the woman at the mirror. "Joanne? I have a friend with me here. Her name is Charlene. We just wanted to see how you were doing." The smiling face of Joanne slowly turned to Charlene, who frowned in confusion. There was something about this woman's face that looked vaguely familiar as she stared blissfully back at her. "Hello, Charlene," Joanne began, flashing a pleasant smile. "Did you still want to go to Upscale? Such an amazing restaurant. They make great salads, too...and what an awesome view." The words were the same as those that were typed out in a text message that was sent from the phone number that belonged to Jonathan Eberhardt. That's how Charlene knew. There was nothing remotely male in the face of Jonathan Eberhardt anymore, but in making the connection to him, she now realized that Joanne Eberhardt's voice was indeed a feminine version of the way she sounded when she was a male. Charlene just stared at Joanne in silent shock in that moment. "Joanne's life will be quite pleasant. Just as yours can be," Agatha noted as Joanne turned back to the mirror. "No regrets. No dilemmas." "Because you won't let them have any," Charlene quietly observed, still staring at the young woman who, two nights ago, was going to help Charlene escape Bullchester. The young woman who, when she met Charlene, was a gay man named Jonathan. Agatha led her stubbornly-resistant guest out of the dressing room, and back out onto the stage. "Bullchester is working, Charlene. No matter how stubborn you choose to be about the price one may be made to pay if they choose to live here. In the case of the Merrywethers, we needed someone to host a television program tailored for regular viewing by the women in our Housewife program. I can see some of her fiercely- independent streak in you. Especially with those silly little 'demands' of hers, but believe me when I say that her diva behavior won't last. We expect to correct that within the next couple of days." Charlene turned to Agatha now. "What're you doing with my dad?" "Your father is a blackmailer. He drove his former employer to suicide." Agatha coldly reminded. "Just like you drove poor Nicola to try and slice open her wrists when you ran away from her. Which begs the question...are you allergic to transsexuals, Charlene?" "I didn't appreciate the fact that you wouldn't let Nicola be Nicholas. You wouldn't let her be what he was born to be." Charlene kept her expression neutral as she spoke. "If Nicholas wanted to be Nicola, things would probably be different between us...but you wouldn't let her be that, would you?" This put an unpleasant expression on Agatha's face as she stepped right up to Charlene. She glared right into the teenager's eyes. "Idealists like you really piss me off, you know that? Old school. So sickeningly conservative." "What are you gonna do about it?" Charlene bravely asked, ever cautious with her tone. "Put me in this... 'Housewife program' of yours? Make me a dancer here? Force me to unconditionally fall in love with Nicola?" Agatha threateningly raised an index finger, pointing it at Charlene's face threateningly. "Don't tempt me." She lowered her finger. "If I wanted you to do any of those things, believe me. I could." Charlene shrugged. "What's stopping you? I have a feeling you're not going to let me leave. Especially after telling me your 'world domination' plans." Agatha remained unamused by the sass Charlene was defiantly displaying through her words. Particularly for the fact that despite her resistance to the utopia Agatha believed she was offering, Charlene was certainly spot-on regarding the Sisterhood's reluctance to simply let the teenager leave. The Merrywethers had two very important aspects they wanted to exploit through a pair of new projects. They needed Pam for the Housewives project, and Cameron was to become the uniformed housekeeper prototype for the Maid business Agatha was permitting Evangeline Pierson to run. "Blame that on your father, dear. Not me," Agatha replied. "Forcing the bankruptcy of an advertising firm just to fill his pockets with gold? That's right up there with spurning a lovestruck young transsexual for the crime of being a transsexual. Nicola was actually considering a full transition, too...but you don't care about her anymore, do you? You don't even care whether she lives or dies. You remind me of that italian jerk we taught a lesson to when he rejected Nicola at the club that night." Charlene couldn't help but frown angrily as she spoke. "Don't twist the sentiment, you frrgrgmwiklu...qummrflgmmwuukk?" Agatha shook her head shamefully. "You know...you make more sense when you can't speak intelligently, Charlene. I think I'll keep you that way. Silence." "NRRRMMMMGRFLLLKKK!!" Charlene's eyes boggled. "Blrrrqumfllkrglllfff!!" Charlene continued to attempt an intelligent protest as Agatha led her towards the front entrance to the Gentlemen's Club. Once she brought her outside, she turned to the horrified teenager with a very cold expression. "Farewell." Agatha then left her to stand there, lost in her inability to speak intelligently, as she had not heard the cruel, dark-haired woman speak the word which would restore her natural grammar. Charlene felt like an outcast in that moment, unable to speak of what was happening to her family to anyone. As she wandered aimlessly through the city, she began to wonder if she really should give up her resistance to it all. She was female, after all, and there was little, if anything, for her to worry about. None of her family members had to fear for their lives. If anything, they would all be happy in their own way. But her more sensible side then reminded her about the conspiracy. That this was a means to sabotage free thought in favor of whatever Agatha ultimately had planned for modern society. The Sisterhood, unchecked, would slowly spread like a drug. Soon, every male on the planet would be feminine in some way, and they would all be forced into a subservient role. No. She resolved to herself. This needs to be stopped. Somehow. Her only option, however, was to head over to Rubie's Mall...into the Lion's den, so to speak...and somehow try to keep Barbara from bringing Stanley into the Salon. The epitome of risky actions, no doubt, but it was her only option for the moment. She boarded the next available bus to the mall. The ride was thankfully uneventful as the bus settled in front of the stop near the mall's entrance. Her first instinct was to use her remaining funds to purchase a black hoodie from one of the stores. She couldn't help but to feel like a fugitive when she brought the hood up. Charlene knew that she would be earning herself a lot of suspicious gazes from people while she was inside the mall, but she needed to keep as low a profile as possible as she waited for Barbara Walsh. She kept moving, always feeling like a thousand eyes were watching her. She felt it was inevitable that someone...perhaps one of the security guards at the mall...would confront her, and then she would be at a terrible disadvantage for the 'curse' Agatha had laid upon her. But the confrontation would come from someone she did not expect at all. "I've gotta hand it to you, daisy." The voice sounded familiar even as she tried to ignore it. The last time she heard it, she had just entered Tamara's office. "You're the epitome of stubborn. I hear you could put up quite a fight, too. Tae Kwon Do, is it?" Xavier. Charlene told herself. That's the guy's name. "Don't bother replying, daisy. I know you can't." Xavier continued as they both kept walking, the bald soldier just behind her, and to her right. "At least, not coherently." Charlene angrily flipped Xavier off in response to this as she kept staring forward. "Ever heard of that Vietnam war thing called 'Head on a Stick'?" Xavier asked as they both kept walking through the mall. "Where you stab someone in the back and sever the spinal cord with a big knife? Well...I've done that! More than once! It actually works!" Lovely. Charlene mused to herself as she continued to ignore Xavier. "Barbara and Annie aren't going to be here for a while, daisy. I think she's still in midwife training." Xavier explained. "Oh, wait...did I say Annie? I meant...Stanley, right?" Charlene's face was a mask of building anger as she kept staring forward. She had hoped to refrain from doing any physical fighting, but Xavier's bullying was starting to get under her skin. Especially when Xavier reached over and pinched at the hood, pulling it down to expose her now-sweaty head. "Daisies like you shouldn't keep their heads concealed." Xavier calmly remarked. "You're not a wanted criminal, are you? You're the daughter of a family unit with one bad apple, and that apple isn't you, and it isn't Stanley, either. Honestly...for you to have so much concern for your family? It's...touching. Really touching. Shows you have a lot of spirit." Finally turning her head towards Xavier with a look of angry contempt, Charlene pulled her hood back up and continued to walk forward. "The idea we came up with for your brother? He's gonna turn out just fine. Don't you worry," Xavier noted. "Not only is he going to help bring new life into our little world, he's gonna be breastfeeding them as well. Damned if I know how big they'll be, but one thing's for sure...he's certainly gonna draw a lot of stares." After about an hour of Xavier continuing to follow Charlene, and him attempting to goad her with information she either already knew about, or which were just plain unimportant to her, she decided to make her way back towards the vicinity of the Salon itself, as it was getting close to midday by now. As she came within sight of the Salon, all her persistence...all her efforts to keep from losing it and venting her frustrations on a trained soldier mercilessly trying to compel her to fight him...had reached a moment in which time seemed to come to a standstill. Charlene spotted Barbara Walsh. With her was what looked like a cute young woman whose hair was in a mass of dolly ringlets. While the face looked a bit too soft in its features to be her brother, there was no denying that this was once Stanley Merrywether. Her eyes boggled as she began to run towards them, hoping to be able to grab Stanley and make a mad dash out the doors of the mall, and just flee from the city by any means necessary. The distance between her and her brother seemed longer as she dashed towards the effeminate young man, who had just begun to turn his gaze towards her as she closed in. The impact of a sharp sting at Charlene's right shoulderblade, however, sent her stumbling to the ground. Her limbs quickly began to feel like lead now as she struggled to get back to her feet. A sensation of numbness crept from the shoulder injury to the rest of her body within seconds. Trying to keep her eyes open for as long as she could as crowds began to surround her, Charlene finally got a good look at the face of her feminized brother as he gazed down at her, dropping to a knee in his concern. As her consciousness faded, she heard one last word from her brother's much more feminine-sounding voice. "Charlene...?" * * * A large bald man holstered a gun as he walked over to pick up the unconscious, black-hooded teenager Stanley recognized to be his own daughter. Even as the bald man gave him a glance, a smile and a wink as he carried her away, he remained concerned. All those concerns, however, melted away when he felt Barbara's hand settle on his shoulder. "She'll be fine, Annie," Barbara assured. "Don't worry. You'll see her again. In fact...you may even get to help her." Stanley looked to Barbara with a puzzled expression. "But..." "Shhhh." The midwife placed a finger on Stanley's painted lips. "Don't worry about that now. Come on...let's get you some really sexy dresses that will show off that incredible cleavage of yours this time." X: That's A Wrap! Stanley had never felt so nervous in all of his life as he sat before the large woman's vagina. As per the effeminate young man's instructions, the woman puffed out breaths in the moments before the inevitable labor pains. "You're doing just fine, Jeanine." Stanley gently assured, in a soft and reassuring voice. "Keep it up." Barbara watched her subject closely. She was a little nervous herself. If he suddenly got cold feet, she knew she would have to jump in. So far, however, he was doing just fine. "Are you ready?" Stanley asked. "I need you to be a warrior for me now. No matter how painful it is, you need to fight through it, and concentrate." Jeanine nodded. "Yes...okay..." "Aaaaand...PUSH!" Stanley commanded, keeping his attention on the woman's vagina as Jeanine cried out with her effort to bring her child out through her dilating cervix. A fleshy, furry surface began to manifest there. Evidence of the baby's head on its way out. Stanley had been taught of all the moments when the birth process would become a problem. The umbilical cord wrapping itself around the baby's neck, for example. Fortunately, and much to Barbara's particular relief, the baby seemed to be emerging without any such issues. "Keep pushing! You're doing great!" Stanley assured as Jeanine kept up her effort. "I see the head...now, let's get the shoulders out, that's right..." The sound of the baby hollering its first cries of life sent a wave of relief through all three of the occupants of the delivery room. Jeanine's sweaty face was smiling, as was Barbara as Stanley cradled the screaming child. Barbara assisted in severing the umbilical cord, and removing the placenta, while Stanley brought the child over for Jeanine to look upon for the first time. "Your new son looks real healthy, Jeanine. Congratulations!" Stanley chimed as he presented the newborn son to his mother. At the same time, however, a more stone-faced Barbara administered the contents of a syringe into Jeanine. As the relieved and sweaty woman giggled over the bundle of joy she had delivered, her eyelids fluttered shut, and she lapsed into unconsciousness. Frowning in his confusion, Stanley looked to Barbara, who motioned for the effeminate young man to follow her out of the room. ?Take the baby with you,? she quietly added. Still puzzled, Stanley followed Barbara to another room, where the midwife picked up another syringe and stepped towards the big-breasted young man. ?Time to demonstrate your purpose, cow.? Stanley sucked in a sharp breath as the needle went into her right areolae, the syringe pushing a warm, light blue liquid into the effeminate young man?s breast. For a moment, Stanley thought she, too, would begin to feel faint, but he felt a warmth at both of his breasts instead. ?We need to wait a couple of minutes before you start feeding the child.? Barbara then held her arms out towards the howling baby. ?Give him to me.? ?I...I don?t understand.? Stanley hesitantly and carefully brought the newborn boy unto Barbara?s waiting arms. ?Why am I feeding him? Shouldn?t a baby feed from the breast of its natural mother?? ?Under normal circumstances, yes.? Barbara gently placed the child into a clear plastic crib which was lined in comfortable, sweet-smelling white fabrics. ?But not here. Not in this clinic. What I taught you were the normal circumstances, yes. Now, however, you need to modify your thinking to suit what is expected of you from now on.? Stanley?s eyes widened over what he had surmised in that moment. ?We?re not taking that baby away from his mother, are we?? The effeminate young man expected a swift denial to ease his concerns, but Barbara turned to him with the same stone-faced expression she had when she tranquilized Jeanine. ?Yes.? ?Why??? ?Stanley...you shouldn?t be feeling so sympathetic about Jeanine. She doesn?t deserve it, for one thing,? Barbara explained. ?Plainly put, Jeanine is...or rather, she was...a criminal. A murderer, in fact. Criminologists would refer to her as a ?black widow?. The kind of woman who would marry men...and in Jeanine?s case, women as well...for their money, and then kill them when they least expected it. She did this three times before she was apprehended.? ?And...they brought her here?? Stanley asked, still mystified. ?What we do here is a form of rehabilitation, cow,? Barbara responded. ?This newborn child deserves a much better mother. The serum I gave you is DNA-matched to the breast milk of the woman we feel would be much more suitable.? At this point, Stanley?s breasts began to ache from an abundance of milk which had bloated her fleshy mammaries. Barbara, seeing Stanley wince from this aching, gestured for the effeminate young man to settle into an easy chair within the room. Once he had settled into this very comfortable brown leather chair, Barbara extracted the baby from the plastic crib and brought him back over to Stanley. ?Feeding time, cow.? Barbara carefully placed the baby into Stanley?s waiting arms. ?Expose a breast, and have the child feed from it.? Pulling down one of the shoulder straps on the black-blotched white camisole he was wearing, Stanley guided the quiet infant?s mouth to the nipple, where the child latched on and began suckling from it... ...and Stanley dropped his head back against the back of the easy chair, panting and moaning softly from the blissful cataract of pure pleasure coursing through his body as the infant child drank his fill. The sensations running through his body could only be described as orgasmic. He was rooted to the chair as his mind went to mush. He could hardly feel Barbara?s hand rubbing at his hair as the baby continued drinking. As much as he wanted the sensations to last forever, Barbara gently pulled the child away, leaving Stanley to attempt a recovery from his first breastfeeding experience. He had to wonder if it felt this good among other women. Barbara left him alone in the room for a few minutes. She returned alone, and with a smile on her face as she looked upon a very docile- faced Stanley. ?Very good work, cow.? Barbara stepped closer to the effeminate young man. ?It?s clear to me now that you?re ready to emerge from your chrysalis.? Once Barbara spoke the trigger phrase, a moment in which his eyes blinked rapidly signaled the effective demise of the last conscious traces of Stanley Merrywether?s personality, right down to the knowledge of his own name. Having mentally emerged, in this moment, from her chrysalis state, the effeminate young man was now mentally reborn as Annette ?Annie? Merryweather, who in the Project Heifer scheme of things was Barbara Walsh?s proudly loyal cow. Barbara tilted her head to the side in her feigned curiosity. ?Say...what was your name again?? ?I-I?m Annette Merryweather,? the smiling, big-breasted she-male replied. ?But...you can call me Annie.? Barbara nodded. ?And...what are you, dear?? Annie now flashed a lazy grin. ?I?m your cow.? Barbara, however, shook her head. ?You?re more than that.? She then held out her hand. ?Get up, cow. There?s something I need to show you.? The midwife guided Annie to a large room with many tables and a large flatscreen TV, which was currently playing another episode of Wild Passions. Barbara then settled Annie into one of the seats. ?Wait here,? she instructed before going back out of the room. Barbara came back a few minutes later with a large box, which she placed on the empty table in front of Annie. Smiling, Barbara gestured for her cow to open it. Pulling the top off of the box, Annie pulled out a gray dress that looked identical to the midwife uniform Barbara was currently wearing. The former young man?s eyes were as wide as saucers as they lingered on the outfit. Her eyes then went to Barbara. ?Does this mean that I...?? ?You start work tomorrow. I?m gonna start picking you up bright and early,? Barbara replied. ?Your shift begins at 7 a.m. Same as me. I?ll take you home as well, if I don?t have to stay late for a meeting, or anything.? Annie continued to hold the outfit up in front of her. ?Wow...!? Barbara smiled, her work in assimilating Stanley Merrywether completed. ?Congratulations, midwife.? * * * Cameron?s chubby hand was able to stop the alarm from sounding off by less than a minute. Although the effeminate man?s eyes were still lazy slits, a smile formed on his lips. By now, he had gotten used to rising from his bed despite his weight gain, swinging his chubby legs over the side to slip them into a pair of pink slippers. A cheery smile was on Cameron?s face as his eyes widened. ?Time to get up, time to cook!? he brightly proclaimed as he rose to his feet. The face of a kind old woman with a head of curly, short silver hair stared back at him as he glanced at himself in the mirror. Removing his flowery nightclothes, he stepped over to his closet to pull out the pieces of his maid outfit, humming a pleasant melody as he slipped each segment of the uniform onto his chubby, feminine body. He continued to pleasantly hum his way down the stairs on his way to the kitchen... ...only to see that Irene Moore wasn?t the only one in there. A familiar-looking female guest that he last remembered seeing at Gourmandizer?s. Not only did this woman leash him to her shopping cart, she also directed him to place items she had pointed to into the cart as they moved. They were in the midst of a muted conversation, over cups of coffee, when Cameron appeared at the kitchen entranceway. ?Ooh! I?m dreadfully sorry...I didn?t realize we had guests this morning!? Cameron chimed. Evangeline Pierson stared, wide-eyed, at Cameron. ?This is the same person who helped me shop at the supermarket? Wow...? Her eyes switched to a grinning Irene, her tone reflecting her lingering amazement. ?...he doesn?t sound like a man at all!? ?The seat next to me is for you, dear,? Irene informed, gesturing to the seat. ?I?m training someone new this morning, so you get to join us as we suffer through a potentially horrible breakfast.? ?A-are you sure?? It was now Cameron?s turn to sound amazed. ?I honestly don?t mind getting my hands dir...? Irene giggled as she interjected. ?I know you wouldn?t, but after everything you?ve been through, you?ve earned yourself a break. Besides...you?re being transferred, so to speak. That lady sitting over there...? She gestured to Evangeline. ?...is going to be your new boss.? ?Good to see you again, maid,? Evangeline remarked. ?You?re looking...quite sweet today.? Cameron blushed, giggling girlishly. ?Ohh, shucks. You?ve got me all cherry red! Hehe!? He then looked to Irene with a more serious expression. ?So...who is it that?s being trained?? ?You?ll find out momentarily, dear,? Irene calmly replied. ?He?s currently trying to get his maid outfit on.? That part of him which retained memories of his own family hoped that he would not see the face of his only son when this ?trainee? finally showed himself. Much to Cameron?s relief, however, the person that showed up was far too italian-looking to be his son. ?Hey-yo! Oh-ey!? He looked like he was having trouble walking in heels. ?I?m havin? a hard time movin? in dese heels! Ya really ?spect me ta cook shit in ?em?? ?I don?t just expect you to cook in those heels, Bruno.? Irene was just as stone-faced as she was when she spoke to Cameron on his own first day. ?I expect you to like it.? ?Well, I don?t!? Bruno barked back, angrily. ?An? I don?t give a shit if ya got yer gran?ma wit? ya dere!? His eyes went to Cameron. ?Dey got me doin? dis ?cause some skank I had my eyes on at dat fuckin? club turned out ta be a fuckin? tranny! Hey-yo! Oh-ey! Bruno Caravaggio don?t date no chicks wit dicks!? His tone then went sarcastic. ?I?m soooo fuckin? sorry!? ?My goodness!? Cameron turned fearfully to Irene. ?He?s awfully rude, isn?t he! And the filth coming out of his mouth...!? ?Oh, I?m in total agreement, Cammy,? Irene responded, nodding slowly while keeping an unpleasant gaze on the cross-dressed guido. Evangeline had also turned her head to their foul-mouthed domestic-in- training, and her own expression was just as displeased. ?Are you going to make us wait for our breakfast, maid?? ?Why don?cha ask granny over dere ta fix ya somethin?, ya fuckin? bitch??? Bruno got right in the woman?s face as he screamed. ?She?s even dressed for it, an? she...? As he spoke the word ?it?, Evangeline?s hands were on Bruno?s ankles, and she pulled the guido?s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground, in one fluid motion. The blonde amazon then rose to her feet, and brought the long, hard stiletto heel of her shoe down on Bruno?s crotch, pressing the sturdy heel down as hard and as painfully as she could. Bruno?s screams filled the air as he howled in agony. Even as she continued to press her heel down, the crossdressed guido continued to hurl out a stream of profanity...this time in italian...from his mouth. ?You will cook for us.? Evangeline firmly commanded. ?All three of us. Disobedience brings humiliation. Rudeness brings pain. As you can see, I can give you the latter, and trust me...you do NOT want to be humiliated by someone like me, maid.? ?Nrrrggh...OK! OK! I?ll cook! I?ll cook!! Mamma mia!? Bruno whined. Once Evangeline removed her heel from Bruno?s crotch, exposing a visible red blotch that had formed there in so doing, the cross-dressed guido agonizingly climbed to his heels and began looking for ingredients for the meals Irene had instructed him to make. As Bruno began working, Irene turned to Cameron. ?So anyway...Miss Evangeline over there is going to be your new boss. She?s opening up a maid business and you?re going to be her first employee once you?re finished with your first commissioned job.? ?And that is how I will expect you to address me from now on, maid,? Evangeline added. ?I will always be ?Miss Evangeline? to you. Understood?? ?Oh! Oh yes, Miss Evangeline.? Cameron replied. ?Maids will also be operating on a first-name basis only,? Evangeline added. ?Family names mean nothing to me. When you are not commissioned for a job, you are training, or you are training others. From what Irene tells me, you have the potential to be a very good teacher.? Irene nodded, placing a hand on Cameron?s fat shoulder. ?This one has come a very long way from what she was when I first met her...haven?t you, Ethel?? The curly-haired, plus-sized maid?s eyes fluttered and went wide. As Irene?s voice had spoken a trigger phrase in Cameron?s thorough conditioning, this effectively erased everything that Cameron Merrywether was, in favor of a flood of solid, deeply-laid mental reprogramming in which any memory traces to the Merrywether family had been irreversibly severed in favor of the old woman?s new identity. From then on, Cameron Merrywether was gone. He had been replaced with the personality set of a kind old domestic caretaker known only as Ethel. Such was the flood of new programming in that moment that Ethel had been struck confused. ?I-I?m sorry...?? ?I was just saying that you had come a long way,? Irene repeated. ?Haven?t you?? ?Ohhh yes!? Ethel beamed a wide smile. ?I hope I?ve met with your satisfaction, Miss Moore, Ma?am.? A devious smile crept onto Irene?s lips. ?With flying colors.? Ethel looked a bit hesitant to make her next inquiry. ?Uuummm...m-may I ask what my first commissioned job will be, Mrs. Moore Ma?am?? ?Starting as early as tomorrow morning, you will be relocated to the residence of a Mr. Graham Brooks. His rather large estate was once owned by his Uncle, an older man named Eustace O?Herlihy.? Irene explained. ?Do those names mean anything to you, Ethel dear?? The names sounded very vaguely familiar, but Ethel had to shake her head. ?Not at all. Is he a nice man?? ?He?s actually quite anxious to put you to work,? Irene answered. ?You?ve been contracted to be his domestic housekeeper for one month?s time, after which you?ll return to Miss Evangeline to await your next contracted job.? Ethel looked to the imposing blond woman meekly. ?I hope I never disappoint you, Miss Evangeline.? The statuesque blonde smiled. ?You had a really good teacher in Irene Moore. I doubt I?ll be worrying about you very much, Ethel.? Her expression turned serious as her gaze switched to the young italian man dressed as a maid. ?Bruno, on the other hand...? ?Oh dear!? Ethel looked upon Bruno?s travails with concern, given his plainly evident difficulties. ?I hope he?s aware that he needs to butter his pans!? Irene amusedly whispered into Ethel?s ear. ?He didn?t.? Ethel was about to protest further, but Irene gently put a finger to the old woman?s lips before she could utter another word. After fifteen more minutes of casual conversation between Evangeline and Irene, and Ethel quietly watching Bruno?s eyes go back and forth from a cookbook and smoking pans, the crossdressed guido finally began plating the breakfast offerings. Upon placing the plates full of food in front of each person at the table, Bruno received a swift critique, which was visually evident when their eyes fell upon their respective offerings. ?Eggs, sunny-side up?? Evangeline chided, angrily staring at Bruno as she spoke. ?These look like they?ve been left in the fucking sun for too long! It?s BURNED!? Irene sighed heavily upon looking down at her lumpy pancakes and sausage. ?I shouldn?t be seeing pancake batter oozing out when I cut into these flap-jacks! It?s FUCKING RAW!!? ?Pheaugggh!? Ethel grimaced after sampling her burnt scrambled eggs. She also noticed black burn spots on her sausages. ?Oh, dear me! This won?t do at all! This is overcooked! You really need to be aware of your cooking time!? Ethel wagged a finger scoldingly to the crestfallen Bruno as she spoke. ?I...I told you...? Bruno wiped a tear from his eye, still feeling the terrible throbbing from his wounded right genital as he spoke weakly. ?...I?m not a very good c-cook!? ?You?ll get it right, dear! Just like I did!? A sympathetic, smiling Ethel chimed out before either Evangeline or Irene could utter their next vicious rebukes. ?Just try again, and watch your cooking times. That?s all!? The two dominant ladies gave Ethel an amused look as they lapsed back into silence, sipping at their respective cups of coffee. ?Should I help her this time?? Ethel whispered to Irene. ?No.? was Irene?s immediate, sharply-whispered answer. 20 minutes later, Bruno was ready to serve his second attempt, placing each of the plates in front of each of the three ladies. They each took a sampling of their breakfast meals into their mouths. After a moment, they gave a very nervous-looking Bruno their critique. * * * ?Wow...? A Chef?s jacket-clad Gordon Ramsay declared, after scooping a generous portion of Pam Merryweather?s quiche into his mouth, and chewing upon it for a moment. ?...delicious. Beautifully cooked. If you were part of the final five on Hell?s Kitchen, madam, this would easily earn you a black jacket.? ?Whew!? Pam?s relief looked, sounded...and unbeknownst to the studio audience, was...genuine as the crowd broke into applause. ?So...are we going to the beach now, or...new steak knife set? What?s my prize?? After the audience laughter died down, the smirking, wild-haired Scotsman uttered his sly response. ?You...will get...your very, own, TV show! With you as the hostess!? ?And you as the guest!? Pam cried out over the laughter and applause. ?And me as the guest!? Gordon playfully cried out through his amused grin. Off-camera, Shelly Piper continued to flash her toothy grin as Pam and the ridiculously expensive Gordon continued their interview, talking about shows like Hell?s Kitchen and Master Chef. It was at Pam?s suggestion that the notoriously finicky Michelin Star Chef sample the quiche? right then and there on live TV and give his honest opinion rather than pre-script his reaction and his response, which was an admittedly sly move. More or less a potential ratings win-win situation for the colorful rebuke a bad quiche? would have earned the hostess, and for the glowing praise that she actually did earn. Shelly knew that the Sisterhood would no longer tolerate any more subtle acts of independence, diva behavior or otherwise, from a woman who was essentially a tool for the Housewives project. When the stagehand brought the cup of coffee Pam usually drank, Shelly slipped a sedative into the inky blackness of the steaming hot liquid. The explanation would be easy. Exhaustion. She had been taping shows and doing promotionals and interviews the entire week. Her body inevitably collapsed. Nobody needed to know that the Sisterhood had her set up in a hotel room during the show?s production, giving her the opportunity to catch up on any sleep she needed prior to the next day?s work. Of course, this needed to wait until after Ramsay had left the studio. Once Pam had succumbed to the effects of the sedative, she would immediately be brought to the Butterfly Salon, where another full makeover would not only apply a much more manufactured look reminiscent of a 1950s Housewife, but also make their prized TV show hostess significantly less resistant to the way the Sisterhood wanted their show to be done. Once the taping of this particular episode was done, they would have a full first season of The Merry Weather Show ready for public consumption. Advertisements for Loris International products and promotionals for the Wild Passions soap opera would be among the Sisterhood-sanctioned content of the required commercial breaks the show needed to allow for during its broadcasts on the BCN network. If the first season went well, co-executive producer Rita Noble had a plan to put the show up for viewing on mainstream syndicated networks, which would help to potentially spread the Sisterhood?s influence in an almost exponential fashion. Such thoughts made Shelly...who was once a young Private Investigator named Ben Roberts before repeated viewings of Wild Passions effectively sabotaged his manhood, resulting in a life-changing visit to the Butterfly Salon?s dermis machine courtesy of the Sisterhood...look particularly anxious as she and a stage hand carried the unconscious Pam Merryweather over for her own Salon visit. Observing from the security camera feed in another room, Celeste Richards smiled wickedly as salon employees began to work on Pam?s hair. Once Pam?s head was in the hair dryers, the necessary work on the mind of their TV show hostess would follow. Celeste amusedly turned to a similarly grinning Rita Noble, who was standing next to her, to suitably utter a fitting remark that would effectively close the book on their worries relating to Pam Merryweather. ?And that?s a wrap.? * * * LukBANikki ?<: Leanne? Are you there? LukBANikki ?<: Please...I need to chat with you. I saw your online indicator. I know you?re on. MrsMoreau ?<: Yeah, I?m on. I was in the middle of formula calculations. What is it, Nicola? LukBANikki ?<: I want to ask a favor of you. You may not like it. LukBANikki ?<: It?s about Charlene. Charlene Merrywether. MrsMoreau ?<: ........... MrsMoreau ?<: Have you been drinking again, Nic? LukBANikki ?<: NO! I just...I want my kitty-cat back. Is there any way you can help? MrsMoreau ?<: Why? LukBANikki ?<: I love her. I?ve been thinking about her so much lately. LukBANikki ?<: Yes. I love her. MrsMoreau ?<: Even though she spurned you? Over what you are? MrsMoreau ?<: Nic, she?s not much different from that Bruno guy who ditched you for the very same reason. MrsMoreau ?<: Besides...there?s already a plan in place for her for the moment. LukBANikki ?<: Is there some way I can visit her? MrsMoreau ?<: That can be arranged. LukBANikki ?<: Good, good. MrsMoreau ?<: Goddess. I can?t believe you still have feelings for that girl. LukBANikki ?<: I do, but...well, there?s something to my feelings for her. MrsMoreau ?<: Explain. LukBANikki ?<: Well...when we kissed, she just kind of...melted into me. Like, she lost herself. I felt like I was in control. Like I could do what I wanted with her. Why do you think I call her my kitty-cat? LukBANikki ?<: I knew she was interested in me. I had no idea that she felt the way she did about she-males like me. Now that we have her back, I really DID want to make her mine. LukBANikki ?<: But...if there?s already a plan for her... MrsMoreau ?<: Interesting. MrsMoreau ?<: So...you want her as your...pet? LukBANikki ?<: Yes. MrsMoreau ?<: Intriguing. MrsMoreau ?<: I?ll tell you what I?ll do. I?ll talk to my mother and see what we can arrange. No promises here. If they have a longterm scheme in mind for Charlene, you?re shit out of luck. MrsMoreau ?<: But I will see what I can do. LukBANikki ?<: That LukBANikki ?<: would LukBANikki ?<: be LukBANikki ?<: so LukBANikki ?<: FUCKING LukBANikki ?<: AWESOME MrsMoreau ?<: ?? MrsMoreau ?<: I?ll get back to you in a couple of days. Let you know if I was able to talk anyone into it. LukBANikki ?<: No problem. I really appreciate this. MrsMoreau ?<: I still think you should keep looking. LukBANikki ?<: Fuck that. I want my kitty-cat. MrsMoreau ?<: Would you like me to give her a tail? LukBANikki ?<: You?ve been watching that movie again, haven?t you? LukBANikki ?<: No thank you. MrsMoreau ?<: My dream experiment, obviously. Hehe...gotta get back to my lab homework. I?ll talk to you later. LukBANikki ?<: Don?t blow yourself up. MrsMoreau ?<: LOL. Bye, Nic. ----====*CHAT TERMINATED*====---- * * * Wearing her gray midwife uniform with pride, and with her longer and more beautifully golden blonde hair spilling down in waves over her right shoulder, the huge-chested Annie Merryweather gently pushed the wheelchair within which her latest subject...a pregnant young woman with a huge belly, indicative of more than one bundle of joy within her womb...was seated. The short-haired young woman looked relaxed. Blissed. Her pageboy-styled hair was parted in the center. After spending the morning reading a pamphlet that explained the childbirth process, it was time for her to eat. The woman felt a bit of movement in her womb. A couple more days, and she was expected to begin feeling the signs of impending childbirth. The entire time, she couldn?t help but wonder who the father was. No one gave her any answer. Not even Annie knew. ?I?ve got a surprise for you this morning.? Annie explained as she wheeled the large-gutted woman into the clinic?s lunchroom. ?I?ll leave you to watch it while I get you your meal.? Most of the wheelchairs in the lunchroom, each of them containing a pregnant woman in various states of development, and nearly all of them looking gray-haired and wrinkled, were turned towards the widescreen TV in the room. An episode of Wild Passions was just ending when the lunchroom?s newest occupant was wheeled over to a prime viewing spot between two other pregnant ladies. Once the commercial spots between shows were done, and a brief reminder of the top stories were recited by BCN?s news anchors, a pleasant melody played, followed by the image of a very nice-looking suburban home, viewed from the outside. The pregnant woman looked a little confused, but then a TV announcer began speaking... ?And now, LIVE, from the brand new studios at Rubie?s Mall, right here in beautiful Bullchester...it?s the Merry Weather Show, where the weather is always at its merriest!? Her eyes widened, and a full smile was now on her face as the image switched to the interior of a living room as the studio audiences continued their applause. ?Here?s your hostess...? the female announcer chimed. ?...Pam Merryweather!? The pregnant woman gasped in amazement as the smiling, cheery-faced hostess stepped out to greet the crowd, applauding to them as they were applauding to her. ?Good morning, everyone, and welcome to my home,? Pam began as the applause died down. ?Step in and stay awhile! I just finished brewing a fresh pot of coffee, courtesy of our new friends at Bean Counters, consistently voted as the best and the most rich-tasting coffee in all of Bullchester. Can I get a ?hell yes? if you all agree?? The pregnant woman mouthed a ?hell yes? along with the sound of the audience?s loud repetition. ?Pfft,? one of the other pregnant women in the lunchroom scoffed, in a somewhat obnoxious voice. ?I?ve had better.? As Pam continued her hosting, the pregnant woman Annie had brought in continued to beam with pride. Inevitably, a pregnant, older black woman in the wheelchair next to hers couldn?t help but take notice of these reactions. The black woman frowned as she leaned towards her. ?You sure seem t? be enjoyin? this.? As the lunches were brought in on hard plastic trays at this point by other nurses, the smiling pregnant woman turned to respond to the dark- skinned clinic resident next to her, gesturing at the screen as she spoke. ?That?s my mom!? Charlene quietly, gleefully confirmed. ?I?m a Merryweather, too!? As the blond midwife who used to be Stanley Merrywether joined the nurses to provide her pregnant sister with her lunchtime meal, Annie remained in the lunchroom to watch her mother?s broadcast television premiere as well. ?She looks great, doesn?t she, sis?? Annie whispered to her wheelchair- bound clinic subject. ?Yes,? Charlene spoke through happy tears. ?She looks wonderful...you look wonderful...we all look soooo wonderful here.? Enough subliminal messaging had been fed to Charlene Merrywether during her stay at the Fertility Clinic over the past few days that her previous evasiveness and her fears regarding Bullchester and the Sisterhood had more or less evaporated. Once again, the technological witchcraft of the Sisterhood of the Divine Feminine...of Cresswell Industries...had swallowed an entire family whole. Pam?s trip to the Butterfly Salon...courtesy of her publicist, Shelly Piper...included a skin conditioning process provided by the Salon?s dermis machine. When she had emerged from the bed, any lingering knowledge of her having been married to a man named Cameron Merrywether had been wiped from her mind. She only knew that she had two children from a failed marriage, and that the husband had killed himself. A subsequent visit to the Salon for Annie, and an evening?s sleep at the Clinic for Charlene, gave the Sisterhood the opportunity to similarly condition the Merrywether kids in this fabricated logic. Minor movements in her gut compelled Charlene to gently place a hand on her own tummy, as if to provide consolation to the developing fetuses that were inside her. She was looking forward to bringing new life into this wonderful town that had brought her so much happiness. It was the only place she could ever really live in, and she was in the enviable position of being the daughter of a woman who would become one of the hottest and the most likeable daytime TV hostesses in the annals of modern entertainment. A Bullchester-based TV critic even boasted that Pam had the potential to be even better than the almighty Oprah Winfrey. In the hopelessly re-conditioned mind of Charlene Merryweather, her future in Bullchester...and that of the rest of her family, and even that of a certain maid who used to be her real father...looked very, very bright. * * * BARFORD FILE # 1500 Family Name: Merrywether --**CASE CLOSED**--