The Shapeshifter Strikes Out free porn video

THE SHAPESHIFTER STRIKES OUT by Crazy Baron DISCLAIMERS This work may be distributed to forums where it can be read free of charge, provided that the author gives his explicit permission and that the text is not altered. Please note that this story is intended for mature readers only. The people and incidents depicted herein are completely fictional. THE STORY The small suburban single-story house, one of many on a street lined by its virtually identical clones on both sides, did not stand out in the slightest. Even if a casual passerby had for whatever reason developed an interest in it and entered it, he or she would have found four practically and spartanly furnished, tidy little rooms and not much else. The occupant didn't welcome guests, but he would have been polite to one, maybe even offered them some refreshments on a good day. He would have tolerated the disturbance, however barely--as long as the intruder stayed well away from the lavish walk-in closet. That part of the house was nothing less than the lair of The Shapeshifter. No one would ever have guessed that there was a connection between the living legend of a vigilante and the mild-mannered owner of the house, let alone that the two people were one and the same. For his part, Rob was determined to keep it that way. His safety depended on nobody finding out his secret. As he was sitting on a chair in front of a vanity in the closet, he was a strange sight. His entire body from his neck down was unquestionably feminine, with a generally athletic build, smooth peachy skin, shaven crotch, sizable butt and a pair of enormously large breasts that sported hardened rosy nipples. It was topped by his male head with the gaunt face, light brown eyes and shortly cropped black hair of an outwardly nondescript, average man in his mid-to-late thirties. The skin of the female body was actually a suit, made of an advanced latex compound that Rob himself had painstakingly developed over the years. To take the suit off, he only needed to find the hidden zipper tab in the back of the suit's neck and pull down, and the suit would open; at the moment, though, his intention was to complete the disguise, not to shed it. Rob placed a bandage-like sticker on his throat and smoothed it with his hands. It held a tiny electronic device that would modulate his voice. The woman who Rob was turning himself into would go out and talk to other people, and it obviously would not do to have his own raspy tones come out of her mouth. The contrast between the different parts of his form bordered on comical, but it wouldn't last. One specific item, currently lying on the table, would take care of fixing it: a lifelike mask that was made of the same material as the bodysuit. It had the features of a 25-year-old, strikingly beautiful woman named Trisha, who had high cheekbones, luscious lips and silver blond hair styled in a pageboy cut. It was a one-piece affair, with the wig built in, and molded to fit Rob's head perfectly. The mask would cover his head all the way down to the lower part of the neck, where its edge would blend with the bodysuit. The voice modifier would be neatly concealed by it as well. There was also a large flask full of liquid latex on the table. Just yesterday, Rob had gone out and obtained it, since his stocks were running low. The substance would be later fed into Rob's disguise-making machine, which was actually a complex system of 3D printers that he had constructed himself out of commercially available, cheap parts. Being a genius engineer in addition to his innumerable other talents had its perks. Rob understandably needed to stay ahead of his enemies by changing his looks as often as he could, but creating masks and suits was a passion to him and he would certainly have been doing it even if the Government had mercifully left him alone. He would select an attractive woman or a girl, surreptitiously collect photographs and voice samples of her--or, preferably, scan her with a specially made device all at once if he had the chance--and then build the disguise that made him into a flawless replica of the unwitting model. The pleasure of that process was only rivaled by the joy of having a huge wardrobe of female disguises to choose from, or the excitement of assuming a brand new identity when he had made his choice. Even as a small child, Rob had known that he had an unusually keen ability to mimic others. This made him a potential threat to the Government from the get-go, and he didn't avoid the attention of authorities for long. He was kidnapped from his elementary school one day and taken to a secret facility. His memories of this incident were hazy, to say the least, but in any case the spooks had somehow made him forget everything about his skills. He had lived in a lie and in ignorance of his real self until he was an adult married man and working at a logistics company as a dispatcher. Then it all had started to come back to him. Luckily, the NSA had not had the modern neuroimplant technology in the days of his childhood, and so he was eventually able to get his own personality back. Those had been trying times for him. When Rob was slowly beginning to remember, the spooks had bugged his house and car with microphones and miniature cameras, made his wife believe he was delusional and tried to take his children away from him. As a result of the reprogramming, he still occasionally had intrusive thoughts that didn't originate from his conscious mind. The agencies were prepared to invest astonishing amounts of resources in tormenting him. Despite his special abilities, he was just one person pitted against the entire crushing force of a nation's intelligence community. In the end, he had broken free, but the victory came at a high cost. He had had to leave his job, his marriage had been wrecked and he would never see his children again, unless he somehow managed to find them and get close to them disguised as their babysitter or school teacher. He missed his family but he also realized it was for the best to stay away from them. At least they would be safe from any further Government abuse and retaliation. On the other hand, Rob's own life was now more fulfilling and thrilling than anything most people could ever imagine. He had retreated into an unobtrusive and quiet existence, disappeared almost entirely, but The Shapeshifter moved in the shadows and fought the evil agencies, assuming one enticing female form after another. Nobody knew who he would be next. Rob shook himself out of his little reverie and put a pair of azure contact lenses in his eyes. Then, with practiced movements, he picked up the Trisha mask, shook it a little to straighten its hair, and brought it above his head. He held the neck of the mask wide open with both hands while he lowered it on his head, carefully and methodically but determinedly. His pulse quickened as the thrill of becoming a sexy woman washed over him, but his years of experience showed. Even in this maddeningly erotic situation, he was a professional, through and through. The latex slid gradually downwards, and Rob's head was swallowed by Trisha's hollow one. The inner surface of the as yet cool mask fondled his features; it was designed to be a tight fit, but the material was supremely elastic and put up no undue resistance. Rob closed his eyes as they were covered by the mask. For a moment, the narrow neck part squeezed his head, but the minor discomfort was over as soon as it had begun. He changed his grip on the edge and pulled one final time, and the mask bounced back into shape with a rubbery sound. Without having to look in the mirror, Rob knew that the Trisha mask had settled exactly as it was supposed to. He felt a pleasant pressure evenly everywhere around his head, but no excessive tightness or looseness at any point. The lips, the eyeholes and the nose were lined up precisely, with no adjustments needed. He pressed the palms of his hands on the woman's neck, making sure the layers of latex were smooth against each other and no telltale wrinkles or folds remained. The amazing transformation from a forgettable man into a ravishing woman was finally complete. Trisha opened her eyes and smiled at her mirror image. Her elegant fingers caressed the skin of her throat. "Oh yeah," she breathed, but the voice was still Rob's baritone. "This is good..." The tip of her index finger found its mark and pressed lightly on the hidden switch of the voice modifier. The next words to come out of her mouth were intoned in a sultry, ultra-feminine drawl: "Better. Much, much better." With a devilish smirk on her face, Trisha pressed at the same spot. This was a little game that Rob sometimes enjoyed playing when he was preparing for a mission, and he couldn't help but give in to the temptation once more, although he didn't have too much time to squander that night. "What do you know, Trish," he addressed his female persona in his own voice. "Feel like going out tonight?" Another touch, and Trisha again sounded like herself. "Hell yeah, baby. It's been a while." "You're rearing for some action, aren't you." "Oh, you silly little pervert! If you had my sex drive, or any kind of sex drive, you'd be too." "Tell me about it! I really hope we can find someone who's up for having a little fun with us." "Someone with a long, thick, hard dick, you mean." "Basically, yeah. Only we need to be back around midnight." "Why? Forgot to feed your goldfish?" "That, plus the new spy satellite will be overhead at 1:02 a.m. Can't take that risk." "Oh shit, Rob. You're such a killjoy. But I guess you're right. Besides, we must not let Goldie starve." "Speaking of starving, Trish, would you mind cooking us dinner tomorrow? I've got fresh eggs in the fridge." "What happened to the leftovers of the casserole? Can't you warm that up?" "It smelled like it was a bit past its best-by date, so I threw it away." "You're an idiot, like all men. You could've just poured plenty of salt on it. Sodium chloride kills germs. Don't you know anything about food?" "Not really, but that's why I've got you and the other ladies to help me around the house." "Fucking pig! I love you, Rob." "Me too." "You're such a sweet asshole of a dude." "So are you." As stimulating as this conversation was, Trisha had to get going. She was planning to visit the town's hottest and only nightclub, both for business and pleasure. With that in mind, she dressed in a tight, black two-piece PVC suit and then put on plenty of makeup to underline her beauty. She didn't spare mascara, lipstick or blush. The occasion called for a striking, almost shocking style, which would also match her assertive and strong personality. She was a natural-born dominatrix and had no reason to hide it. Trisha completed her outfit with knee-high, stiletto-heeled leather boots, matching gloves that reached her elbows, and finally a black purse. A look into the wall mirror of the closet brought a content smirk onto her lips. This look was simply to die for. The powerful woman who gazed back at Rob was an epitome of sultriness, a vision of barely controlled, aggressive female sexuality. She could force any man to submit to her. Covered entirely by the immaculate rubber facade, Rob felt his heart pounding in his chest and his mouth drying out of sheer excitement. Despite his years of experience as The Shapeshifter, he had to fight the intense desire to fondle himself as Trisha on the spot. The rush of becoming one with her was easily on par with the most erotic emotions Rob had experienced in his life. For a few hours, he would leave his prosaic identity behind and assume Trisha's, and there would be no stopping her. The sun had already set when Trisha strutted out of her house and made her way towards the nightclub. She licked her lips almost unconsciously, as good as overwhelmed the wonderfully constricting sensations of her fetish clothing, the squeaking sounds it made as her body moved inside it, as well as the additional height that the heels of her boots lent her. Even though she was mostly alone on the dark city street, she enjoyed every second of her walk to the club. Undoubtedly, there were watchful eyes around her in the darkness, searching for any sign of The Shapeshifter, but they would only see a stunning goddess heading out to have a good time. The spooks were of course well aware of Rob's ability to masquerade as a female, but the disguise was so brilliant that it would even fool a sexual partner in bed; and what was more, the agents monitoring him probably assumed Rob didn't want to attract attention and would make sure to appear as someone inconspicuous in public. Once again, he had roundly defied their simple- minded expectations and would slip past their net. As usual, Trisha had no trouble whatsoever getting in. The bouncers--two muscular, bald men wearing dark glasses--opened the door courteously for her, with no words exchanged, and she entered the bustling nightclub. She was at home in this familiar world of flashing lights, loud thumping music, flowing alcohol and horny party people grinding against one another on the floor. A feline smile played on her lips as she stopped near the bar to scan the crowd for attractive men and women. The turnout was a mild disappointment for her, with few interesting specimens around, but she might be able to pick up company for some steamy lovemaking tonight. If the lucky person was a woman, Rob could kill two birds with one stone and digitize her body form and voice without her noticing. Then the girl would have the enviable double honor of being first seduced by Trisha and then later copied and impersonated by The Shapeshifter himself! In any case, Trisha had more urgent things to attend to at the moment. Rob's contact had sent him a message that he had received the package, a memory stick full of vitally important files. The contact was too afraid of the NSA agents to deliver it in person, so he had left the stick here, in the unisex bathroom of the nightclub. Focusing again on the present, Trisha took her eyes off the dancers and began to walk towards the bathroom. She opened the door briskly and went in. There were no other people in the room, aside from a shabbily dressed aging man at the urinal. Startled by Trisha's arrival, he spun around on his heels and stared at the imposing woman in shock. For her part, Trisha felt nothing but contempt for this pitiful excuse for a male. It was almost inconceivable that the bouncers had actually let him in; the joint did have a reputation to maintain. It was meant for beautiful, young, vibrant people, not sad old farts who dribbled on their shoes. "Get out!" Trisha barked at the man, not bothering to hide or tone down her hostility. "Get the fuck out of here now, you worthless piece of shit!" The man complied immediately. He muttered something unintelligible as he rushed past her and out of the door as quickly as he could, with the look of a hunted animal in his bulging eyes. "Fucking NPC," Trisha growled to herself but felt an electrifying, almost orgasmic wave of satisfaction at this show of power. The memory stick was taped underneath one of the sinks, and Trisha found it right away. Slipping it into her purse, she could breathe a sigh of relief. The data was safe now. She made use of the opportunity to check her makeup in one of the mirrors, but no touching up was necessary yet. The synthetic material of the masks and bodysuits took cosmetics better than real living skin, thanks to Rob's tireless development work and experimentation. As Trisha returned to the main room, she was surprised to notice that the crowd had thinned out considerably during her brief absence. The dance floor, jam-packed only a moment ago, was no more than half full, and there was likewise much more empty space around the bar than when she had arrived at the club. Snaring a partner to spend the night with was still a possibility, but since she was anxious to view the files and the selection of people to choose from had shrunk, she decided to come back next weekend and try her luck again. Wanton drunken men and women, her prey, were guaranteed to be out in numbers, and she could have her pick. In the end, Trisha marched out of the establishment, rewarded the bouncers with a lusty smile and left the place for home. The thought of turning around and going back in for a few more minutes did cross her mind, as she would have loved nothing better than to ride a man hard, like a horse, and then slap him around for good measure. After all, sex without some unexpected, totally gratuitous violence was like a dry martini without gin, as far as Trisha and Rob were concerned. However, she succeeded in keeping her impulses in check, at least for the time being. The walk home was equally devoid of memorable incidents as the outbound leg of her trip, but Trisha was happy, all told. Having outwitted the spooks yet again called for celebration, she mused to herself as she slipped inside her house and switched on the multiply redundant security system. The door was locked and she had the privacy she needed to peruse the files in good time. But first, Rob would have some more fun... Trisha peeled her gloves off one at a time and let them drop on the floor. With a wide smile on her face, she put her hands on her neck. She was lost in the moment as she ran her fingertips over her skin, stroking it sensually. She let her eyes flutter closed as the feeling nearly overcame her. She longed for a man's touch, but since she was spending the night alone, she had to settle for this. It was the next best thing-- and perhaps actually better in many ways. She had the perfect lover in Rob, and Rob had the girls in his closet always available to him. Her deft fingers stopped at a certain point on her neck, rubbed the synthetic skin and caused a tiny fold to form in it. Trisha's smile widened as she snuck her digits under the fold, very slowly and deliberately, savoring the sensation of playing with her soon-to-be false face and prolonging the process as much as she could. Finally, when she had a proper hold of the edge of the mask, she grabbed it carefully with both hands, let out an excited moan as if she were having actual sex, and pulled upwards and slightly to the sides in an even, purposeful motion. The Trisha mask resisted for a second, but then it let go of Rob's own skin and came loose with a satisfying snap. He was himself once more from the neck up, holding the hollow face and hair of the blond dominatrix in his hands. Her features were still recognizable and gorgeous, even though they were now somewhat distorted and there was nothing to animate them anymore, no blue eyes to look out of her face or clean and straight shiny white teeth behind her juicy lips. "Jeez, Trish," Rob exclaimed in her voice to the mask. "Being a hot bitch like you just turns me on so!" He sashayed into the closet, mimicking her walk, and pulled the doors closed, pretending that he was a sexy woman about to change into another outfit for her hot and bothered lover. No one without psychic abilities could possibly have associated the cute 16-year-old brunette who came into the living room a little later with either Rob or Trisha. Her small frame, which retained a degree of childish plumpness, was more than four inches shorter than that of Trisha and at least seemingly a good thirty pounds lighter--another unqualified triumph for Rob's wondrous bodysuit technology. Long wavy locks of brown hair framed her delicate face with a little button nose, tender lips and big, moist, brown doe eyes. She was wearing a pink babydoll shirt and white pajama pants. This was Brittany, a preppy and bright high school girl who enjoyed swimming and cheerleading, whose favorite book was The Cat in the Hat and who dreamed of becoming an actress or a vet. The teen flopped down on the couch, grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. After jumping idly from channel to channel for half a minute, she settled on a cartoon and assumed an even more comfortable and relaxed position. The other Brittany, who was happily unaware that she had an identical twin, lived in the next town over. Rob had come across her by accident while shopping for groceries (as a Hispanic MILF named Elena), but he had made sure to obtain her body and voice scans post haste. As soon as the Brittany mask and suit were ready, he had replaced her for a night out with her boyfriend, a clueless but essentially kind-hearted jock called Randy. He had driven them in his car to a secluded spot outside the town, hoping he might perhaps be able to persuade Brittany to make out a little with him. Poor Randy had received the shock of his life when his girlfriend, who was normally a bit shy around boys, had suddenly turned the tables on him and practically torn his clothes off with wild abandon. In the space of an hour and a half, they had done plenty of exciting things, including some that he had never even seen in online porn videos. As if her hands had had a will of their own, they cupped Brittany's breasts and fondled them while the girl bit her lip, keeping her eyes absentmindedly on the screen. Now all but oblivious to the entertainment, she was thinking back to her night with Randy and forward to whatever adventures could lay ahead for Rob using her identity. The Shapeshifter would definitely have to pay the aspiring quarterback another visit before the high school sweetheart couple broke up and moved on, but there were lots of other ways besides that for the nubile Brittany to enjoy herself. It would have been a crime to let her potential go to waste, the man inside the latex shell thought mischievously as the counterfeit girl slowly slid her hand into her pants. ***** The young woman who walked down the street was a dead ringer for the actress Emily VanCamp; or, to be precise, a dead ringer for VanCamp as she had looked like some ten years ago. She was wearing a dark flower print skirt, a pale yellow blouse and tasteful heels on her feet. Small silver earrings and a bracelet served as accessories, together with a shoulder bag. Her long, dirty blond hair was blowing in the light breeze as she enjoyed the fresh air. With a knowing smile on her lips, Melissa headed for The Watering Hole to see if there was anything or anyone interesting out and about. Snagging a man for some fun tonight was one interesting prospect, assuming there were proper studs to choose from, instead of the drooling idiots that mostly populated this town. Then again, pretty much every man was a drooling idiot deep down. A promise of pussy was usually enough to short circuit any guy's mind, Melissa thought and chuckled to herself. With a disguise like this, messing with men's heads wasn't such a difficult feat. Rob loved being Melissa. He loved everything about her looks, her way of walking and talking, her taste in clothing and her taste in men. It was exhilarating to be encased in this cocoon, perfectly hidden and completely immersed in the persona of a smoking hot vixen. Right now, for instance, it was pure pleasure to order a girly drink from the bar as Melissa and then survey the place for members of the male sex, ready to turn on her charm. Before long, Melissa's eyes picked up someone new. This was a man, maybe about the same age as Rob, sitting alone at one of the smaller tables. She immediately felt drawn to him. There was an aura of mystery and intrigue to the man, quite apart from the fact that she considered him to be reasonably good-looking, especially compared to the usual client?le of the bar. Not wasting a second, she walked to him with her drink in her hand, shaking her hips even more seductively than she normally did. "Hi!" she greeted the stranger. "Mind if I sit here?" "Not at all," the man said, and Melissa took her seat opposite to him right away. "So," she purred with an inviting smile directed at him, "you come here often? I don't recall seeing you before." "Can't say I do," he replied. "I'm just stopping by." "Oh, by the way," she said, "I'm Melissa. Pleased to meet you." "I'm Mi--- Mark." "What is it that you do?" Melissa continued inquiring, pretending not to have noticed that the man had obviously given a false name. "You look like a guy who's been around the world." "This and that," Mark said dismissively and waved his hand. "For your information," she went on, lowering her voice and leaning closer to him, "we could leave this joint and go somewhere else, somewhere more... private." "Do you have any suggestions?" Mark asked nonchalantly. It was his turn to pretend and act as if he didn't realize what she was driving at. "Oh, I don't know... My place?" she said and licked her lips. Mark chuckled. "Sorry, but I'm not into guys." Melissa was stunned. "What? I'm not a guy, honey. I'm all girl." She managed to maintain a cool, faintly amused facade, but only just. "A female might be what you identify as," he said with a smile, "and I've got no problem with that, but you're still a man to me. Sorry." Inside her rubber skin, Rob was bathing in cold sweat. How could Mark see through the disguise? It was perfect! Time and again Rob had fooled the NSA agents and common people with the Melissa suit and others like it. He looked, sounded, felt, acted and dressed exactly like a young woman! What made Mark different from everybody else? Rob decided that he would have to investigate this without delay. Before Melissa could say anything more to Mark, her instincts alerted her to danger. Sure enough, two tall men in matching suits had appeared at the entrance. They had to be NSA agents, she reasoned. Time to disappear. "Nice talking to you," Melissa said to Mark, flashed him one more smile and got on her feet. She hurried to the ladies' bathroom, went into one of the stalls and locked the door. After she had closed the lid of the toilet seat and placed her bag on it, Melissa grabbed both sides of her neck with her hands, gently but firmly. Her long, thin fingers probed until they found the invisible edge of the latex and then began to dig underneath. Careful not to damage the false skin with her fingernails, she pried the tight mask loose millimeter by millimeter. As soon as she could get a good grip on the mask, she took hold of it and pulled with both hands. Letting out a hollow suction sound, the Melissa mask came off along with her brownish-blond hair, revealing Rob's visage. There was no time for fun and games. Promptly Rob placed the mask inside Melissa's bag and pulled out another, this one with a curly, almost jet black mane. He lifted it on top of his head from the side, so as not to mess the hair, and began to pull down on the edges of the neck of the mask while stretching it at the same time. The empty rubber head enveloped Rob's own slowly but surely. His forehead was first to disappear, followed by his eyes, ears, none, mouth and finally his chin. After one more determined pull, the snug mask found its place and almost snapped into its proper form. This girl was called Megan, another 20-something cutie with an oval face and bright eyes. She shook her head to have the hair settle nicely down her back, and then she got her trademark out of the bag: a pair of black- rimmed nerdy glasses. Megan loved playing up what Rob thought of as her adorable geekiness. What she showed to the outside world was an intelligent but socially awkward girl; however, a few men had received a surprise of their lives after taking Megan home as she was revealed to be an insatiable nymphomaniac in bed. Megan pressed on a strategic point on her throat, changing the setting of the voice modifier. "Hello. Testing. Hello, I'm Megan," she said just loudly enough to see if the device worked properly. Her new voice was a little lower in pitch and somewhat more nasal than Melissa's. As a final check, she ran her hands around her neck where the edge of her mask had settled. She could feel nothing there, a sign that the mask was resting in place absolutely perfectly. Megan exited the stall and checked her appearance quickly in the mirror above the wash basin. She couldn't resist the temptation to make a few faces at her reflection before she left the bathroom. The agents were now at the bar, ordering drinks. One of them glanced at Megan as she walked by but didn't react in any other way. Perhaps the morons were dumb enough to be looking for Rob. At best, they knew he had gone out as Melissa, had spotted her and were thinking they had their target cornered. The idiots! She laughed inwardly at the situation. She put her hand furtively inside her shoulder bag and activated a small instrument she was carrying with her. It was a new invention of Rob's, a handheld scanner that was capable of recording a person's vital statistics from a few yards away. It was a stroke of good luck that Melissa had happened to take it with her when she had left the house, instead of the other, smaller scanner that was used for gathering the disguise data. Megan's intention was to scan Mark, so she had to walk right past his table, hoping the device would get a good reading. However stupid her shadowers, she estimated that she couldn't risk spending more time at the place, so she had no opportunity for another try. A barely audible beep sounded from inside the bag, and Megan walked out of the door quickly. Once in the safety of her home, she took the scanner out of her bag, dropped the bag on her bed, booted up her desktop computer and connected the scanner to it. The support software, written by Rob himself, launched automatically and began downloading and analyzing the data. Just a couple of minutes later the summary was complete. Megan sat on the chair in front of her computer desk, crossed her legs neatly and began to read. "I knew it!" she said to herself. Her hunch (or actually Melissa's) had been right. There indeed was much more to "Mark" than met the eye. To start with, the scanner had detected a tiny implant in his central nervous system. She knew those diabolical devices well. The NSA inserted them into people's brains to make them easier to control and to suppress any mental abilities the Government deemed too dangerous. Mark's special ability was much more interesting than most. He could turn into a female at will and gain what amounted to actual superpowers-- strength surpassing that of top male weightlifters, superhuman agility and speed, the capability to heal from injuries that would be lethal to an ordinary person. To avoid being detected, he could then reassume his male shape. This was an awesome discovery! Mark's destiny simply had to be to fight in the ranks of the good guys, and Rob, no matter what his form, would help him achieve it. A delicious warmth started to spread throughout Megan's body. She knew she was attractive; no straight man could resist her, and in the end, even Mark would succumb to her charms. Besides, she could be wearing another beautiful face the next time they met. She got up and began to strip in front of the living room wall mirror, sensually and slowly. First to go was the skirt, followed by the blouse. Then she took off her bra and finally her panties, revealing her breasts and a hairless, pale pink feminine cleft between her legs. Perfect all over, she told herself with a smile. Megan reached into the shoulder bag with her free hand. Pulling out the Melissa mask, she held it up and said to it, "We're filthy sluts, right, Mel? I know what you want and what I want." At the same time, she snuck a finger slowly inside her vagina. A quiet moan escaped her lips as she dug deeper, until she found what she had been looking for, an undetectable little tab. She pressed it, and Rob's swollen manhood was released from its latex and silicone prison. "We're going to do Mark," she declared in a lustful tone, "and he's going to love every second of it!" Opening the lips of the Melissa mask from the inside with her fingers, Megan lowered it next to her male member and then slid the penis carefully into the mask through the mouth. "You just love sucking cock, don't you, Mel?" she cooed as she grabbed her shaft inside the mask and started to pleasure herself. ***** Two days later, early in the afternoon, a stunning black woman emerged from Rob's house. She had an innocent-looking face with fine features, and her head was crowned by a large afro, dyed golden brown at the moment. She appeared to be around Melissa's age, or perhaps a couple of years younger, and had a curvy body that filled her very short black skirt and a skimpy silver-colored top in a spectacular fashion. So as not to leave any doubts that she was more experienced in worldly ways than her age alone might have suggested, she had lots of eye makeup on and a pair of high heels on her feet. The coast was clear. After becoming Shaneesha, she had fired up the surveillance program on her computer and checked the town for NSA activity. The spooks had no idea that Rob had hacked the ground link of the NSA infrared imaging satellite fleet and then improved the data processing routines a little on his own. As a result, he had a real-time view of the town on his screen, with good or neutral people shown in green, the bad guys in red and anyone wearing a bodysuit (in other words, only Rob himself) in blue. This crystal ball had saved Rob a great deal of trouble in the past, and it would doubtless continue to serve him well, provided that the Government blockheads never caught on. Rob had also found out that Mark lived in a classy hotel on the outskirts of the town, and he had delivered a hand-written note yesterday while disguised as one of the hotel chambermaids, a hot little number named Yulia, who was originally from an Eastern European country. With any luck, Mark had read the note and was now aware of his true nature, as well as the fact that Rob was on his side and intent on getting the implant removed from Mark's head. And after business, there was time for pleasure. Maybe Mark would like a quick romp with Shaneesha, or Megan, or Melissa, or Yulia, or Brittany... He could have any of them, or all of them, one after another. Or even better, perhaps he was into disguises and role play himself. That would open up a world of opportunities for fun! Shaneesha's lips curved into a smug, horny smile as she put on a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses and started walking towards the nearby bus stop with her shapely hips swaying provocatively with each step. Of course, with her flashy clothing and fresh face, Shaneesha didn't really look like the kind of woman who might be employed at the facility or even visiting it on any plausible official business. She could attempt to bluff her way in, but Rob knew better than to count on that completely. He had come up with a backup plan: there was another female mask and a police officer's uniform neatly packed in the bag Shaneesha was carrying. If she could only arrange to have a little privacy, she was capable of changing into Sergeant Nicole Briggs in no time. Nicole was a black woman like Shaneesha but some ten years older. Her face was beautiful in a more mature way than Shaneesha's; a stern expression fit it naturally. Her hair was cropped short to emphasize her no-nonsense approach to her work and life in general. Nicole had fooled the NSA people more than once in the past with her impeccable looks and authoritative, self-assured manner. Rob had gone so far while wearing Nicole Briggs as to stop a car with a couple of agents in it and demand that the one behind the wheel show his driver's license. Rob had selected these disguises because the skin colors of the characters were very close to one another and so, if the need arose to become someone else, he could just change his mask without having to haul a second bodysuit around. He had done the same thing with Melissa and Megan the day before yesterday. A number of other people were waiting at the stop when Shaneesha got there. One of them, a middle-aged man with a hunched posture, stringy gray hair and bloodshot eyes, turned towards her and asked her in a stuttering, creaky voice, "Excuse me... e-excuse me..." Shaneesha's eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. "What do you want?" she responded none too kindly. "Is this... is this the train to P-Pittsburgh?" "No, you imbecile!" she spat out. "It's a fucking bus stop!" The man tried to say something more, but Shaneesha's patience had run out. Without hesitation, she shoved him hard, and he fell down on the asphalt, moaning in pain. The other two men and a woman looked on in numb fear, but Shaneesha paid them no mind. "Damn worthless pustule," she hissed through her teeth at the man who crawled on all fours to get away from her, stood up and started running limply. The young woman got on the next bus, paid for her fare and found her seat near the front. One of the other passengers, a well-dressed man who was sitting across the aisle from her and pretending to read a newspaper, gave her a suspicious look. He had to be another spook, Shaneesha thought and flashed him a defiant smile. Try and catch me, retards, she thought. She felt invincible inside her disguise, and the thrill made her fake (but, needless to say, incredibly realistic) vagina start to moisten. She simply had to release some of her pent-up sexual pressure right after this trip! The NSA owned a large compound outside the town. Rob had long been anxious to infiltrate and investigate it, but there were serious risks involved and he wanted to be well prepared. Now that he had met Mark, however, he had decided to take his chances. The facility definitely had something to do with the vicious brain implants. They were inserted into people and maybe also fabricated there, and a control center was very likely located on the premises as well. If The Shapeshifter could gain access to it, he would be able to turn Mark's implant off. Possibly the device could then be removed altogether. The bus route passed conveniently close by the facility, and when Shaneesha got off, she was within a short walking distance from the main gate. There was a guardhouse there, with surveillance cameras and warning signs, and a high chain link fence--in other words, the typical trappings of a sensitive installation. However, Shaneesha had found out that this was mostly just for show. The fence in fact only extended some hundred yards in both directions from the main gate and ended there. The spooks apparently were so confident no one would dare trespass that they hadn't even bothered to build it all around the compound. It was child's play for Shaneesha to sneak in through the woods and into a large concrete building a few dozen yards away. In keeping with the same overall carelessness, the side door of the building, marked "Personnel Only", was unlocked. Taking her sunglasses off and putting them into her bag, she found herself in a well-lit corridor leading to a spacious room ahead. Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked on, her every sense sharp and her mind alert for the smallest sign of danger. The room seemed to contain a number of big machines, possibly related to the implants. This was promising, she thought. She might well have hit the jackpot before the game really began! "Hey!" a harsh voice called. "Hey, you there!" Shaneesha turned around quickly and felt her skin crawl. Two guards, both big and ugly men wearing camouflage pants, combat vests and boots and Kevlar helmets, had appeared out of nowhere. The taller one, who was evidently in charge, came up to her and stood in front of her while the other circled a little to the side, ready to bounce if necessary. Things looked very bad, she thought and tried to assess her chances. Rob was naturally excellent at several forms of martial arts, but he knew from experience that these fellows were no pushovers either, and they towered over Shaneesha. It would be a hard-won victory at best, a flat out defeat at worst. "What are you doing here, Rob?" the bigger one asked. "We talked about this already. The laundry room's off limits for everyone but the staff." "Fucking assholes!" Shaneesha screeched and lunged at the first guard to hit him in the face, but he was faster than she had expected and her strike missed. The goon caught her hand in a painfully hard grip, and the other guard came up from behind. The latter reached for her voluminous hair and pulled. To her horror, her mask came off in one effortless yank, even though it had been securely on. Rob's own face was revealed, and he suddenly felt even more helpless and overpowered and naked. Yet another goon grabbed him by the shoulder and twisted his arm behind his back. Try as Rob might to fight back, they were too strong for him. He was overwhelmed by fear and burning bitterness. They would take him to the Reprogramming Center where he would be forced to forget. He would lose his true identity, the disguises and missions would be wiped off his brain, and he would be cast back into the life of a nobody. He screamed and writhed, summoned his strength for one last panicked attempt to break free, but to no avail. They had him. All his plans would come to nothing, there would be no one to save Mark or Rob himself. Rob would be reprogrammed and his lovely masks would be destroyed. The evil had won this round. ***** They had injected him with something, taken him to a large room, put him in a hospital bed and immobilized him with limb restraints. Now Rob was lying still and staring at the ceiling. The worst of his rage had subsided, and he could think more clearly again. The injection was obviously behind it, and the poison would soon begin to muddle his thoughts and numb his emotions, but Rob nevertheless welcomed this interval of relative calm because it enabled him to rein in his feelings, focus on the present and plan for the future. A young doctor was watching him, he noted, but he acted as though he were completely oblivious to the man's presence. It was best not to say anything. They could use it as an excuse to pump more toxins into his system or torture him in other ways. Another man came into the room, and Rob craned his neck to see who that was. He couldn't hide his surprise entirely; the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had come in person to oversee Rob's reprogramming. What was more, the crusty four-star Marine general was wearing a white coat. Rob let out a chuckle of amusement and contempt at this. Did the old salt actually believe nobody would recognize him if he masqueraded as a doctor? Or maybe the inane disguise was meant as a petty insult to The Shapeshifter and his unsurpassed skills. That had to be it, Rob decided and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep but paying unflinching attention to what was happening around him. "Okay, what's the situation with him?" the General asked the real doctor in a gravelly voice. "The patient's sedated," the other one replied. "The orderlies found him sneaking around the laundry room again some ten minutes ago, and he tried to assault them when they confronted him. He attacked or at least threatened a few other patients before that as well. He appears to be acutely psychotic, highly agitated and completely disoriented with respect to time and place." "What did you give him?" "10 milligrams olanzapine." "Did you check his rooms and his belongings?" "Yeah, we did, the same as last time." "And?" "His clothes cabinet was... Jesus, I very nearly threw up. The stuff was everywhere." "Business as usual with Rob," the General sighed. "Just have the cleaners soak everything in disinfectant." "I already told them to do that. They're taking care of the mess as we speak." The General bent over Rob's bed and gave him a long, scrutinizing look. Rob could smell his cologne, and he had to fight back a strong feeling of revulsion and discomfort at being this close to one of his main enemies and unable to flee. "It's not often that you come across a case like this," the General commented. "Every time we think we've managed to ease his symptoms a little and he stays a bit more lucid for a while, he relapses again and things become worse than they were to begin with. It's as though his illness is constantly finding ways to beat whatever we try, and it's damn good at that, too." "Should we go for ECT?" the intern suggested. Another insult, by now all too familiar to Rob, was the way the spooks, as well as the doctors and nurses working for them, invariably spoke of Rob's personality and exploits as if he were clinically insane. Nothing was beneath those people. The General straightened his back and receded from his victim, much to Rob's relief. "It's an option, but I'm not entirely convinced it'll be of much help, and then there's his physical condition to consider. I say we resort to it if all else fails but continue with atypical antipsychotics for the time being. Up the dosage for three weeks or so and see where that takes us. I'll consult with a couple of colleagues first and give you the details after that." "Alright." "Have someone check up on him regularly and take the restraints off as soon as you think it's safe." "Okay, will do." The discussion was over and the General walked out, probably late for directing someone else's torture session and brainwashing, Rob reasoned. The intern stayed behind to observe the captive, but there wasn't much for him to see or do; a pleasant drowsiness was flooding over Rob, and he soon had no problem keeping his eyes shut. A few minutes later, footsteps sounded in the room, the door opened and closed, and then everything went quiet. A small triumphant smile rose to Rob's lips. He was still here, in control of his mind and actions, his memory intact. The spooks would fail, like they had before. As soon as they were done with him and the effect of the toxins wore out again, The Shapeshifter would be back in action, with a closet full of new female masks and bodysuits. He would bust himself out of this prison camp, rescue Mark, and the bad guys would get what was coming to them. After all, you can't keep a true hero down!