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PROLOGUE: Abilene, Kansas - 9:18 p.m. Shelley Hanel had just gotten into her car, which was sitting idle in the Parking Lot of the theatre as she watched the stage play, and she had only begun to fish around in her pocket for her car keys when she suddenly remembered the time. She was eighteen minutes past the time when she usually called her husband. She kept in touch with him at least once, if not more than once, a week. Lawrence Hanel had made a surprise visit a couple of months ago, and he had brought a friend of his who he had hired to serve as his secretary. Seeing as how Tamara looked like a very attractive woman, Shelley was initially on her guard. That wariness, however, swiftly evaporated in the days that they remained in Kansas. Never once did the Tamara woman get flirtatious with her husband. They consistently...and relievedly...regarded each other quite platonically, and Tamara was admirably respectful of her boss's marital ties. The trio had a great time together. Even LouAnne, Shelley's grandmother, liked Tamara when they visited her. She was very helpful, and particularly obedient to LouAnne's needs given her elderly status. Larry jokingly referred to her as 'nurse' for this reason before Shelley advised her husband to refrain from such references. Pulling out her smartphone, she tapped her way to Larry's own smartphone number and waited for him to pick up. There was always the chance that he wouldn't answer, and given the nature of his attorney business, she would understand why. But a click preceded the sound of Larry Hanel's voice tenderly answering. "Hi, darlin'!" Shelley chimed in response. "Hope this ain't bad timin'!" "Nope! Nev'r bad timin' with you, m'dear!" Larry's voice replied. "My next appointment ain't for anoth'r hour, an' I could always have T'mara make 'em wait. How y' been?" "Still baskin' in the aft'rglow o' your visit, sweetie." Shelley answered. "Jus' came out of a play, too. Amadeus. Ev'ry bit as good as th' movie." "That's th' one 'bout Mozart, right?" "Th' very same," Shelley confirmed. "Wish I could've lived in that time...wear all those nice dresses an' wigs..." "Not gon' ask me t' take up piano less'ns, are ya?" Larry warily asked. Shelley giggled. "No, no...stick with what you're good at, darlin'. An' you? They haven't put you in skirts, have they?" "Noooo way," Larry responded. "Haven't given 'em any reason to, I guess. Still a married man, aft'r all." Shelley glanced at the wedding ring on her own finger, smiling. "Damn right you are...list'n, I can't thank you an' T'mara enough for all your help with LouAnne when y' came down. I know she was real demandin'. She can be an awful pain sometimes." "That really didn't both'r T'mara none, Shel!" Larry assured. "Although sometimes, I wond'r if she's bein'...a lil' too helpful." "Y' think that Sist'rhood might be messin' with 'er head?" "They already have mess'd with it," Larry answered. "It's just a matt'r o' how much deep'r they wanna twist th' knife." "Ev'r thought o' movin' out here?" "Figured you'd ask that," Larry mused. "Gotta hold th' fort, darlin'. If only t' prove that there's a man out 'ere who is truly faithful to his wife, no matt'r how far away she is." "Well..." Shelley thoughtfully remarked. "...if you ev'r do wanna get outta that city for good, Larry, you'll always have friends out 'ere in Abilene." "I hear ya...ooh, hang on, darlin'..." Larry muttered before hearing Tamara's voice in the background whispering something Shelley could not make out. She could hear Larry swear under his breath before his voice returned to the receiver. "...hate t' do this, Shel, but...I gotta go. Somethin' came up 'ere." "That's fine, hon. I gotta head outta this parkin' lot 'fore they think I'm a vagrant," Shelley mused. "If I have time, I'll call you again t'night." "As always, I'll be waitin'," Larry assured. "I love you, lawyer-man," Shelley cooed. "Love you too much more, Honeysuckle," Larry's voice answered. Shelley was hesitant to press the red circle that would end the call, but a click on Larry's end returned the attractive woman's smartphone to its home screen. With a long sigh reflective of her concerns about her husband, Shelley got the car started, and she directed her vehicle out of the lot and into the city streets. The journey was always long, and always scenic, on a clear night as the sun went down, providing naturally beautiful colors across the skies as the car sped through the Abilene streets. As her battleship gray-colored Acura continued along the road, an old white pickup truck rolled onto the highway. The truck seemed to be having a hard time driving in a straight, stable line. Cars around it kept an eye on the mildly-swerving vehicle. Although the truck wasn't near where she was, Shelley remained conscious of it as well. Those who looked upon the driver of the pickup saw a young, bearded man. One hand was on the truck's steering wheel, and his other hand was on a big bottle which he brought to his lips even as he was speeding along the road, and attempting to drive straight without making haphazard swerves. Going over a bridge, the Acura and the pickup truck were now right next to each other, and as Shelley was driving, she felt a minor impact as the truck lightly swerved into her. When Shelley frowned upon the truck's driver, the pickup's visibly drunk occupant let out a loud and obnoxious belch in response. Judging by the way the driver was dressed, she figured he was a booze- savvy redneck. As she neared the other end of the bridge, it was her hope that she would be able to speed clear of this person before there was any manifesting risk of further trouble. The pickup was now speeding up, and slowing down as they passed the bridge. The driver's vision was splitting into two roads as the vehicle's swerves were becoming more pronounced. Beeps and screeches were becoming more prominent as he tried to maintain control of the vehicle. He then realized, right in that moment, that an exit he needed to take was to the...left? Right? Which way was it? His hard left swerve sharply struck the Acura next to him as he headed at top speed towards what he perceived to be the exit he needed. He was so inebriated that he failed to perceive the presence of the car next to him, which he continued to ram against in his efforts to make the exit... ...and then he realized, in that moment, that the exit was to his right, not his left! The truck's hard right sent the Acura into cars in the opposite lane, and another impact sent it spinning out of control, and then violently flipping, towards a gas station. Other passing drivers gazed in horror as the battleship gray vehicle crunched right into the pumps, the scraping metal igniting a spark which set spilling and spraying gasoline aflame. As the seriously wounded and bleeding occupant of the Acura struggled to try and regain her senses and escape the car despite the heavy scent of spilled gas all over and around her, Shelley began to reach for the button that would release her from her seatbelt... ...but a flash of extreme heat, and a bright light, consumed any chance of Shelley Hanel escaping her car before it was destroyed in the huge explosion that followed. The occupant of the pickup truck took a deep breath, relieved that he had avoided the catastrophe behind him. Rolling haphazardly to the side, he squinted at a highway map that was on the other side of the sunshield above him... ...and he noted that he was three exits away from the one he needed. He hadn't even reached it yet. Drinking another gulp from his whiskey bottle, the pickup truck rolled back onto the road, towards his exit. The one he actually took was three exits beyond the one he wanted. I: The Mouse Girls Struggleth Tamara Portnoy was stone-faced as Maggie Katzhoff pulled her car into the parking lot. The raven-haired driver then turned to the plus- sized, busty woman next to her. "Would it help if I said that this was a request from one of the good guys?" Maggie mused, attempting a tension-relieving grin. "I'm gonna be used and abused," Tamara glumly remarked as she released her seatbelt. "I know I'm helping someone by doing this, but that crass little shit is gonna make me feel like a slut." "Which is why I'm here." Maggie placed a hand on the former boy's shoulder. "I'll be watching you the entire time. The moment he gets out of line, you'll get a front row seat to a first-class beating. I'll even show you what I did to Xavier." "He's still gonna get his chance to take advantage of me," Tamara worriedly noted. "What if he takes me somewhere where you can't reach us?" Maggie shrugged. "Then I guess you'll have to show off some of the holds and the locks that I taught you while we were out in Kansas. You did better than you think when we were practicing, Tambo. I'm confident that you'll be able to handle yourself." After a moment, a smile crept onto Tamara's lips as she turned her eyes to Maggie. "Yeah...I guess you're right." Maggie's lips lovingly pressed against those of the plus-sized secretary. "I know I'm right. Now come on, slut. Let's get this over with." Tamara smirked as she stepped out of the car's front passenger side, rising to her high-heeled feet. She looked down at the tight black dress which exposed her large valley of cleavage, and then pulled out a compact to check on the makeup she had applied prior to the ride over. Checking her watch, she saw that they had arrived about 15 minutes before Henry Fryer, the horribly lecherous man she was supposed to be seen with, would show up. Tamara's mind kept repeating the same justifying sentiments over and over, providing the lingering justification. This is for Lois. The plus-sized woman's conditioned conscience reminded her. Do this for Lois. Lois needs your help. She will be indebted. Julia will be pleased. These sentiments came courtesy of an unexpected shot of overwhelming influence from Julia Stroud, the current Mayoress of the city of Bullchester, who possessed a frighteningly potent gift that had been scientifically bestowed upon her by the architects of a matriarchal conspiracy which had its genesis with the very powerful women who ran Cresswell Industries. Collectively, they were known as the Sisterhood of the Divine Feminine, which was a reference to the local religion that promoted a belief in the biblical figure called John the Baptist being a transsexual. Maggie stepped over to Tamara to give her looks a once-over. She fixed the plus-sized secretary's cleavage hole so that it would look a little more fetching. "There. That should have him creaming his panties. Okay...try to look interested in him for a little while. Just say you were a little hard on him at the office, and that you're willing to give him a second chance for as long as he behaves himself. You've got that little mike on the back of that dress, so I'll hear every word you both say. Just try to keep him from pulling your dress off. It's a public place, so the chances of that happening are pretty much zippo." "And you'll stay as close as you can to where we are, right?" Tamara warily asked. "I should be on him in seconds, seeing as how I've got a full lay of the land committed to memory." Maggie checked her watch. "Time for me to run. Remember...stay calm, be cool, kick ass. You got this, Tam- Tam," She gave the former boy's cheek a reassuring rub before departing. As she backtracked, she left Tamara with one last sentiment. "Maybe this'll be the most fun you and I will ever have fuckin' with a guy!" Tamara smiled as Maggie disappeared into the crowds. I hope so. She mused to herself. Although Tamara was indeed female, she wasn't always as such. She had been born a young man named Timothy Portnoy, the son of a woman who had married a misogynist. He was the youngest of three kids, two of them his older sisters who were away at a College abroad. Timmy's father, Brock, had also traveled abroad following the divorce from Timmy's mother, Ruth. It was a trip from which he would never return, as he had mixed himself up with criminal elements that would ultimately, and quite literally, kill him. Timothy, however, was already in the midst of a relocation alongside his mother, who he was closer to compared to his dad. They chose a reputedly peaceful and relatively crime-free city called Bullchester. Their first grocery shopping trip at the largest supermarket in the city, Gourmandizer's, gave them a taste of what was to happen next, given Timmy's encounter with a red-headed woman named Gemma Schultz. But it was Mary Margaret Katzhoff, aka Maggie, whose intervention prevented Gemma from snapping up a convert to the local religion in that moment. Timmy was almost immediately smitten by this well-built, wild-haired shopper who had apparently taken a fast liking to the boy, or so Timmy had surmised. Ruth was quick to convince her son to get a job hunt going, but Timmy wanted to pay a visit to the city itself first. On the bus trip over, a shapely female named Rita Noble chose to sit next to him on the bus. Through her, Timmy found himself becoming more and more effeminate, practically inviting the temptations for the fact that he found Rita so sinfully attractive. He could hardly take his eyes off of her. He actually had Rita to thank for the job opportunity that made him Larry Hanel's new secretary, but even as he acclimated himself to his very first paying job, Rita continued her plan to try and devolve the boy into nothing more than an insatiable, sex-hungry slut. While he certainly developed the body to fit the profile Rita wanted, it was Maggie who was able to rescue Timmy from such a perpetually lewd fate...but by then, the feminizing agents that had been slipped into the young man's body had so extensively modified his body to the point where he no longer resembled a male at all. Timmy...who had been conditioned to accept the name Tammy as her new identity...was then given gender re-assignment surgery through Maggie's contacts. Since then, she had become Tamara Portnoy. As he neared the insufferably lewd man she was to spend a potentially uncomfortable bit of time with, she hoped she wouldn't relapse, and become the far more sexual beast Rita had wanted her to become. She certainly had the body for it. Initially slim, Maggie had placed Tamara on a calorie-packed food regimen to increase her weight, while at the same time engaging in enough exercise to make the plus-sized body that Tamara had developed much more attractive and curvy. What she didn't know about Henry Fryer, the husband of a woman who wanted to divorce him, was that he had been conditioned as well. In his eyes, it was plus-sized, busty women who earned his notice and his excitement, if only to increase the masochistic tendencies that made him so unbearable around women in general. Tamara remembered Julia's words as she walked. You will not have to do anything other than be seen with him. That was her sole comfort... ...but the real question was, for how long? Hank had apparently agreed to meet at a Sports Bar deep in the heart of the City, and about a block or two away from the nightclub called Cincher's. Bottom of the 9th, it was called, and she was surprised that the Sisterhood had let such a place exist without their influence feminizing it. There was certainly an abundance of men in this particular place, which was crowded... ...and yet, Hank was able to spot Tamara as she approached the establishment. Tamara's appearance drew a few stares from other men as well, but Tammy kept her eyes on Hank, much as she would rather look elsewhere if the circumstances were different. She didn't find Hank's face attractive at all. Once she was close enough, Hank closed the distance between them and flashed a grin. "Hey there, babe-o-licious," he began, already layering on his dreadful lack of tact by placing a hand on her chest. "Got any milk for me? Heh-heh." Tamara smirked. "Mr. Fryer...I would appreciate it if you were a little less...suggestive right off the bat, OK?" "What...in a place like this?? Gimme a break." Hank led Tamara through many men, some of them boisterous, and a couple of them cheeky enough to give Tamara's butt a suggestive squeeze. "Don'cha know this place is historic? It's been around since...since before everything started changing in this city." "Really? Something changed in this city?" Tamara amusedly glanced around, her tone a touch sarcastic. "I hadn't noticed." "Very funny," Hank shot back, his tone surprisingly serious. "Places like this were a little more commonplace before that new Mayoress bitch started pushing her weight around. Now you can't get anywhere around Bullchester unless you're wearing a skirt. Ought to start calling it 'Cowchester' the way things are going." "It's kismet if you ask me, Hank," Tamara mused aloud. Hank frowned in his confusion. "It's...what?" Tamara flashed a grin. "Kismet means fate, Hank. Look it up. Broaden your intellectual range beyond staring at my cleavage the way you're doing right now." "Come on, I can't help it!" Hank had a lecherous grin now as he guided Tamara to the very busy bar ledge. "Let's get those drinks before I get my fill from your big ol' udders, heh, heh...hey! Relax! I'm kidding!" Once they were at the bar, however, Tamara felt a hand at her left buttcheek. Hank was right next to her. She could smell his horribly spicy cologne, which smelled like he had applied the darn thing three times in the same areas around his neck. She could feel Hank's hand make quick squeezes at her posterior, as well, and this distracted her as Hank spoke to the bald, tattooed bartender. "Gimme a Sex on the Beach. Tamara here will have the same." "Uh...excuse me. I can order for myself, idiot," Tamara angrily interjected. She then turned her face to the bartender with a more pleasant smile. "Just a cherry soda for me, thanks." Hank began to chuckle. That hand was continuing to make squeezes at her butt as Tamara frowned at her date. "What the hell are you laughing about?" "Sorry...just...you know...soda...fucking soda..." Unable to resist the urge, he burst out laughing. "...yeah...real sexy drink there. Come on, Tammy. The least you could do is put a little vodka in that sissy drink." Tamara now had a full-on frown on her face. "I happen to like that 'sissy drink'. Think you could be just a little more tolerant?" "Honey...you don't know what kind of shit I've been through before tonight." Hank sounded a little more serious here. He was also punctuating some of his words with firm squeezes of Tamara's ass. "I mean, you really don't know. First, your boss wants my case, then he doesn't. Drops me like a stone. Believe me...I deserve to get piss drunk tonight. Especially after what happened to Lois." The squeezes, however, were starting to stir something inside of Tamara. Urges she had thought were suppressed through the mental reprogramming Maggie Katzhoff had arranged. She began to pant a bit as her eyelids narrowed. Despite this, she attempted to keep her composure as she replied to his lament. "And...um...w-what happened with...with Lois?" Tamara managed to ask. Hank loudly sighed out before answering. "Lois...well, let's put it this way. Halloween must have come early for her. Tattoos near her ass, shorter hair, tons of makeup and perfume...it's like that woman's ready for the streets these days with the way she's reshaped herself. I felt like I was looking at a cartoon, or a comic book image, when I saw what she had done to herself," Hank's hand creeped down until it was at the lower hem of her dress as he spoke, and she felt his fingers slip beneath the dress as they crawled back up towards her ass. "But...she's a toothpick compared to babes like you, sweetie. I dunno...all of a sudden, I like 'em chunky these days." She could feel his finger begin to dig into Tamara's butthole. She slowly turned to him with a somewhat sweaty face. The heat that was slowly building up in her body as Hank groped at her butt was becoming a little overwhelming now as the older man turned to her, keeping the finger of the hand at Tamara's ass probing around, seemingly going a little deeper every minute. A lecherous grin was now on Hank's face as Tamara's moist tongue rubbed around her lips. "Heh, heh...so much for playing hard-to-get with Uncle Hank, eh, hot stuff? Your words may say no, but why are your eyes saying yes? Hmmm?" Fight this, Tammy... The finger was provoking around her butthole in a way that was seriously turning her on, even as her mind screamed for her to resist. ...for fuck's sake, FIGHT THIS... But in that moment, she couldn't. She wanted more. A long-suppressed hunger had awakened once again, and she now had a look of lust on her face as drops of sweat rolled down the sides of her head. The bartender, who had finally come over to deliver the requested drinks, had to stop and stare as he maintained his hold on the drinks he had prepared. Reflexively, Tamara's hand grabbed at Hank's crotch as she continued to pant heavily, still staring at the older man, whose grin was wider now. Hank's lips then pressed against Tamara's, and the former boy found herself moaning over the kiss she was being given. It was as if she had forgotten all the reasons why the man was so repulsive in that moment. It was his mouth's flesh against her mouth's flesh, and she was loving the purely primal and instinctive aspect of this moment. Her right upper thigh began to rub suggestively against his right leg. Or perhaps, it was just that she could hardly believe, as a former male, that she was in this provocative position to begin with. It was inescapably arousing...so arousing...to be in the woman's position in that moment. Being taken advantage of. It was clear that Tamara was beginning to lose herself to the kind of person Rita Noble had wanted her to become. A lascivious, sex-hungry slut. As much as the situation technically resembled that of a man sexually ravaging a woman after she had drank from a beverage tainted with the infamous rohypnol drug, neither one of them had touched a drink yet, which puzzled the bartender as he watched. Hank's lips were near Tamara's ear now. "Judging by how...inviting...your back door is, I'm gonna guess that you like anal sex as much as I do." He punctuated this statement with a quick push of his finger, combined with a wiggle, which definitely provoked a lusty reaction in the woman's face. "Don't you, my big babe?" Unfortunately, it was the mention of the word 'anal'...a reminder of a vivid nightmare she had following her last encounter with Julia Stroud...that gave Tamara enough of a reason to quickly get a hold of herself. She reared her head back... ...and then snapped her forehead right into Hank's face! Taking advantage of the disorientation that came with the unexpected blow, Tamara grabbed the necessary limbs to apply a very painful hold Maggie had taught her. She first turned her head to the surprised bartender. "Hold my soda." Applying the hold that had Hank howling in agony, Tamara pulled him outside of the Sports Bar, and then held the older man against a wall beside the entrance, keeping his arm wrenched behind him as tightly as she could. A small crowd had gathered to watch the confrontation, and they all whooped in Tamara's favor as she spoke. "I was in the understanding that we came here to get drinks from the bartender," Tamara began. "not from my ass." Another firm wrench forced a loud grunt from Hank's lips. "I guess anal's out of the question, eh, bitch? OOOWWW!! Hey, come on! You looked like you were loving it!" "Obviously, looks can be deceiving, Hanky-panky," Tamara shot back. "That wasn't lust. That was my anger rising, and right now, I'm so fired up that I'm ready to break some bones. Shall I indulge? Or shall we let...kismet...run its course?" "Okay!! Okay!! I get the hint! You can lemme go now! I'm gone!" Hank finally whined. "If you ever find yourself in Larry Hanel's offices again, you old fart, I'll expect you to behave in a much more courteous manner," Tamara firmly informed. "Are we clear? Or should I start popping joints as many times as I can?" "OWWWW!! Yeah! Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeah! Done deal!" Hank continued to grimace from the agony at his arm. "Can I have my fuckin' arm back??" "You buried your finger up my crack without asking," Tamara chided. "I should just rip this big ol' bugger right off your shoulder, but seeing as how you've suddenly become a whiny little bitch, I'll just...let you off with a warning. You should also be thanking me, because my methods of self-defense is nothing compared to a friend of mine, a woman who could very easily shatter every bone in your body if she found out what you tried to do to me tonight." Judging by the look on Hank's reddened face, the pain was becoming too much for him to bear. "WILLYOU PLEASE LET ME GO NOW??" Tamara finally shoved him away from her, allowing him to regain control of his arm as he stumbled forward. After wincing for a moment over the extreme soreness in his arm, he turned back to Tamara with a frown on his face. "I coulda been real good to you, you fat fuck." Tamara just grinned, her words laced with sarcasm. "I love you too, sweetheart." She then took a threatening step towards Hank. "Now fuck off." Hank stumbled back, dropping to the ground. Hurriedly getting back up, he began to run away from the Sports Bar. She kept his gaze on the lecherous old man until he was nothing more than a small black dot running down the avenue. Tamara's attention was then diverted to the sound of slow clapping behind her. Turning around, Tamara saw Maggie Katzhoff leaning against the outside granite wall of the building the Sports Bar was a part of. She continued applauding, and grinning, once Tamara spotted her. "Yup, you've become one seriously badass bitch, Tambo," Maggie mused. "I am totally fucking jealous." "You shouldn't be," Tamara amusedly responded. "I wouldn't be this way if you hadn't rubbed off on me." "In more ways than one, if you ask me," Maggie slowly stepped towards her prot?g?, still grinning with satisfaction. "That got me so hot inside, I feel like rubbing against you some more." Tamara shrugged invitingly. "What's stopping you?" "A favor, I'm afraid." Maggie's expression became a little more serious now. "I have to leave town for a bit. One of my, uh, little favors, so to speak. Part of the reason I delayed it was to see how you handled yourself tonight, but after what I saw, I feel a little more confident that you can quite capably fend off the wolves, so to speak." Tamara nodded. "How long will you be away?" Maggie shrugged. "Lil' bit. Can't say how long. Could be quick, could take a while. Depends on the circumstances, and what happens if I...well, that's for me alone to worry about." "Be careful, hon," Tamara advised. Maggie confidently shrugged again as she stepped up to Tamara. "Always have been. That's why I look so pretty." Tamara nodded in acknowledgement, but then lowered her head a little. "I...nearly lost myself tonight, you know." Maggie placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "How long did it take for you to recover?" "Well...he said a word that pretty much kicked me out of it," Tamara answered. "Don't ask." Maggie pulled Tamara into a hug as she spoke. "Well...with what I have to do, you may not have to worry about that for much longer. I just need you to continue being strong for me until I get back." "Should I fall back on Grace Lees, if I have to?" Tamara curiously asked. "Only if you have to," Maggie warily replied. "I haven't completely figured her out yet, but so far, she seems to be the kind of person that can be trusted. I mean, we have the same mutual problem, after all," The raven-haired woman then pulled the plus-sized secretary in for a deep kiss, which had Tamara moaning as their lips continued to alluringly rub against each other. "Gotta go. Get back home and relax. I confirmed that the guy snapping pics has enough visual dirt on Hank to, uh, put him right in the 'Fryer', so to speak, so...mission accomplished. Great job tonight, Tambo." Tamara flashed a fetching smile as Maggie began to backtrack away from her. "Thanks, tigress." "Damn right, I'm a tigress. Rowr," Maggie mused. Tamara amusedly frowned. "I thought you were the devil." "Tigress to some, devil to the rest." Still grinning, Maggie finally turned away and hurried over to where her car was parked. Tamara then turned her head back towards the Sports Bar. In between what she was feeling when Hank unexpectedly dug his finger up her anus, and the kiss Maggie had just given her, she wondered if she should go back in. But then, she remembered that the bartender was holding on to her cherry soda, so she hurried back in and over to the bar, telling him to dispose of the Sex on the Beach as she acquired her cherry soda. She ignored the many male eyes that followed her as she hurried back in... ...although a lot of those eyes were a little more intimidated by her presence after having seen how she had dealt with Hank Fryer. She was easily able to pay for both drinks as she turned around and idled where she stood, leaning against the bar as the evening's frivolities at the Bottom of the 9th continued. Tamara could feel that many eyes were on her, some of them a bit intimidated after having seen how she had dealt with Hank Fryer, and others looking upon her with more predatory eyes. She made an effort to keep from looking nervous as she continued to sip at her cherry soda. Fortunately, no one else made a move on her by the time she was done with her drink. A part of her, however, was disappointed that no one did. Hank's unexpected provocations had awakened cravings Tamara had been trying to put out of her mind. Cravings that Maggie Katzhoff had been able to suppress for what turned out to be a temporary period of time. Cravings that made her curse the day that she had ever met the vengeful woman called Rita Noble. * * * CIA Director Denton Lowenthal slowly settled his teacup down upon its saucer after looking at the brief that had been dropped on his desk in advance of his arrival at work. Obviously, the brief...which had been delivered in a folder marked CLASSIFIED...made Lowenthal all the more curious about the 'trump card' that he had the good fortune of making an ally out of in the developing case of various individuals...and in the case of the Merrywether file, entire families...going missing in the Bullchester area. The brief called attention to two pictures, both of them side by side, and of equal size. One was a head-and-shoulders photo of the woman who had agreed to assist them as an unofficial field agent in the assigning of activities in Bullchester. The ever-mysterious, raven- haired dynamo called Mary Margaret Katzhoff. The photo next to it was an older photo, this one of a very unique, and almost alien-looking young European woman with a head of flat, shoulder-length sandy brown hair which looked like it was slicked against her head. Beneath these photos were a few words, written with a thin black marker. Black Angel? Call me when you get in - Hall An hour later, Agent Leland Hall...a well-built man wearing glasses, and sporting a head of short, wavy black hair...settled into the seat across from Director Lowenthal's desk. "Okay..." Denton began. "...you're going to have to refresh my memory regarding the face of the woman on the right. I know the first one, but..." "That's the European geneticist Sia Lorde," Leland explained. "She may also be the reason why Mary Katzhoff is so radically developed. It's just a theory at the moment, but I want to start looking into any possible connections at a deeper level. Doctor Lorde, as you know, was uniquely talented in the cultivation of, shall we say, unique human development at the embryonic level." Denton nodded. "And 'Black Angel' is...?" "That was the end result of all of that woman's years of genetic research and experimentation," Leland replied. "The project name is meant to imply that the artificially-developed embryo would become a fully-grown woman possessed of the genetic capacity to become, in layman's terms, an alpha female, while at the same time having an arguably moral degree of independent thought." "And...you think Mary Katzhoff is Black Angel?" "I expect to establish such a connection, sir, yes," Leland answered. Denton glanced at the open folder on Mary Katzhoff. "Which would essentially make her an adopted child? She does have a family, you know." "Right. An abusive father, and his young son," Leland responded. "Both of whom remain missing following her disappearance." Denton then ventured a thought. "Do you think the father and the son might have been feminized?" Leland frowned thoughtfully, initially compelled to dismiss the thought. "I...had initially thought they were both killed, but seeing as how we were never able to definitively locate the bodies..." "This would also, potentially, explain why Katzhoff never intervened in the apparent feminization of Timothy Portnoy," Denton deduced. "If the idea behind the Black Angel project was to create an alpha female, then it's entirely possible that said alpha female would likely prefer to associate with females. If this theory is proven correct, then it would be academic to conclude that Mary's foster parent, and his son, are still alive, but living as females." "Unless they died as females," Leland surmised aloud. Denton nodded. "Feasible. And Doctor Lorde?" "Is she alive? No. That was confirmed," Leland replied. "We...don't know what the cause of death was, but she's definitely deceased." "Did Sia have any connections to anyone associated with this...Sisterhood, in Bullchester?" "One of them, yes," Leland answered. "A Doctor Von Getz. Sia may also have had a run-in with the Queen Bee herself." Denton frowned in his curiosity. "Celeste?" Leland shook his head. "Agatha. I'm still trying to piece things together, but I need increased security clearance before I can go any further. You told me if I managed to score developments that I would win that clearance." Denton nodded. "I'll get you that clearance, but continue to keep a tight lid on your research, Agent Hall. Remember...potential Frankenstein's Superwoman or not, Mary Katzhoff remains an ally, and a very important one at that. I don't want to know what she would do if she found out we were looking into her past, arranged or otherwise." Leland nodded as he rose up from his seat. "Consider that lid airtight, Director." * * * Tamara had thought that she would require some sexual stimulation to be able to get a good night's sleep after the events at the Sports Bar last night, but she was relievedly able to achieve enough hours of dreamless slumber to be able to capably function as Lawrence Hanel's secretary. Every morning, however, the former boy would engage in the same habit. She would get up, and stare at her own full-body image in the large mirror. The very same plus-sized secretary that the feminizing drugs of Cresswell Industries had turned a young man named Timothy Portnoy into...and the same curvy, well-exercised body Mary Margaret Katzhoff had helped her develop thanks to a calorie-heavy diet that had made her a plus-size pinup girl for independent fashion magazines...stared back at her. She would run her hands over those bare curves after stripping down naked, still finding it hard to believe that the very attractive woman she was staring at used to be a nervous and an arguably gullible young man. Once she was dressed and ready to head out to the office, Tamara locked her home's front door and headed for the bus stop. Once a bus had pulled in, she stepped on. During the bus trip, she was always wary of Rita Noble coming on the bus when it arrived at the stop she usually waited at. In the days following their last confrontation in the park, however, she had never re-manifested. Fortunately, today was no different. At the next stop, however, another considerably attractive woman clacked her heels up the steps of the bus and, after paying the fare, moved along the center aisle to look for a seat. Tamara could smell her perfume even from afar, and she was the picture of fashionable in her white, button-down top and her form-hugging, tan-colored skirt. Her skin was blemish-free, and her face was heavily, but very attractively made over. She had a head of short, platinum blond hair brushed fashionably back. Her lips were a veritable pout, and her eyes were fetching slits as they scanned for an empty seat. She ultimately chose an available seat behind Tamara, allowing for a slight, sly smile over the attention the young males on the bus were giving her. As she passed Tamara, she gave the plus-sized secretary a wink. Another by-product of the Salon, no doubt. Tamara concluded to herself. As the bus pulled out of the stop, she heard a smartphone behind her emit a pleasant-sounding ringtone, which Tamara recognized as the default melody of Survstar's wireless service. It was easy for her to listen in, as the woman behind her wasn't making an effort to speak discreetly. Her voice sounded alluring as she spoke. "You did? Oh, you're kidding. Right in the middle of a crowded bar? Ech. I shouldn't be surprised. Hank always did brag about 'getting anal'. Sick bastard...yes. Send them to my phone e-mail. I'll get hard copies from the laser printer at work. This was at Bottom of the 9th, right? Honestly. I need to talk to the Sisterhood about having everyone at that place cock-blocked. Really? Oh, this Tamara sounds like someone I need to meet, if only to thank her for being so deliciously rough on that sonofabitch. Your own check is practically in the mail, dearie. Job well done. If you have kids at my school that need counseling, I...oh. Well, if YOU need counseling...right. Just the photos. C'est la vie. Have a good day, dearie." As much as Tamara was tempted to turn around and introduce herself, she stayed quiet. The bus was two stops away from where she needed to get off at, anyway. A slight smile, however, creeped onto her lips. She figured she would see Lois again, and given how incredibly alluring she looked, she would have to keep from being suckered into anything Sisterhood- related. Lois, however, had suddenly risen from her seat as the bus pulled out of its next stop. She walked forward as if to prepare to get out of the bus by way of its back door. But once she had stepped past where Tamara was sitting, she turned her head to get a good look at the plus-sized secretary's face, holding up her smartphone to confirm that the busty lady in the pictures she had been sent, and the one sitting at the window seat of the bus, were one and the same. Tamara feigned puzzlement as her eyes met those of Lois Fryer. "Can I...help you?" Lois flashed a grin as she slipped into the empty seat next to the former boy. "Only if your name is Tamara Portnoy." Tamara shrugged, smiling. "That's what it says on my ID card. You must be Lois Fryer." "And you must be the one who deservedly ruined my ex-husband's evening last night," Lois practically pressed the warmth of her augmented body against Tamara as she shifted a bit in the seat. "Don't you worry about a thing. I'm gonna castrate that disgusting pig in court thanks to the pictures a photographer took last night while he was feeling you up. He's gonna regret the day he stuck his fingers in you." Tamara nodded. "I'm sure he'll get whatever karmic fate awaits him." Lois giggled. "If only you knew," Her eyes then scanned Tamara's appearance. "I'm not surprised you were able to earn Hank's attention. You certainly look like the kind of woman he's into these days." "And...I'll guess that you didn't always look the way you do now," Tamara surmised aloud. Lois rose from her seat to allow Tamara to get a good look at her attractively-shaped hourglass figure. "Do you like what you see?" "Yes, it's...nice," Tamara calmly replied. She did think Lois was the kind of woman she would want to see more of, even as a female, and Tamara was reminded of the way Rita Noble looked when that vengeful debutante first sat next to Timmy Portnoy, but Tamara knew that such beauty had to have come with a price. Especially if she had to lay in a dermis machine at the Butterfly Salon to receive such... improvements. "More than just 'nice', I would think, when I see the approving look on your face as you continue to gaze at me, dear?" Lois slyly remarked. "I hope you'll pardon my saying so, but...I think your own gorgeous looks could use a bit of a touch-up as well." Tamara rose up and made her way to the back door of the bus as it began to pull in to her stop. Her eyes were on Lois as she passed her, and she smiled cordially as she spoke. "If by that, you mean step into a certain machine at a certain Salon at Rubie's Mall, forgive me if I wish to decline such an invitation. I'll see you around, Lois." The formerly submissive housewife looked a bit surprised over Tamara's quick dismissal of her offer, but she confidently settled into the seat that Tamara occupied and waited for her stop. Indeed. Lois amusedly thought to herself. You'll see me again sooner than you think, sweetie. * * * Upon accessing the office of her boss, Larry Hanel, the first rule was to check in with Larry rather than just settle at the receptionist desk. In this way, Larry knew that he could formally begin the day's business. But when Tammy stepped into the office, he saw Larry facing away from her, staring outside the large window. He looked like he had something in his hands. Seeing the bottle of liquor on his desk, she surmised what that something was. Larry didn't turn around. He was motionless, in fact, when Tamara stepped in. Tammy's gentle smile melted to one of concern as she slowly approached Larry's desk. As she got closer, she could feel that something was wrong. "Mr. Hanel?" Tamara quietly remarked, looking understandably curious. A long, quiet moment passed. Not a sound emerged from Larry's lips. He continued to stare out upon the Bullchester area. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "Shelley's...gone, sport." Tamara's eyes went wide. "Wha...she's leaving you??" "She..." His voice caught in his throat. He took a minute to recover before finally coming out with it. "...she died." Tamara looked even more shocked now. "Wh...what happened??" Larry took a deep breath before he replied. "Drunk driver. Trucker. She was drivin' home from seein' a play out in Abilene, an'..." Larry lowered his head, struggling to keep from sobbing openly. "Oh my god-de...godde...goddess..." She still found herself struggling with those words as she stepped over to place a hand on Larry's shoulder in consolation. "...I'm so sorry, Larry." After a moment of Tamara's hand lingering on Larry's shoulder, he quickly turned around and wrapped his own arms around her in a tight hug. "God damn it...it's not fair..." Larry whimpered as he sobbed openly. "...sh-she was my rock..." Ordinarily, the thought of Larry's arms wrapped around her would cause her more lascivious desires to stir, but the tragedy of the moment was far too potent for her to offer anything other than the most benign of consolation. Having met Shelley Hanel herself, Tamara knew her to be a very pleasant and a very witty woman. The time they had spent with her during their vacation visit was most lively. Tamara remembered thinking of wanting to go back out there sometime in the future to have more lively conversations with her once again. Such pleasant memories were enough of a justification to fill Tamara's own eyes with tears as well as they continued their embrace. After a long moment, Larry finally pulled away, and then settled into his seat, placing an empty glass next to the bottle of Scotch. "Those damn witches'll prob'ly use this as an excuse t' try an' get me t' shack up with you." Tamara knelt in front of him, a look of conviction on her face. "I won't let them force me to do that, Larry." Larry wiped tears from his face as he regained some composure. "Y' may not have much of a choice, y' know. All they need t' do is grab ya." As much as she wanted to deny this, she knew Larry was right. Those moments she had spent with Mayoress Stroud were clear evidence of this possibility. But there was the trump card that Maggie had advised her about as she lifted her head back up from her moment of thought. "Maybe not." Larry frowned curiously. "Let's just say Maggie and I made a couple of new and...well, important friends while I was away at the Fertility Clinic," Tamara explained. "She's become a kind of...fallback resource, if Maggie isn't around." "Well...keep that t' yerself, sport," Larry quickly noted as he slowly regained his composure. "R'memb'r...we're back in Bullchest'r. Any o' these walls could have ears. Hell, they prob'ly already know 'bout Shelley." Tamara nodded in understanding. She then looked a bit nervous as she spoke. "I'm...sure we can both agree that if...we were made to go after each other, we...we'd know why." Larry smiled. "Well, if it's any cons'lation, sport, I only get serious with ladies close t' my own age." The former boy nodded again. "You should go back out to Abilene for the funeral, Larry. I can hold the fort here." "Nonsense," Larry responded. "I may be headin' out t' Abilene fer...'bout a week or so, give or take, but as of right now, yer on leave. Death in th' family. Offices'll be closed 'til my r'turn. I'll be goin' alone, too. Gonna make arrangements t' have any emergency calls go t' you. You jus' take 'em down, put 'em in my Proc account, which I know y' can do from yer smartphone. Sound good?" Tamara nodded, smiling. "Yes, sir." A feminine silhouette could be seen at the door to Larry's office. A knock at the door followed. The plus-sized secretary looked to Larry with a puzzled expression. "I always keep the main door locked until we're open for business," Tamara quietly, confusedly remarked. "I think I know who it is," Larry calmly replied. With that, the door opened, and Mayoress Julia Stroud stepped in with a sympathetic look on her face. "I heard about what happened in Abilene," Julia began. "Please accept my deepest and most sincere condolences, Larry." "Mmm, I guess...word gets 'round fast, don't it?" Larry mused, glancing to Tamara. "We can help you get the justice you deserve, Larry," Julia noted, a more serious look on her face. "We can find whoever is responsible and drag him here. Have his ass thrown into a courtroom so you can personally put him away." "That's awf'lly kind of ya, yer honor," Larry responded. "But I'd like t' pay my r'spects first. I'm headin' out on th' next flight back t' Abilene that I can take. I'll be gone a week, give or take. Offices'll be closed 'til then." Julia nodded. She then switched her gaze to Tamara. "You should go with him." The plus-sized secretary shook her head. "He's going alone. Told me himself." "An' I'll thank you t' keep yer hands off my secretary if y' find that t' be a problem, Mayoress," Larry warily noted. Julia looked stung by this apparent accusation. "Now wait a minute. Both of you. You need to realize that as your Mayoress, I'm a little more sympathetic compared to how the Sisterhood would ever feel for the citizens of Bullchester...and I think I should remind you, Tamara, that I am not Rita Noble. I merely suggested that you join him because I know you both knew Larry's wife. If it's Larry's call that you remain here, I'm not about to enforce otherwise, unlike people like Rita." "Says the woman who had me join a masochistic prick at a Sports Bar for a so-called 'date'," Tamara griped. "You really think I would have even considered putting you in the same room with Hank Fryer if I knew you couldn't handle yourself as well as I heard you did, Tamara?" Julia shot back. "Okay...I won't deny that I...asserted my whim, but I should remind you that you were doing an oppressed woman he was married to a favor." "Yeah, I met this 'oppressed woman' on the bus this morning," Tamara noted. "Given how...eye-catching she looked, I can't help but wonder where her loyalties truly lie in the grand scheme of things. Look...Julia. In the future, I don't suppose you could use a more, shall we say, diplomatic approach to favors in the future? Especially if you're making it sound like you're not the bad guy, so to speak?" Julia sighed aloud. "You know I can't promise that." "Get an 'A' for effort anyway," Tamara shot back. From the look on Julia's face, both Tamara and Larry could tell that she was not amused by the plus-sized secretary's retort. Larry felt compelled to step in and ease the tension. "Uh, Julia...I appreciate yer concern, but I'm still closin' th' offices 'til I get back, an' I prefer t' go out t' Abilene alone. T'mara's gon' be collectin' any emergency inquiries 'til I get back, so...I'd much appreciate it if you could, uh, keep my best right hand lucid." As Larry spoke, Julia's eyes never left Tamara's defiant expression. Although she was initially stung by Tamara's retort, she had to remind herself why there was a part of her that was genuinely attracted to the woman that Timothy Portnoy had become. Julia took a step towards Tamara as she spoke, her expression softening. "I...I hope, one day, you could start trusting me more. You don't know how painful it is for me to keep from touching you, or...kissing you. It really does make me regret what they did to me," She then stepped away, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I'll just...leave it at that," Julia's eyes went back to Larry as she backtracked to the door. "Again, my sympathies for your loss. Remember my offer, Larry, about getting justice over what happened," Julia opened the door, but turned back to Larry to share a more ominous footnote. "I should remind you, believe it or not, that this offer comes straight from the Sisterhood." Tamara's head lowered thoughtfully as Julia closed the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone once again. Larry was also lost in thought once Julia was gone. "Y' really think I should, sport?" After a moment, Tamara shrugged. "Depends on what kind of a guy this drunk driver really is." * * * Venice, Italy Instructions, sent by text message, was Maggie Katzhoff's sole means of finding the individuals she had been tasked by Grace Lees to acquire once the plane had dropped her off at the airport. Finding them would effectively provide her with the means to find a man she once locked fists and feet with one morning in Bullchester. A bald- headed commando from a black ops unit conditioned to serve as a personal assassin. It was her Muay Thai Kickboxing against Xavier's Tae Kwon Do, and having felt how hard he could hit, she figured that if they ever did fight to the death, they would quite literally kill each other. Words, however, that Grace had shared regarding her apparent interest in Xavier shed a more interesting bit of light upon how the former member of the Nightshifters team might have gotten himself mixed up in all this. It amused Maggie, however, to realize that after what Grace had told her, it was clear that he shared something in common with Julia Stroud. They were both pawns. Both tools. Maggie herself realized that Xavier could throw this back in her face, too, if he ever learned that she had come out to Venice at the urging of a Sisterhood advocate, whether she was on the arguably better side or not. She had begun to wonder if there was even a chance they could come to terms, and make a secret asset out of the man who so vividly swore to kill her. After all, Maggie reasoned to herself. He does owe me for sparing the life of one of his army buddies. Having encountered Jemima Poulson...the ex-teaboy turned she-male secretary to Mayoress Julia Stroud...once before, Maggie had more of a chance of spotting her out in the open. As per Grace's texted suggestion, the raven-haired woman began her search in Venice's shopping district. Once she was at the crowded hub, with stores in all directions, Maggie's senses sharpened. She knew that if Jemima were here, Xavier would be as well. She half-expected, at any moment, to hear the whiz of a bullet from a silenced rifle at some point during her search. For caution's sake, however, she chose to don a pair of sunglasses during her search. It did not take long for Maggie to finally spot Jemima, who was quite literally being towed around by a short-haired older woman. A highly amused grin formed on Maggie's lips as she observed from afar. And you must be Irma Poulson. You don't look very happy, do you? Maggie maintained a minimum safe distance behind the pair as she was barely able to make out the amusingly troubling words that passed between them. "No more lip, young man," Irma huffed. "I can't trust you to shop alone. At least, not until you've kept your appointment with Dr. Vanautu!" "Mom...for the last time, I am my own woman and I'm old enough to do whatever I want!" Jemima shot back. Irma angrily pulled the effeminate boy in to her, glaring at him as she growled. "Not on my watch, you don't!" As Maggie watched, and continued to follow, she wondered how she could capably intrude herself into their lives. For as long as Irma remained out in the open with Jemima, she knew a straightforward approach bereft of tactics and cunning would create more difficulties than the raven-haired hellraiser would be able to handle. She knew she had to somehow separate Jemima from her mother so she could effectively re- acquaint herself with the gender-conflicted secretary of the Mayoress. Besides...given Irma's distaste for her son's developing femininity, Maggie figured she might be able to make her 'business trip' significantly more amusing. For the next five minutes, both of them were quiet, although Jemima was clearly in a pouty huff as she continued to be dragged, helplessly, along the venetian sidewalks. They were about to move out of the shopping district, however. Maggie figured that if she was going to intercede on Jemima's behalf, she had to do it now. "Donnicciola!" Maggie suddenly cried out, quickly closing the distance between her and the couple as they turned to face the source of this outburst. She wagged her finger shamefully at Jemima as they turned. "Donnicciola!" Irma was aghast over the audacity. Her reply was in the italian language. "Are you talking to us??" Fortunately, Maggie's bilingual knowledge allowed her to reciprocate using the same language. She kept her attention on Jemima, who went pale when she realized who this woman was. "I have been watching you! Shame on you for letting someone run your life, even if she is your mother! What are you? A pet? Should we put a collar around your neck?" Jemima's eyes widened significantly, failing to understand a single word coming out of the mouth of the woman who once invaded his Bullchester home. No. He thought to himself. Oh goddess...kill me now...please...as if my mother was bad enough! "WHO ARE YOU??" Irma angrily cried out, glaring at Maggie. The raven-haired woman glared back as she practically shoved her index finger right in Irma's face. "Fascista! I am with the Venetian chapter of the Preferred Gender Rights Movement, and we will not stand to see someone like you oppress this woman!" "Excuse me! I am this boy's mother!" Irma fired back. "And as his mother, I should know what is best for my son!" "Hmph! Your oppression disgusts me!" Maggie huffed, trying not to overdo the dramatics she was clearly laying down. She got right in Irma's face, trying to look as intimidating as possible. "Maybe we should see how everyone around us feels about your parenting! You, pushing fascism in a country that once suffered from it! Are you telling me there isn't a place on this planet where your son can go where he can practice the perfectly harmless freedom to express himself however he wishes?? Even if it means dressing as a member of the fair sex??" Keeping her glowering gaze on Irma, Maggie was beginning to see the woman's resolve wither a bit. "I'll trouble you to remind that when a boy comes of confident age, you need to relax your grip on the leash, lest you be singled out for contributing to the kind of depression that usually leads to suicide!! Haven't you ever seen Dead Poets Society??" Jemima, not knowing anything at all about the italian language, continued to be mystified over the foreign words that were being exchanged. He quietly hoped the encounter would not lead to violence. "P-please...whoever you are..." Irma now whimpered. "...he...he's my son! My son, my only boy...his father died..." "And you can't leave him to his phase??" Maggie barked back, turning the intensity of her act up a notch. "You won't even let the poor boy window-shop?? Did he have to ask your permission before puberty set in??" "Enough!!" Irma had her hands at her head, not wanting to hear any more. She struggled to hold back shameful tears as she responded with a shaky voice, and in english. "Please...enough...okay, you win..." Wiping her eyes before tears could fall from them, Irma turned to her effeminate son, finally releasing her tight grip on Jemima's wrist. "...go on, I...I'll see you back at the hotel." Maggie grinned, stepping behind the still very nervous Jemima. She, too, switched to english as she wrapped her arms around the effeminate boy. "The Preferred Gender Rights Movement appreciates your change of heart. Now, if you don't mind, I think this liberated young lady would like to do a little window-shopping. I'll tag along, just to be sure no one messes with her. I'll even drive her back to your hotel when we're done." Irma, however, was surprised that this woman was suddenly able to speak english so well. She didn't even hear an accent. "You...you speak...english? Where are you..." "Oh? Are you trying to tell me what kind of language I need to speak??" Maggie suddenly scolded, her expression going serious once again. "Bad enough you were oppressing your son, now you're telling me I can't be bilingual?? Shall I take this up with the Venetian chapter of the Preferred Language Movement??" "NO! No, no, nonononono...point taken, I'm...s-sorry..." Irma finally departed, heading for the car she had parked a short distance away. Once Irma was out of earshot, Maggie finally released Jemima, who turned to her 'captor'. "I don't know whether to kiss you, or strangle you." Oh shit. Jemima saw the now hungry look in Maggie's eyes in the wake of her own words. Me and my big... The effeminate boy's thoughts were quickly interrupted by the feel of Maggie's lips pressing against his own painted mouth. One of the raven-haired hellcat's hands went to one of the secretary's small breasts, rubbing it briskly as she lingered the kiss. The rubbing provoked a moan from Jemima's lips as they lingered their lip-lock. When Maggie finally broke away, staring at Jemima with a lustful expression, she wagged a finger at the effeminate boy. "You owe me for that, bitch boy. The devil always collects what she's owed, too," With a swat on Jemima's ass, they both turned and began walking back into the shopping district. "I see..." Maggie suddenly groped at the space between Jemima?s legs, still feeling a small, but distinct bulge there. "...or rather, feel...that you?ve completely ignored my request about that needless little pecker of yours." Jemima gestured behind him. "Isn?t that reason enough? She wants me to see a shrink over what?s happened to me!" Maggie casually, and amusedly, shrugged. "I can eat shrinks for breakfast. Weren?t you listening to my little performance there?" "I couldn?t understand a word you were both saying!" Jemima whined. "Aww, pity," Maggie mused. "You would have enjoyed it more. I had to improvise the shit out of that little confrontation." "Speaking of confrontations...you?re lucky Xavier isn?t with us, you know," Jemima then reminded as they continued walking. "That?s all he?s been griping about as of late. I think of you everytime he mentions the words ?I wanna kill that bitch?." Maggie giggled. "If he was with you, I wouldn?t give two fucks. I?ll just beat him down to within an inch of his life, leave him alive, and do it all over again the next time I see him. He knows full well that I can throw down with him and live." "Is that what this little reunion is all about?" Jemima wondered aloud. "A rematch?" "No, but as I said, I?ll always be ready for a staredown." Maggie gestured to a display window showing a mannequin dressed in a black and white maid outfit. "You?d look good in that." Jemima smirked. "I?m a secretary, not a housekeeper." "So?s my own sweet little bitch, and she?s been both!" Maggie amusedly countered. "I?m so proud of my spunky little butterball. She reminds me of you, you know. All you?d have to do to be just as good as she is are two things. One..." "Lose the pecker, I know," Jemima rolled her eyes. "And two?" Maggie stepped right in front of Jemima now, fixing an intimidating look into the former teaboy?s eyes. "Man up, donnicciola. That means ?sissy?, by the way. When I spotted you being led around by your mommy, I could swear I was looking at less of a she-boy, and more of a prized poodle. Even as I look in your completely feminized face right now, I can see nothing more than a fragile, delicate flower in a garden full of thorny vines." "Maggie...she?s my mom." "Piss-poor excuse," Maggie calmly shot back. "How old are you again? Five? On the cusp of ten? You look like you?re ready to dress in frilly pink skirts and share a tea party with teddy bears. That?s not the way the world you?ve been dragged into works, Jeremima. Pout all you want to the contrary. You know I?m right, and until I can actually see you dig your feet in the soil and get a little bitchy and assertive with people like your own mother...and even Xavier...from time to time, that tea-party-with-your-plush-pals mentality is never gonna end for you." All Jemima could do was lower his fair-haired head. A troubled expression was clearly on his softened face. Maggie shrugged unapologetically. "You?ve been drinking the Sisterhood?s Kool-Aid ever since you first entered the office of the Mayoress. It?s not totally your fault. You didn?t know they spike their drinks." "There?s something I?ve been meaning to ask you," Jemima calmly remarked as he raised his head back up. "If you?re so against the Sisterhood, then how come you didn?t try to prevent them from making a woman out of the guy Tamara used to be?" A smile once again crept onto Maggie?s lips as one of her eyebrows raised up. "You want me to answer that honestly? Truthfully? You have to be willing to pay the price." Jemima frowned curiously. "Price?" Once again, Maggie?s finger pointed towards the window display with the maid-attired mannequin. "Go into that store?s dressing room, and try that maid outfit on for me. You let me snap a picture of you in it, I tell you why I didn?t prevent the Sisterhood from feminizing Timmy Portnoy." The Cheshire Cat-like grin on Maggie?s face was a clear indication that she was dead serious. Jemima was at a loss for how she should respond to this. Was the answer to her question really worth the potential humiliation Maggie seemed to want to put Jemima through? "Tick-tock, she-boy," Maggie impishly reminded. * * * A part of Tamara felt a little embarrassed over having to rely on public transportation to get around, but she never had any real time to set aside to learn how to capably drive. She had to deal with being a straphanger for the time being. After going over the fielding of emergency calls with Larry, Tamara offered well-wishes to her boss...along with a repeat of her condolences over Shelley?s passing...before making her way back over to the bus stop she needed to be at to be able to get back home. A good 30 minutes of waiting for an apparently non-existent bus, however, had gone by, and the small crowd of people at the bus stop were beginning to impatiently gripe. Some muttered that the local traffic report revealed that a stalled vehicle...a large one...was the reason for the delay. Merely shrugging to anyone who made brief observations to her, Tamara continued to wait. She wasn?t really looking forward to getting on a bus that would be packed like a sardine can, nor would she appreciate loaded buses skipping her stop altogether. She didn?t want her own frustration to show, in any case. "Miss Portnoy?" Tamara let out a slight gasp as her head snapped in the direction of the person identifying her. What she saw was a bald, fairly well-built man in a nice-looking suit with a slight, cordial smile on the lips of a somewhat effeminate-looking face. "Forgive me for startling you...are you Mrs. Tamara Portnoy? Secretary to the attorney Lawrence Hanel?" Tamara was immediately wary. "Who wants to know?" "Someone who would like to have a word with you, if you can spare a moment," the man replied. "If you could follow me, I will lead you over." Whispers from some of the waiting commuters behind Tamara seemed to repeat the name ?Dolan? as the plus-sized secretary took a moment to consider her response. "You will be in no danger, if that is your concern," the man added. Her first steps toward the man were cautious, but when it was clear she was accepting the offer, the well-built messenger turned and gestured for Tamara to follow, leaving the crowd at the bus stop behind her to resume their curious mutters. The well-built messenger turned a corner, and then another, until they began their approach to a vehicle that was parked at the curbside which certainly stood out given its vintage nature. The car was a Sedan straight out of the 1930s, and a single individual with a head of short black hair occupied the back seat. This single individual?s fashion sense also seemed to be lost in the past, given the nature of her Victorian-era dress. A silken white blouse, with puffy sleeves and a very nice-looking cameo at the tight collar of her neck, was partially covered by a copper-colored waistcoat that appeared to be as tight as a corset. Beneath the waistcoat was a long black skirt. The bangs of her hair were just above her eyes, giving her an alluringly mysterious appearance. Her eyes locked, possessively, on Tamara as she and her driver approached the car. Tamara could not help but find the appearance of the car...and its occupant...fascinating as she and the messenger stopped in front of it. The messenger gestured to the plus-sized secretary. "Miss Tamara Portnoy, Milady Rosemary." A grin formed on the dark-haired woman?s lips upon being introduced to the plus-sized secretary. "Thank you, Daphne." Tamara blinked, glancing to the messenger that she had initially surmised to be a male. Upon noticing that Tamara was gazing at her, Daphne gave her a wink before stepping into the driver-side seat, where she quietly waited. A delicate finger pushed at the left side of Tamara?s chin, turning her gaze to meet those of the smiling Lady Rosemary, who had shifted herself closer to where the former boy was standing. "Do you remember me, Tamara? We?ve met once before." The voice did sound a bit familiar to Tamara?s ears. There was only one place she could have possibly met this woman, who was wearing a costume at the time. "The Cincher?s Halloween party?" Rosemary nodded, still smiling. "I was the Lady Tremaine from Cinderella, whereas you, as I recall, came as a very convincing- looking mouse." The lady?s left eyebrow arched up. "I should have sent Lucifer after you." "Lucif...oh, the cat," Tamara realized. She then shrugged. "I was just any ol? mouse. No one in..." Rosemary then opened the car door and shifted over to pat the area of the wide back seat that she had vacated. "...particular." "Unless you?d rather wait another couple of hours back at the bus stop," Rosemary reminded. "Please. I insist. Just feed the address to Daphne and we?ll take you right back home." Tamara couldn?t help but make the mental leap to the time Judith Newlington offered the young man Tammy used to be a ride for his first day at Larry?s previous office locale. As the plus-sized secretary stepped in and settled into the seat, she felt like a mouse voluntarily surrendering itself to a trap. Letting out a resigned sigh, knowing full well that if she had refused, Rosemary would find another way to get her, Tamara just settled into the cushioned leather seat. "Thank you." Daphne turned her bald head to the side. "Where are we going, Miss Portnoy?" "Huh? Oh..." Tamara recited the address of her home to the driver, who nodded in acknowledgement. "We?ll need to take alternate routes because of the traffic backup, so it may be a while before we get there," Daphne reported. "I hope you don?t have any pressing engagements," Rosemary wondered aloud, sounding concerned. Tamara shook her head. "Today would have been a normal work day, but my boss?s wife died in Kansas. Killed by a drunk driver. He?s closing the office until next week." Rosemary gasped a bit, this time looking genuinely sympathetic. "Oh, how terrible. Please...the next time you see or speak to your boss, offer my most sincere condolences." Tamara nodded. "Thank you." Rosemary turned her attention to the waiting driver. "Let?s get underway, Daphne." With a nod of acknowledgement, the Sedan came to life, and began to pull out of its parking space. Once it was on the road, the car coasted at a brisk speed as Rosemary began to stretch out her limbs. "Last couple of days have been a bit busy for me," Rosemary remarked. "Going back and forth between my old place, and the new one." Tamara?s eyebrows raised, her curiosity piqued. "Oh...are you moving?" "Past tense, dear," Rosemary corrected. "I have already moved. The new Barford estate is a gift from the Lord Dolan, my husband." "Wow...he bought you an entire estate?" Tamara exclaimed. "Well, I suppose if he is royalty..." Rosemary leaned into Tamara now, grinning as her half-lidded eyes stared right into those of the startled, plus-sized secretary. "As am I, little one. That is why I should be addressed as the Lady Rosemary...or even better, ?Milady Rosemary?." Tamara meekly smiled back, recoiling a bit. "I...I?ll remember that, Ro...uh, Milady Rosemary." The alluringly short-haired noblewoman cupped a hand beneath Tamara?s chin and gently rubbed upon it approvingly. "Good girl," She then shifted away from her passenger a bit. "After all that time at the country manor my husband and I share, I had wanted a change of scenery. I suppose my recent...and quite generous...donation to the Flamingos Wildlife Charity might have compelled my husband to pleasantly surprise me." Tamara nodded, remembering the related news item she saw on TV. "Well, I...suppose you must have a considerable love for the animal kingdom for you to have donated so significantly." "Not just for the animals, Tamara dear," The noblewoman noted. "For their natural habitats as well. Having lived in a country estate surrounded by lush woodlands teeming with an abundance of furry, four- legged fauna has given me a new sense of appreciation for all of our more primitive neighbors on this planet. Being aware of the consequences of climate change, we need to be sure that any effort to maintain their sources of comfort and sustenance is properly funded." Tamara shrugged, smiling. "Sounds like a noble cause to me." Rosemary then reached down to pull off the nicely-designed sandals that she had been wearing over her feet, which were covered...along with her legs...by a thin, light brown covering of smooth-looking pantyhose. "But...enough about me. Let?s talk about you. We still have a bit of time before we get to your home, so...I want you to indulge my curiosity about you." "Well, uh..." Rosemary swiveled her sheer tights-covered legs to her left, settling her lower thighs upon Tamara?s open lap as the plus- sized secretary spoke. "...w-what did you...want to know, Lady Rosemary?" "Ah-ah! Milady Rosemary," the grinning noblewoman gently corrected. "I...hope you don?t mind if I put my feet up this way, do you? As I said, it?s been a long day and I really need to relax." Tamara tried not to let the scent of Rosemary?s feet get her visibly worked up, but deep down inside, the plus-sized secretary was now struggling with a rising urge she wanted to suppress. "Uh, n...no, I...I-I don?t...mind. Much." Rosemary nodded, still quite deviously smiling. "So where did you come from, originally?" "Foodhav...uh, I...I mean, Woodhaven, Queens. New York," Tamara replied. "And why did you move away?" Rosemary next inquired. "Dad was...killed...abroad. Killed in prison," The flustered secretary rubbed at the back of her neck, inescapably looking and feeling very nervous. "Getting away from...from bad memories. That kind of thing." Rosemary?s left eyebrow raised up curiously. "Murder?" "Revenge, I guess," Tamara answered. "Mail-order bride. Crossed the Russian mob. Something like...like that." "Why are you trembling, dear?" Although it wasn?t visibly evident, Tamara?s body was indeed quaking a bit. "I-I?m fine, Milady Rosemary." "You don?t have to be nervous around me, little one," The noblewoman lifted a leg, and gently settled the underside of her foot...the fore, the mid, and the hind portions...against the side of Tamara?s face as she spoke. Rosemary was able to rub the smooth, sheer material covering the foot against the plus-sized secretary?s face without pushing against it. Tamara?s eyes closed, and she began to breathe out with a quaking breath. It became next to impossible for the former boy to resist the urges now. She felt compelled to bring her hands up and hold the noblewoman?s foot against her face with a rapturous need. Her hands, however, remained at her sides. They were similarly shaking, however, as Rosemary?s foot lingered upon Tamara?s face. "Talk to me some more, my sweet," Rosemary cooed. "What kind of bad memories?" Tamara swallowed hard before she replied, exerting all her will to keep her voice from weakening, and her mind from drifting. "My father was...he was a bad inf...person. He...he didn?t do anything to...to me, I mean...I was...I was..." "A young man, I know." Rosemary lowered her leg back down onto Tamara?s lap. "So you felt, perhaps, that his typical approach to women was wrong? You felt it was a bad thing, even at a younger age?" Tamara?s eyes had followed the leg down as the noblewoman lowered it. The secretary responded with a half-conscious "Yes." "You may rub my feet, dear," Rosemary gently remarked, no stranger to Tamara?s inescapably visible interest in them. Tamara obliged quickly, her hands rising to begin rubbing at one of the feet resting on her lap. "Doesn?t it make you feel like you?ve been...gifted?" Rosemary then asked, watching her affectionately massage her right foot. "To have become a real woman? To leave all the ugliness of being a male behind you for the rest of your life? To savor the plush, soft curves of your blissfully feminine form?" Tamara had to wonder, as she rubbed at Rosemary?s offered foot, if this Rosemary was any kind of an associate of Rita Noble. There was definitely something different about her compared to Rita. The way Rosemary?s eyes peeked out from under the bangs of her short, dark hair suggested an irresistible air of mystery about her, and her manner of dress evoked visions of an upscale, old-school Victorian mansion. The perfume scents she was generating reinforced these visions, and Tamara felt that if she were on target with these assumptions about Rosemary Dolan(and given how old the car they were driving in looked, it was very possible), this was a life a part of the former boy wouldn?t mind losing herself to. Of all the people of Bullchester that Tamara had been introduced to at the Halloween party, meeting Rosemary was a moment that was difficult for Tamara to forget. The memory of meeting this noblewoman had indeed lingered with Tamara every time the plus-sized secretary reminisced about that party. And here she was, sitting right next to her, freely offering her feet. "Mmmmm, good girl," Rosemary purred. "Your fingers press in with just the right bit of tension as you work. Not too brisk, you?re not rushing things...o-oh yes. Yeeesss. Mmmmmh. Oh, if only you were my maid..." Rosemary continued to luxuriate through Tamara?s foot massage, savoring the comfort when the plus-sized woman switched to the other foot and kept up her satisfying rhythm. The entire time, the noblewoman?s eyes lingered on Tamara, lightly biting on the long, painted nail of her index finger thoughtfully, and through half-lidded eyes. "Hmmm, perhaps...you can be," Rosemary mused. Tamara obviously didn?t miss this potential proposal, which justified the sudden stop in her massaging. "Sss-sorry?" "Keep rubbing, dear," Rosemary instructed, and the massaging resumed. "Now, I?m not suggesting that you should abandon your current job, but as I understand it, you now have some time on your hands since your boss will be away for...what was it, a week, give or take?" "Yes?" Rosemary couldn?t resist the urge to giggle over the look on her guest passenger?s face, which certainly betrayed a kind of cautious curiosity. "Well, I imagine you could use the extended time off to relax, naturally...but, if you find yourself wanting for someone like me to tell you what to do." The sly noblewoman then handed a business card that she had procured from one of the pockets of her dress to Tamara, who paused her rubbing rhythm to accept the card. An address was written on the back of the white card. "then perhaps you can have a cab service take you to this address. It?s my new Barford residence. I had just moved in, and...well, with all the moving we?ve been doing, I need someone to tidy things up a bit in addition to seeing to my more...personal comforts. Just...think of how rewarding this could beeee..." the underside of one of Rosemary?s feet once again rubbed fetchingly against the side of Tamara?s cheek. "...for you, little one." Tamara had closed her eyes passionately, rubbing her head against the foot as if she were a cat showing affection to its owner, panting lightly. The plus-sized former boy continued to revel in the feel of the thinly-veiled foot caressing her cheek. She desperately wanted to be able to rip the fabric open and expose the smooth, soft skin beneath, placing a toe in her mouth so she could suck lovingly upon it. As it was, Tamara could hear Rosemary giggling amusedly over how her guest passenger was reacting to what the noblewoman was doing with her. The car, however, had stopped moving. "We?ve arrived at your home, Miss Portnoy," Daphne neutrally informed. Tamara blinked as she came out of her wild reverie, confirming through a glance out the window of the antique sedan that they were indeed settled into a curbside parking space in front of the house that the person Tamara used to be...a young man named Timothy...and his mother, a woman named Ruth, once occupied. In that moment of realization, she felt compelled to remain in the vehicle. Naturally, Tamara?s hesitation wasn?t lost on Rosemary, who flashed a sly, knowing grin. The noblewoman?s lips came very close to the right ear of the secretary next to her. "You won?t forget my offer, will you, maid?" "Nnn...no, Milady Rosemary," was Tamara?s nervous reply. "Good," Rosemary cooed. "Because the offer is always going to be open for as long as you consider it. I?d hate to hear that you had trouble sleeping because you were yearning for the strong, acrid scent of my tired and worn-out feet." Tamara swallowed hard. She felt compelled to remain in the car. "Go on, Tamara dear," the sly noblewoman instructed. "Get back inside your home and make yourself a delicious salad." Tamara slowly nodded as she went for the passenger door, feeling a little crestfallen. "Yes, Milady Rosemary." Once the plus-sized secretary was out of the car, the sedan came back to life, and pulled out of the parking space. Tamara stared upon the vehicle as it began to disappear in the distance. With a heavy sigh, Tamara turned towards her house and approached the front door. Once she was inside, she went right to her refrigerator to acquire the components of the salad she had been instructed to make. The scent of Rosemary?s feet was heavy on Tamara?s mind as she began to consume her completed, vinegar-based dressing-infused salad. II: Old Habits Screw Hard When the swallows come back to Capistrano, That?s the day you promised to come back to me... The words of the old song by the Ink Spots lingered on the mind of Rita Noble as she sat thoughtfully in her chair deep within the Loris International Office Building in Bullchester. The only sounds to be heard in her office were a muted humming, and a bit of shaky, feminine moaning. Both of the sounds were to the lower right of where she was sitting. She glanced in the direction of these sounds with a sense of total satisfaction. Her right hand reached down to settle upon the sweaty blond hair of the sexual creature that was kneeling next to her, trembling from the vibrations running through her moist, scantily-clad body. Rita?s touch was electric to her kneeling prize, and she moaned lustfully upon feeling the touch of the debutante?s hand. Rita rubbed upon the girl?s head, knowing her prized sexual pet enjoyed such affectionate stimulations. A grin was now on Rita?s face. "You could only escape my notice for so long, slut." Tammy Porntoy arched her head back, her eyes half-lidded, as she let out another passionate moan from the pleasuring the vibrator impaled within her was endlessly providing her with. When the swallows come back... * * * ...to Capistrano... Rita Noble opened her eyes, squinting at the glare of the sunlight as her upper body slowly rose from the bed. A Bullchester radio station had come to life, serving as the alarm setting on Rita?s bedside alarm clock, and an oldies tune from the Ink Spots was playing. She remembered hearing that song during her time at Camp Awohali, where she had been tormented by a bullying boy named Brock. She was never given any justice. The incidents were more or less swept under the rug by the counselors. ?Boys will be boys? was their dismissive rationale. It wasn?t until many years later...ironically, after Brock?s very inconvenient death...that Rita would get her only real shot at revenge through his young son, Timothy, but the wanton and highly sexual slut she had wanted to turn him into only existed in Rita?s dreams. At least, for the moment. But the crafty debutante was then reminded of the data that had been forwarded to her regarding Timothy Portnoy, who had since become Tamara Portnoy. Brock, his father, was gone and his mother, Ruth...a cousin of Sisterhood figurehead Celeste Richards...was now untouchable thanks to a Witness Protection program the self-styled ?devil of Bullchester?, Mary Katzhoff, had brought Ruth into. But Rita remembered that there were other Portnoys unaccounted for. Quickly slipping off of her bed to dash over to her computer system, she powered it up and once the machine was ready for input, she began her search for the Portnoy file. Fortunately, the basics on Timothy Portnoy were the first to come up, and she scanned down to the ?siblings? section of the file. Siblings : Sandra Portnoy Status: College Semester ? Senior year Shelley Portnoy College Semester ? Senior year Rita next went to her smartphone, and she immediately rang up the shapely young woman who was once a young man herself before becoming Rita?s very attractive personal assistant. "Brianne, I need you to forward me whatever data you can find on Sandra and Shelley Portnoy," Rita instructed. "Yes, Madame Noble," Brianne dutifully answered. "You also asked me to remind you about the Press Conference at 6 pm tonight. I?m just finishing up your speech right now." "Good, very good," Rita replied. "Thank you, dear." Upon ending the call, Rita stared at the names of Timothy?s two siblings, her mind now engrossed on a means to not only draw them into Bullchester, but to use them in a manner that would effectively bring her prized creation...Tammy...back under her influence as the song on the radio went into its final lyrics. When the swallows come back to Capistrano, That's the day I pray that you'll come back to me. * * * The last time Bullchester University student Howard Venis paid a visit to his athlete friend Ron Bailey, he couldn?t help but feel a bit freaked out afterwards. The visit was a short one, given the circumstances. He felt lucky that he was able to come up with an excuse that Ron actually believed, or so it looked like. A part of him felt bad, though. After all, this was someone who more or less protected him from bullies at the University. Howard?s last visit to the Bailey house, however, revealed a somewhat different-looking young man than he remembered Ron looking like. During Howard?s visit, Ron?s eyes constantly lingered upon him, and the athlete also looked a little more unusual compared to his normal appearance. His pectoral muscles seemed a little diminished, and his face seemed a bit softer than Howard remembered it looking. As much as the young student didn?t want to admit it, he couldn?t help but observe to himself that Ron was beginning to look a bit...girlish. His voice even sounded a bit softer. More...flirtatious, even. Particularly when Howard was around. He only remained for around 20 minutes or so before Howard made up his excuse to leave. In the days that followed his hasty retreat, however, Howard began to feel a bit guilty. He wondered if he had indirectly hurt Ron?s feelings by stepping away. If there was something wrong with him, wouldn?t a friend want to try and help in some way? Especially if Ron had helped Howard fight off all those bullies tormenting him? Around the time Howard was on his way back home from the University, he pulled out his cell phone... ...which began chiming a ringtone before he had a chance to look up Ron?s number. He didn?t need to, however, as it was Ron Bailey who was calling him! "H-Howard?" a breathy voice that only vaguely sounded like Ron himself began. He sounded a little scared. "Ron! I was just about to call you," Howard answered. "How are you feeling?" "Howard..." A couple of seconds of silence followed before Ron spoke again. "...a-are you mad at me?" "Mad? No, not at all," Howard quickly assured. "Are you sure?" Ron didn?t sound convinced. "I mean...I haven?t heard from you in days. If I said or did anything to scare you away..." "Well, I...I?ll be honest, Ron," Howard carefully replied. "You looked...kinda weird the last time I was over there." "I know! I...I don?t understand why all this is happening. I don?t know if it was anything I ate, or anyone I touched..." Ron whined, somewhat distressfully. "...I need help. Can you...can you come by?" "I?m on my way over right now," Howard assured, bringing up the online cab application to summon a ride. A little over five minutes later, Howard was at the front door of the Bailey house, and he gave it a couple of knocks. Within three minutes, Candice Bailey...Ron?s mother...opened the door. Although Howard had known Candice to be a generally nice woman, the middle-aged housewife...who always had her shoulder-length, ginger- colored hair up in a tight bun...had apparently chosen to release her well-washed strands from the bun so that it could hang down in softly- curled waves. She flashed a cheery grin upon spotting the wide-eyed, surprised student. "Hel-loooo, Howard!" Candice uncharacteristically chirped as the smell of tomato sauce filled his nostrils. "Ron told me you?d be coming by, come on in! Would you like something to drink? Something to eat? Have you had dinner yet?" "U-uhh...no, no, Mrs. Bailey...but, uh..." "Oh, please. Call me Candice, dear," The strangely perky woman remarked as she pulled Howard into the house?s living room. "Ron is upstairs waiting for you. Go on up...and remember, if you need anything, anything at all, just call for it! I?ll be busy in the kitchen making tonight?s meatballs." As Howard ascended the stairs, his confusion rose. Ron once complained that while he favored the pasta his mother occasionally made, she only prepared and served it on special occasions, such as holidays. Today, however, was no holiday. As the nervous student neared the top step, the nearby door to Ron?s room opened... ...and out stepped a much more feminine-looking semblance of the athlete Ron used to be. His mullet of hair had grown and softened, with a little more volume, and the more feminine face flashed a fetching grin once his eyes settled on Howard?s shocked face. The curves of his body...normally toned and athletic...had softened as well. It looked like his body frame was in the midst of forming a vaguely hourglass shape, and a pair of well-formed C-cups sat on his chest. He was clad only in a pair of white boxer shorts. Howard was able to pick up on a perfume scent as well. "Hi, Howard," Ron cooed, in a much more feminine version of his natural voice. "How do I look?" Howard swallowed hard, his eyes alternating between Ron?s face, and his exposed boobs. "Like...um..." Ron giggled amusedly as his geeky friend struggled with his own words. "...like you need a bra." His mind once again began to think of an excuse to leave... ...but the clarity of his thinking became a jumbled-up mess when Ron stepped over and gently grabbed Howard?s wrist with a softened hand. "Come on inside," Ron purred. "Let?s talk." Come on inside. The words massaged his brain. They were the only coherent things Howard?s mind could register and comprehend in that moment. Let?s talk. Ron kept his grip on Howard?s wrist as they both went into the athlete?s room. The slim-figured student could think of nothing else as he stepped in. Nothing but Ron?s spoken instructions, which lingered in his mind even after the effeminate athlete released his grip. Shaking his head in his effort to restore clarity to his jumbled mind, Howard?s eyes beheld a bedroom which had bare walls. Having been in Ron?s room once before, Howard remembered seeing posters of football players, and trophies earned from past victories on a football field decorating the room. He remembered seeing a weightlifting bench in one corner of the bedroom. It was all gone now. Howard settled himself upon the bed, and Ron sat right next to him, flashing a flirtatious grin. Looking once again at Ron?s face, there were no traces of masculinity whatsoever. In fact, were it not for Howard being fully aware that Ron was supposed to be male, he would find the effeminate athlete attractive. He had an inescapably alluring face at the moment. "So?" Ron began, still grinning flirtatiously. "How are you?" Howard wanted to be cautious with his words. "I-I?m doing...good," In the next moment, he dropped his caution completely as he turned his head to the grinning athlete. "Ron...what?s going on? I mean...you?re making it sound like nothing?s wrong. You?ve been out of school for days, the last time I was here, you got all weird o..." Ron once again had his hand on Howard?s skin, this time placing it against the concerned student?s right cheek. Once again, Howard?s mind became a jumbled mess as Ron spoke. "Stop worrying. Relax. Everything?s fine. I feel better now. A lot better," He placed another effeminate hand against Howard?s other cheek as he turned to his mentally-blitzed friend. Ron stared right into his eyes, still grinning, as he spoke. "Stay with me." Stop worrying. Relax. Everything?s fine. Ron?s words massaged his wildly-disoriented brain, practically comforting it, and giving badly- needed direction. Stay with me. Any and all thought of retreat evaporated in that moment. A slight smile was now on Howard?s face. He felt like he had come home, and he was satisfyingly near the only person he ever wanted to be with. At that moment, there was a knock on the closed bedroom door. "Honey?" It was Candice?s voice. "Your meal is ready. Come get it while it?s hot!" The effeminate athlete gently ran a hand over Howard?s head of short hair. His other hand lingered at his cheek, maintaining contact. "Go get us our meals, dear. One bowl for you, and one bowl for me. Go on now." Howard nodded, and when Ron moved his hands away, the conditioned student rose from the bed and stepped out of the bedroom, heading downstairs to acquire the requested meals. Any other concerns on his mind were either secondary, or unimportant. Even as he waited for Candice to fill up his and Ron?s bowl with spaghetti and meatballs, Howard was beginning to feel impatient for the moment in which he would return to Ron. When he did, he carefully handed one of the bowls to Ron, who placed it on a nearby table in the room. Howard placed his own bowl next to it as Ron gestured for his socially awkward friend to step up to him. Howard smiled, blushing deeply as Ron played with his hair. It was becoming increasingly difficult to acknowledge the wildly effeminate athlete as any kind of a man as Howard stared up at his protector. Ron?s lips moved close to Howard?s right ear as his fingertips returned to the blissed young man?s cheeks, once again disorienting Howard?s mind. "Don?t be afraid of me," Ron sensually whispered. "I?m not going to hurt you." Don?t be afraid of me. Howard felt much more relaxed now. I?m not going to hurt you. Somewhere in the back of the blitzed mind of Howard Venis, however, his conscience seemed to remind him that it was getting late, and he needed to go back home before his own parents began to worry about him. When Ron pressed his lips against Howard?s in the next moment, and began to passionately kiss the surprised student, going home to his parents no longer mattered to him. He now felt like putty in the delicate hands of Ron Bailey. He now felt compelled to do anything...anything at all...that Ron asked of him. * * * As Tamara finished cleaning the bowl she used to consume the salad she made for herself, her mind contemplated ringing up the number on the business card Lady Rosemary had given her. Aside from the obvious allure of serving the noblewoman, the former boy knew next to nothing about Rosemary. For all Tamara knew, the Lady Dolan could secretly be one of Rita Noble?s loyal allies in the Sisterhood hierarchy. Settling herself into a comfortable chair in her house?s living room, Tamara was quiet for a long moment as she thought about Rosemary?s offer. About whether or not she should accept it in the time she had before Larry Hanel?s return from Kansas. In that quiet moment, she caught herself idly sucking upon the tip of her middle finger. Pulling the moist digit away, her thoughts inescapably recalled some of the words of the crafty debutante who had unexpectedly transformed Timothy Portnoy. In a way, I am your mother. She remembered the Cheshire Cat?s grin Rita flashed when the fetchingly shapely temptress made this observation. And every time Tamara would reminisce such a moment, she wondered...again...if it would be so bad to be associated with her. The woman who was willing to destroy the memories of Tamara?s previous life just to make a wanton slut out of her. The woman who had the unmitigated gall to brainwash the former boy into accepting Rita as her birth mother rather than that of Tammy?s actual birth mother, Ruth Portnoy. Although Ruth?s name was never publicly revealed, the news outlets continued to praise her as the savior of several women who had been abducted by a human trafficking ring which Ruth had been instrumental in wiping out. It was an embarrassing episode in the ongoing business practices at Loris International, the firm Rita Noble was the Chairwoman of. Larry and Maggie had shared the story of how it all went down. Apparently, the Cresswell Sisterhood had wanted to set Ruth up with a Grecian man named Dimitrios Konstantinos as part of the group?s plan to establish Ruth as a fixture in the Butterfly Salon so that Cresswell figurehead Celeste Richards...of whom Ruth was a cousin...could divert her attentions. As Rita was suddenly fixated on the idea of making Ruth?s son Timothy her personal slut, in an act of posthumous vengeance against Timmy?s dead father, the debutante had failed to do the necessary background checks on Dimitrios. If she had, she would have discovered that Dimitrios was the mastermind behind the human trafficking ring, which had originated in the shadows of the Grecian city of Crete. Even after the trafficking ring was smashed through a combination of Ruth?s intelligence and Maggie?s federal resources and contacts, Loris International was still attempting to wash their hands of the incident. It was a black mark they didn?t need, and many within Bullchester still believed the business to be a dirty one as a result of their involvement with Dimitrios, who was killed in the raid that was planned out by federal agents and army commandos. It was through the mysterious blond ally called Grace that Tamara was contacted by Ruth, who not only explained her situation, but permitted her former son to inherit the Bullchester house while Ruth remained safely in Kansas under the Witness Protection program. As Tamara was thinking on these occurrences, she noticed that she was once again idly sucking on the tip of her middle finger. Yet another lingering aspect of Rita Noble?s very deeply-laid conditioning. Maggie had attempted a counter-conditioning regimen, but it became clear that the attempt was short-lived. The pleasant chimes of the house?s doorbell broke the silence, and Tamara rose to approach the front door. Upon opening it, a familiar vision of exotic beauty with a head of short platinum hair and a suggestively shapely, tattooed body stood before her wearing a silk, puffy-sleeved blouse and a tight black skirt. Tamara remembered seeing this very same woman...who now flashed a pleasant smile...during a bus ride. "Lois, right?" "That?s me. Hello again, Tamara," Lois Fryer pleasantly began. "I...hope I am not interrupting anything?" Tamara shook her head. "I was just, uh...relaxing." The woman nodded. "I?ve had a busy day myself, but I wanted to find you and express my gratitude in a more appropriate manner. May I come in?" Tamara raised an eyebrow. "Are you making a pass at me, Lois?" Lois giggled. "That?s not what I had in mind, dear. Please...may I join you for a little while?" The former boy was silent for a moment before widening the door?s opening so that Lois could step in. "All I ask is that you refrain from using any perfume spray during our conversation. If you have to touch up, excuse yourself first, and go to the bathroom." A smiling Lois brushed her body suggestively against Tamara as she stepped into the house?s foyer. "As you wish, but...I don?t talk, nor do I spray. I only counsel." Tamara smiled meekly as Lois clacked into the living room on stiletto heels. The sinfully attractive woman stopped to get an eyeful of the house?s interiors. "Mmmm. Nice place. Quaint, but nice," After another quiet moment, Lois then turned to face Tamara, gesturing to a seat as she spoke. "Do settle in, dear. This is your house, after all." "Huh? Oh, right." Blushing, Tamara went to the seat she had been sitting in and lowered herself back into it. "If I had known you were coming, I would have had coffee prepared." "Quite alright, sweetie." Lois slowly lowered her own fetchingly-sized posterior into a seat opposite where Tamara was sitting. "Where I work, I fill myself up with plenty of coffee." Tamara nodded in acknowledgement. "So...what brings you here, Miss Fryer?" Lois?s colored eyelids lowered a bit as she leaned in towards Tamara, still seated where she was. Her devious smile lingered. "You." "Me? Ummm..." Tamara now looked a little nervous. "...what about me?" "You helped me, Miss Portnoy," Lois then remarked. "In fact, I heard you felt compelled to do so, even though you didn?t know anything about me." "Yes, well...I just wish I had known beforehand just how much of a jerk Hank is around women like me," Tamara noted. "And now, thanks to you, I am more of a liberated woman than ever before," Lois added. "As you might expect, I didn?t always look the way I do today. To be honest, I?m a bit...embarrassed to have looked the way I used to. So plain. So...uninteresting," The school counselor then rose from her seat and held her hands out to her sides, presenting herself as she spoke. "But that?s all behind me now." Tamara nodded, smiling. "Good to hear." Lois then stepped over to stand in front of the former boy. "You like this too, don?t you? I noticed by the way you?ve been looking at me, dear," She lowered to a knee once she stopped in front of Tamara, who caught the scent of the counselor?s attractive perfume. "Don?t you want to look as irresistable as I do?" "Did you get this makeover at the Butterfly Salon?" Tamara warily asked. Lois nodded. "I did." The plus-sized secretary slowly nodded. "And you?re still you, eh?" Lois shrugged, sounding amused. "Why wouldn?t I be?" "Lois, I...I?ve heard stories about that place," Tamara explained. "There are a lot of justifiable reasons why I stay away from there. Don?t get me wrong, though...you do look really good, but..." "My treat, dear. Full makeover. That?s exactly why I came here," Lois interjected, sounding resolute. "I want you looking as red hot as I do, and I will not take ?no? for an answer." Although Lois had a smile on her impossibly alluring face, Tamara remained wary. Particularly with the counselor?s apparent insistence. "Lois, as much as I appreciate the generosity..." But Lois suddenly settled her sculpted, shapely rump upon Tamara?s lap and settled her weight against her, flustering the former boy a little as Lois stared right into her eyes. "Take a closer look at the work they did. No scars at all. It?s amazing technology. I used to be a total wallflower. The meekest semblance of a submissive housewife. A nobody. Not anymore. Now, men can?t take their eyes off me. I?ve even had women stare at me, too. My life has become so...sinfully delicious since I abandoned Hank," Lois then pressed her forehead against Tamara?s, speaking tenderly as she rubbed an index finger beneath the former boy?s chin. "Come on, Tamara dear. This is a counselor?s insistence. A personal recommendation. Afterwards, we can do a bit of clothes shopping so you can look as intoxicating as I do." "U-ummm...well..." A thought occurred to Tamara in that moment. A means by which Lois would get what she wanted while keeping her psyche uncompromised. "...would it be fair to say ?let me think on it?? Give me a day or so. I promise I?ll get back to you." A devious smile was on Lois?s face now as she slowly shook her head. Her perfect red lips then moved to whisper into Tamara?s right ear. "I already have a date scheduled. Thursday, 12 p.m. I will find you, and hold you to that date. I really want to make a day of this, too, to show my gratitude for what you did for me, dear." Lois then pressed her lips against Tamara?s. The counselor?s lips certainly felt soft, painted, and very, very real as she lingered her kiss. She then pulled her head away and rose up from Tamara?s lap, smiling. She then produced a business card and handed it to Tamara. "Consider me your new best friend, Tamara. If you ever want to talk, or even go out someplace, call me. We?re definitely going to that Salon on Thursday, though. I want you looking twice as sexy as I do by the time you come out of that machine." Although Tamara was understandably hesitant, she just nodded in acknowledgement. In the back of her mind, however, she knew who it was that she needed to contact. She needed to be sure that a visit to this ?machine? would not be the same as being caught in a mousetrap. * * * "You missed a spot," Maggie aimed her finger at the area on the floor that Jemima missed. "Right there." Grumbling, the ex-Teaboy turned Mayoress secretary stepped over to the area and began going over the ?spot? with his soapy mop. The blush on his face was perpetual as he worked. He never imagined he would ever be caught dead wearing a black and white maid outfit, much less do actual maid work wearing one. Maggie, however, had promised that the mopping of the floor of her hotel room would be the last ?favor? she would ask of the effeminate boy before allowing him to change out of the maid outfit she tricked him into buying for himself. When Jemima finished his work, a uniformed woman came by the open door of the hotel room...one of the hotel?s actual room servicewomen...and saw the visibly flustered ?maid? doing cleaning work who was obviously dressed differently from the standard servicewoman?s uniform. "Che diavolo!" The shocked woman stepped towards Jemima. "You no work here! You try take my job??" Jemima?s eyes were wide as saucers as he took a step away from the approaching woman, gesturing to Maggie as he spoke. "No, I...she...she made me..." Maggie grinned with great amusement over the unexpected intrusion, speaking full italian to the servicewoman in response. "Don?t you have a hiring sign by the management office?" She gestured to Jemima. "She?s quite good, you know. She?s been trained by the finest maid services in all of Venice!" "Then she should be talking to management and getting in the standard uniform!" The woman shot back, reciprocating in italian as she gestured to a very mystified Jemima. "Maids do not dress like this around here!" "You?ve gotta admit, she does look good in that outfit, doesn?t she?" Maggie grinned impishly as she spoke. Although the woman was still frowning, she paced around Jemima inquisitively, her middle-aged eyes seeming to go over every inch of the maid outfit he was wearing. "Ehhh, it is not bad, not bad," The servicewoman remarked. "Maybe if she looked for work in France, this would be a little more acceptable," She turned to Jemima, placing a hand on his chest. "Shall I get you an application form? This is good work! Smells nice!" Jemima, still completely confused, turned her head to Maggie, who shrugged, still speaking italian. "Well? Do you want her to get it for you or not? Answer the woman!" Jemima sighed out irritably, forcing Maggie to suppress a giggle. He then turned to the servicewoman. "Uhh...I no speakiano your-o languino." Maggie?s eyes squinted shut, desperately trying to hold in her giggle fit over Jemima?s pathetic attempt at communicating with the servicewoman, who initially reacted confusedly before making another attempt using her minimal grasp of english. "You...want...work here? You good clean work. Molto bene. Uh...sniff-a nice. Like-a flower, yes?" Jemima grinned meekly. "Uh...thank you. Er...grazie." He remembered that italian word, at least, as his mother used it often during the trip. "But...I no maid. No want work." The servicewoman frowned, gesturing to Jemima?s outfit. "Then...why you...?" "Long story," Jemima huffed, glaring at the still-grinning Maggie, who winked amusedly at him in response. "Get her an application anyway," Maggie remarked to the servicewoman, in italian. "In case she changes her mind. Let?s face it...if she?s that good, she must love her job in some way, right?" The servicewoman nodded in agreement. "I?ll be right back then." Once the servicewoman was gone, Jemima turned to Maggie with a visibly angry look... ...but Maggie was too busy giggling wildly over the entire encounter. It was pretty much the most fun she had on the trip thus far. Jemima slowly stepped close to the raven-haired woman. "Thank you so very fucking much for that," He sarcastically growled. "Hey, don?t knock it, bing-boobs!" Maggie mused. "Maids earn good money if they?re as good at their job as you are! You did immaculate work in here!" Jemima sighed loudly and irritably. "Can I get out of this outfit now? Please?" Maggie suddenly pulled Jemima in to plant her lips on his. She held him fast for a good two minutes as she lingered the affectionate kiss. She definitely heard the former teaboy moan passionately. When she finally released him, the Cheshire Cat-like grin returned to Maggie?s mouth. "Don?t you dare destroy that maid outfit. I?ll rip off more than that stubby wee-wee of yours if you do." Jemima sighed irritably. "OK! Fine! Can I at least take it off, though?" "Only if you neatly fold it and stow it away properly, maid," Maggie amusedly replied, wagging a finger as she did. Although this earned Jemima a frown, he began to step away to get the clothes he had been wearing...but Maggie quickly grabbed his arm. "It?s not like I haven?t seen guys like you in the buff, kiddo," Maggie noted. "You want your end of the bargain? Change in front of me, and you get to hear why I didn?t get in the way of Timmy Portnoy?s feminization." Nodding, Jemima simply went to grab the clothes he had openly thrown on the bed before changing into the maid outfit, and he began to carefully remove the black and white uniform as Maggie began speaking. "Guys like you, I don?t really have a problem with, Jemima," Maggie began as the former boy continued undressing. "Just like I had zero issues with Timmy Portnoy when I first saw him at Gourmandizer?s. In fact, you two are alike in many ways...but, well, you?re still guys. The Sisterhood, on the other hand, are a bunch of man-hating radicals. Anyone with a pecker needs to be put in their place. Made to feel the pain women feel when they?re taken advantage of by guys. I had to deal with that myself when I was with my father and my siblings years ago. The difference between them and me, though, is that I show restraint and, well, a dollop of understanding. It really is the devil in me, though, when I see how a guy reacts to becoming a member of the opposite sex. There?s clearly a touch of fascination there, even if it dissolves into outright disgust or even horror in the very next minute. It?s the one thing...and pretty much the only thing...about the Cresswell technology that fascinates me. They?ve managed to create a means to completely transform a man into a woman. A boy into a girl. As befits a devil like me, I?m envious." "But...you don?t want to, like, take over the world?" Jemima surmised aloud as he removed the white pantyhose from his smooth legs. Maggie shook her head. "I?m not about complete subjugation, she-man. That level of ruthlessness is typical of the Sisterhood, and those who follow a mercurial old witch of a woman named Agatha. Now when I met Timmy, he was shopping with his mom. While he was there, he was approached by a redhead named Gemma Schultz. I had to intervene, since she?s more or less an agent of the Sisterhood?s religious wing. I believe he used to be a reporter, too. Former guy, no doubt, but I?ve never pulled down that pious floozy?s skirt to confirm it. I think she?s still interested in converting Tamara, too. Probably trying to make her think she?s the reincarnation of John the Baptist, who figures heavily into their silly pro-female gospel." Jemima was now pulling a pair of slim blue jeans up his legs as he posed his next inquiry. "If Timmy had never met Gemma, what would you have done?" Maggie took a moment to think on this one. "I dunno. I probably would have still struck up an association, just to test his grasp of humility. I think that?s an extremely underrated thing with guys, Jemmy-jems. You all have too much pride, and not just in your big ol? crotch worms. You practically shove it in our faces. The worst of you shove it in our asses, too. Literally." Jemima stopped dressing for the moment, looking a bit ashamed. "But...there are exceptions. Cases in point? You, and Timothy," Maggie continued. "Now the world, with all its strategically fake news would probably have you believe that all guys should be dominant and women should be in the kitchen preparing meals and making babies. The Sisterhood would have you believe the opposite, and they?re trying to shove that thinking up the asses of guys like Xavier and Hank Fryer whether they like it or not." The former boy reached for the blouse he had been wearing. "And you?re the middle ground?" "Bingo, baby," Maggie responded. "Balance. It?s all about balance with me. If I see the weights gather on one end, I feel a need to kick off dangerously unnecessary weight. The problem with Timmy was that he was pretty much a mama?s boy. He?s not a Xavier or a Hank Fryer, but he was the son of a guy who was just like them, and that caught the eye of a certain debutante who found him on a bus, and tried to take him to the Butterfly Salon in Rubie?s Mall. Rita Noble wanted revenge against Timmy?s father, but there was a problem. His father was killed in a Russian prison." "So she went after his son." "Exactly," Maggie confirmed. "Rita and Agatha apparently buy into the whole ?like father, like son? thing. That eventually, Timmy would have grown up to become a man no different than his father. I don?t buy that theory. It?s all about how you?re raised in your childhood. I didn?t see any trace of the kind of person Brock Portnoy was in Tim, but Rita was insistent. I thought I had scared her off when I staged my little intervention, but...well, Timmy went back to her." As he had finished dressing, Jemima settled next to Maggie on the hotel bed. "And you didn?t rescue him? Again?" Maggie just stared forward, quietly, for a moment. She tried to find the right words to accurately illustrate her explanation. "Well...the guy didn?t have a job. Or a cell phone," Maggie finally answered. "When you go against the Sisterhood, you really need to keep a low profile. I couldn?t just bust my way into Rita?s home and steal away Timmy. Agatha would turn the whole town against me." "But he...er, she...has a job now, doesn?t she? Did you help her get that job?" Maggie sighed heavily. "No. Rita did," she hesitantly admitted. Despite his concern that he?d get hurt over his suspicion, he decided to voice it anyway. "You let it happen, didn?t you? You let Rita feminize Timmy." This earned him an angry expression from Maggie, but after a moment, and just before she was going to voice a furious retort, Maggie?s expression softened, and she hung her head shamefully as the raven- haired woman dropped the bombshell. "I had to. I knew if I kept getting him away from Rita, he?d go back to her. Once they get their talons in you, they dig their claws deep, Jem. Very deep." Jemima now stared forward, nodding as he remembered the spicy coffee the Mayoress had given him, and everything that had happened since he had been called in to confront Julia Stroud. "That?s for sure." "I sure as fuck didn?t want Rita to make a slut out of Tammy, though, and I knew that that was exactly what she wanted. That would be her revenge against Brock. To make Tammy nothing but a walking, talking, fucking sextoy," Maggie explained. "It wasn?t until a certain Halloween party at Cincher?s that I was able to re-acquire Tamara...and when I did? I never let go. I also had the added benefit of knowing Tamara?s boss, so we became, like, a little team." Jemima nodded. "I remember that night." "They brainwashed Tammy?s mother into dating a guy who turned out to be the figurehead of a human trafficking ring, Jem," Maggie noted. "I think they wanted Tammy herself to become their maid, too, and they also wanted to have Rita replace Ruth as Tammy?s mom. If that isn?t totally fucked up, I don?t know what is." Jemima risked anger once again with his next inquiry. "If Rita didn?t do it, would you have feminized Timmy?" The corners of Maggie?s lips curled into another thoughtful smile. "Maybe...but either way, I would have done what I?ve been doing anyway." "That being...?" "I sharpened her edges. Gave her a bit of attitude," Maggie replied, grinning with pride. "I made her a little more like...me. Even taught her a few martial arts moves. She?s proven, since then, that she can handle herself quite well. She even confronted Agatha herself, and lived to tell the tale." There was a somewhat nervous look on Jemima?s face now as Maggie finished speaking, as if he wanted to ask her something, but could not bring up the nerve to ask. Standing effeminately, he twirled a lock of his soft, curly hair thoughtfully. Maggie caught this gesture, and knew what it meant. "I?ll wait," She mused. "Huh?" Jemima looked clueless. "For what?" Maggie turned to the effeminate boy, angling her face into his in an intimidating fashion. "Ask." "U-uhhh...umm..." Jemima couldn?t help but fidget a little more. "...well, uh...c-could you teach me too? I mean, how to be a...y?know, be a..." "What, a badass like me?" Maggie feigned surprise. "You want a crash course in italian while we?re at it??" A knock at the door diverted their attentions, and their eyes found the servicewoman at the hotel room door. She now had a piece of paper that was no doubt the job application she had obviously procured for Jemima. The servicewoman beamed, gesturing to the application page. "Is in english, too!" Maggie rose and grabbed the sheet. "I?ll take it. Grazie." "Prego! Prego!" The middle-aged woman responded. She then pointed to Jemima. "I think you have good chance!" She then stepped away to resume her daily duties. Once she was gone, Maggie?s eyes went back to Jemima as she crumpled up the application page and tossed it in the nearby garbage bin. "I still think you?d make an awesome maid." Jemima sighed, shrugging. "Maybe if the Mayoress lets me go for whatever reason." Maggie brought a hand to the effeminate boy?s chin and turned his head to face hers. "Chin up, breast-buds. Lesson one? Don?t always be such a fuddy-duddy. Loosen the fuck up. You let ?em see that they can press your buttons? They?ll start pressing a few more until you crack." "That?d be easier if mom wasn?t around," Jemima lamented. "No problem!" Maggie chirped. "I?ll arrange a little ?accident?. She?ll never know what hit her." Jemima looked aghast, initially, at this uncomfortably serious- sounding suggestion... ...but in the next moment, the effeminate former teaboy smirked. "Har dee har har." "There ya go. That didn?t hurt, did it?" Maggie mused. "No," a familiar male voice at the door menacingly intoned. "But I might." When their eyes went to the door once again, they saw a bald man with a very grim expression standing there. It was unmistakably Xavier. His eyes were locked on Maggie. And he didn?t look happy at all. Maggie, contrarily, rose from the bed and stepped right up to him with a devious smile on her own face. Her words gave a shocked Jemima all the more reason to be very afraid of the outcome of this unexpected, impromptu confrontation. "Step outside and prove it, cueball." * * * - TammyP ?< : Grace, I hope you?re there. We need to talk. - DaHBIC ?< : Whatever happened to ?hello?, girl? - TammyP ?< : Sorry...hello, Grace. - DaHBIC ?< : MISS Grace. - TammyP ?< : Sorry, Miss Grace. - DaHBIC ?< : Apology accepted. How can I help you, Tamara? - TammyP ?< : Does the name Lois Fryer mean anything to you? - DaHBIC ?< : The recently-divorced and formerly meek wife of a womanizing pig? - TammyP ?< : That?s her. I was the one who helped Lois win her divorce case. She wants to show her gratitude by taking me to the Butterfly Salon for a makeover. She said she already scheduled the appointment! - DaHBIC ?< : Date and time? - TammyP ?< : Thursday, 12 noon. - DaHBIC ?< : Give me a minute. - DaHBIC ?< : Ah HAH. There you are. You?re lucky you got me in advance of this appointment. Wow...paid in full? Facial, hair, curve accentuation...I guess she really wants to make a hottie out of you. - TammyP ?< : Or a mallrat. - DaHBIC ?< : Do you want this, Tamara? - TammyP ?< : Well... - TammyP ?< : Yes and no. Yes, I?m curious to see how much more attractive I can be...but no, I don?t want to be brainwashed. - DaHBIC ?< : Hmmmm. Yes, I suppose you can be made to look a little more... useful to... - TammyP ?< : Sorry? Useful? - DaHBIC ?< : I think I can help you here, Tamara. Keep the appointment, and don?t worry about the brainwash thing. You?ll still be you when you come back out of the dermis machine. I?ll make the arrangements. - DaHBIC ?< : Do NOT reschedule, however. I can only do this once. - TammyP ?< : I understand. Thank you, Miss Grace. - DaHBIC ?< : How are you doing otherwise? I heard about your boss?s wife. You should know that the Sisterhood are taking that matter very seriously. They already found out who was responsible for the death of Shelley Hanel. - TammyP ?< : REALLY? - TammyP ?< : What are they gonna do? - DaHBIC ?< : They?ll probably put Larry in a position to bury the guy in court. Drunken hick, too. Truck driver. AND a troublemaker. Did time in prison for rape. They have ways of dragging his tattooed ass to Bullchester, Tamara. I wouldn?t want to be him right now. - TammyP ?< : Sort of makes me wonder what you?re gonna do to him if he?s found guilty. - DaHBIC ?< : WHEN he is found guilty. This is Bullchester justice, Tamara. Not necessarily the same as common law practice. As for what happens to him? Well...think of what Rita wanted to do to you, and then add a generous dose of public humiliation to that. - DaHBIC ?< : Trust me. We?ll give him plenty of reasons for him to pee in his blue jeans. - TammyP ?< : Whether he has a dick anymore or not. - DaHBIC ?< : Oh, he might still have one. That?s a common thing with men the Sisterhood deals with. Men they consider enemies. - TammyP ?< : Sounds like what happened between me and Rita. - DaHBIC ?< : Which is in the past. Keep it there, Tamara. No need to revisit it. - DaHBIC ?< : Is Lois still there? - TammyP ?< : No. She had to go back to work. I was expecting her to pull out a perfume spray and gas me up for whatever reason. - DaHBIC ?< : Naaah...although she has been asked to do that with someone else. Some plot to get a woman named Mavis in with the ?Sacred Feminine" thing. - TammyP ?< : I may not be out of the woods with them, you know. Gemma wants me to attend a sermon. She seems to think I could be a big deal with them. - DaHBIC ?< : Fabrication. Don?t go. - TammyP ?< : Not surprised. I won?t. - DaHBIC ?< : She seems to be hanging around with a new convert anyway. Marcia. Poor girl became a horribly obese wreck after spending time with Gemma. - TammyP ?< : I won?t ask. Something tells me I?ll be seeing a lot more of Lois anyway. - DaHBIC ?< : You should be fine, although I?m glad you let me know in advance. - DaHBIC ?< : So take that Salon date, and go turn some heads afterwards. I promise you?ll still be you when you come out of the machine. - TammyP ?< : I totally appreciate this, Miss Grace. Thanks. I?ll let you get back to whatever you were doing. - DaHBIC ?< : Stay safe, Tamara. TTYL. ----===*CHAT TERMINATED*===---- * * * It was with a lingering sense of irritation that the chocolate- skinned, well-toned Julius Reid stepped to the front door of the Hardcastle residence, which his older cousin, Leonard Hardcastle, agreed to share his space with in the wake of Julius being evicted from his home by his own parents. There were parameters, however, to his stay with Leo, and Julius knew that he had violated these parameters while Leonard was away. He did contemplate taking some time to clean up after himself prior to Leo?s return, but that rationale was lost in a ganja-fueled haze. Now, it was quite obviously time to face the music. Before the raised knuckles of Julius?s hand touched the front door, however, his bald and well-dressed cousin opened it, smirking at the younger man as he brought his hand back down. "Good afternoon, Julius," Leonard began in his intimidatingly low bass voice. He then opened the door wider to allow the tall young man in the gray hoodie and the faded, baggy blue jeans to pass through. "Come in." "?Sup, Leo," Julius muttered as he stepped in. "Excuse me? Call me Leonard, not Leo," the bald man corrected. "After seeing how you conducted yourself in our residence, and being the owner of said residence, I?m sure you?ll understand that there will be some changes here from now on if you choose to remain with me." Julius didn?t even turn around to face his Uncle as he muttered his response, still slowly moving into the Living Room. "Hey...chill, yo. You wanted me here, I?m here. Let?s get dis over with." Dropping himself lazily into a couch, Leonard...who was shaking his head over his cousin?s detached demeanor...settled more soberly into a seat opposite the couch as he continued to smirk upon Julius, who still had a faint scent of marijuana about him. "You had better pay attention during our little talk, cousin," Leonard noted. "I distinctly remember telling you before I left that if you were going to have wild parties over here, or you were going to just treat this place as your own personal ?crib?, that you would at least clean up after yourself afterwards." "Dat?s what I was gonna do, Leo-nard," Julius shot back. "I just got...y?know...sidetracked. Won?t happen again. It?s cool." Leonard grinned. "That?s not the first time I?ve heard you say that to me, Julius...and it?s pronounced Leonard, not ?Leo-nard?." "Hey, c?mon. Chill." Julius lazily raised his hands up in restraint. "Told ya. Won?t happen again. Promise." The imposing bald man nodded. "Oh, I assure you it won?t happen again, only this time, I am taking steps to make sure you will hold to that so-called ?promise?." Julius became a bit more lucid now. His older cousin had threatened this before, and in so doing, he dropped the name of the woman he was involved with, a tall, pale-skinned amazon of a woman...a total bitch...named Evangeline Pierson. He had not met this woman, but based on what Leonard had shared about her, she was a particularly formidable presence. Julius, however, couldn?t help but to be skeptical about such a threat. "This is about dat white bitch gettin? in yo? head again, isn?t it? Man, I told you...dat bitch is bad news. You always trippin? ?bout dat woman. When you gonna come to yo? senses an? find someone more yo? own damn color?" "Because, unlike you, I am not a racist," Leonard calmly replied. "I?m also a little more immaculate compared to you, Julius. Even before I met Miss Pierson, who also does not let race get in the way of our mutual affection." Julius sighed irritably. "Y? want me to go clean up my damn room? Fine. I?ll do it." "It?s already been done, ?yo?," Leonard?s grin was an unsettling one as he spoke. "I had professional help come to clean up not just your room, but everywhere else in the house that you left a veritable pig sty." The younger man in the hoodie now looked a little perplexed. He had thought this was just about his room, not everywhere else within the house! He had all of one party in the house that he invited his friends to while Leonard was away, but it certainly wasn?t so wild as to leave the entire house a wreck as the imposing bald man had perceived. How could he have known about this to begin with? "What, you got spies lookin? out for..." "Cameras," Leonard slyly interjected. "They make them pretty small these days. You could hardly notice them. I had my eye on you, remotely, while I was away, Julius. I know all about the party you and your friends had here, and all about the mess you made afterwards. Dirty glasses, cigarette butts, beer spills, the scent of ganja...this is not the kind of house I wanted to return to." Leonard was amazed at Julius?s shameless and lazy reply to this. "Yo, man...chill. Jus? chill. Won?t happen again." "There?s also the matter of a certain incident in a hotel elevator?" Leonard added. "I heard you nearly raped a woman. You?re lucky you were let off with a warning, Julius. I don?t think your parents would bail you out if you wound up in jail over it." Julius had now reached the end of his patience, and he went right to his feet as he yelled. "What, you my judge now?? Man, I?ll do whateva I fuckin? want outside o? here! Even if I wanna bang some big-ass ho, an? she had a big ass, lemme tell ya! I said I won?t mess up yo? crib again, an? I fuckin? meant it! We done here! You go on back to dat big ol? white bitch while I chill in my room, yo!" All Leonard did was to smile during the entire outburst as Julius stalked up the stairs to get to his room... ...and when he opened the door, his face was immediately misted by a tall blond amazon of a woman with a small glass bottle of what looked like perfume spray. The reaction was instantaneous. Julius quickly found his thoughts becoming a chaotic haze. This haze effectively rendered him susceptible to suggestion. It was then that Evangeline Pierson began speaking the words of instruction that would permanently change the slacker life of Julius Reid. * * * Rosemary Dolan grinned knowingly upon seeing the blushing face of Tamara Portnoy at the door to her new Barford residence. "Good afternoon, maid." "Good afternoon, Milady Rosemary," Tamara nervously replied, her head slightly lowered. "I hope I haven?t caught you in the middle of..." "Nonsense," Rosemary interjected, gently placing a hand on the former boy?s shoulder and pulling him into the house?s foyer. "I was just relaxing with a fresh cup of tea. It would certainly be nice to have it made and served for me, though. Are you good at making tea, maid?" "Uh...well, I...I?m OK at it, I guess," Tamara replied. Rosemary giggled. "I?ll take that as a yes. If there is anything about your tea that I feel needs improving, I will simply instruct you once...and only once...on what corrections need to be made. Does that sound fair to you, maid?" Tamara smiled a little. "Yes, Milady Rosemary." "Good, very good," The noblewoman responded. "Now I know your natural name is Tamara, but while you are with me, your name is Mara. Maid Mara. Understood?" "Yes, Milady Rosemary." "Identify yourself accordingly while you are here with me," Rosemary instructed. "Now...you look a little sweaty, so let?s have you take a bath, Mara. Follow me." "Yes, Milady Rosemary," She then began to follow the noblewoman through a house that did indeed look as if it were being renovated. The walls were partially done over with a wallpaper design that looked Victorian in nature, and the floor had traces of sawdust all over it. A carpet had not been laid down, but there was a large roll in one corner which seemed to indicate that a layer of fresh carpeting was to cover the wooden floor beneath them. There were several pieces of stacked luggage that remained unpacked as well. Tamara made a mental note of all of these things as she followed Rosemary to the house?s bathroom, which contained a very old-school tub. She immediately picked up on the smell of scented bathwater as the closed door to the bathroom was opened. "I was going to take a bath myself, but...I?ll let you take yours," Dipping a finger into the bathwater, she nodded in approval as Tamara began to undress. "Good. Nice and warm. You should be very comfortable when you lower yourself into the water, Mara dear." Tamara then noticed that there was a stand next to the tub, and a water bottle was hanging upside down from it. Rosemary caught on to this curiosity as Tamara neatly folded her clothes prior to removing her undergarments. "Have you ever had an enema done, Mara?" The former boy shook her head. Rosemary looked positively devious in her reaction, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "Well, then, this should make you all the more clean. I?m surprised that you?ve never had it done before...but we?ll fix that before you?re ready to work for me, maid Mara." Tamara finally lowered a naked foot into the scented water that filled the Victorian-style bath, and the water proved just as approvingly comfortable as the noblewoman had said it would be. It was easy for the former boy to wrap herself in more of the scented warmth below her. Only her head was exposed when she submerged herself, and given Tamara?s mass, the water level rose until it was very near the upper edge. Any wild splashing would begin to empty the tub, and create puddles on the black and white-tiled floor beneath the tub. But Tamara felt far more relaxed as she lingered within the murky waters of the tub, and she let out a long and blissed sigh. "Just makes you want to stay in there for the rest of the day, doesn?t it?" Rosemary mused as she witnessed Tamara?s reaction to the approving temperature of the beauty oil-treated bathwater. "But I must insist on seeing every inch of you bathed, including your head, and even your hair, Mara, so you might as well submerge yourself completely." "Yes, Milady Rosemary," Taking a deep breath, the former boy then sank her head beneath the surface, allowing her head and hair to absorb the chemicals in the bathwater that would contribute to the appearance of the Lady Rosemary Dolan?s newest maid. Tamara could feel a mild, but evident tingling at her scalp, and an even milder tingle all over the rest of her body as she lingered beneath the surface of the bath, which was suspiciously large enough to allow her to submerge her entire body, from head to toe. The plus- sized secretary had a feeling that it was custom-made. It didn?t matter much, though. There was one thing she learned to live with, being the kind of woman she was now since Rita transformed Timothy Portnoy. She acknowledged herself to be what Maggie had always figured she would become. A switch, with a more evident inclination towards the submissive side. Tamara could not escape the fact that she found the distinction of ?peering into the abyss? appealing, and seeing how she would endure whatever consequences came with such a habit. Timothy dared to go back to Rita after being rescued by Maggie, and yet he went back to her anyway under the guise of an apology, only to be feminized, and very nearly subjugated to a life that the she-male Rita turned him into...Tammy Porntoy...would have been conditioned to accept. And now, it was happening again. Tamara had been invited once again into another devious woman?s potential abyss. It was an offer she could have ignored outright, although the temptations Rosemary offered through her exploitation of the foot fetish the former boy continued to enjoy certainly factored into the plus-sized secretary?s inevitable surrender. Although if she had the capacity to resist something she didn?t agree with, she wouldn?t hesitate to retaliate, as she did with Hank Fryer. But the oil-treated bathwater was undeniable succor for every plushy curve of her body. The warmth was the watery equivalent of a security blanket on a cold night in bed. Angling her face straight up, her head slowly breached the surface of the steaming bathwater as the smiling noblewoman beside the tub watched. Wiping sweet-smelling excess water from her face so she could open her eyes, Rosemary tapped Tamara on the shoulder as she breathed in the bathroom?s fragrant air. "It?s time for another test of your ability to obey me, Mara," Rosemary purred. "Listen closely. I need you to stand up, and then bend forward with your hands on your knees. Keep steady, stare forward, and do not turn your head in any direction, no matter what you feel. You may close your eyes if you wish, but do not turn your head for any reason. Understood?" Although this sounded a touch ominous, Tamara nodded. "Yes, Milady Rosemary," She then did as the noblewoman asked, lowering down until her hands and her knees rested against the porcelain surface of the bathtub. She chose a spot directly in front of her, and concentrated on that one spot as Rosemary began to rub at her moist posterior. "Mmmm, you have a very luscious ass, Mara," Rosemary cooed. "Now...you?ll feel a touch of discomfort as I slip this in..." The former boy felt a cold tube being pushed into her anal hole as she quietly stared forward. "Good, very good," Rosemary complimented... ...and then, the considerably uncomfortable feel of her bowels filling with the liquid enema, which poured into Tamara from a lavender- colored plastic bag full of warm, scented water, compelled the former boy to raise her upper body. She squinted her eyes as she felt the water continue to fill her up. "Thaaaat?s it...you?re going to feel like a brand new woman afterwards, Mara dear," Rosemary observed as Tamara felt her belly swell a bit. She was seized with an urge to go to the toilet, but she wanted to be able to impress Rosemary with her capacity to endure hardships like this. She found herself struggling to posture herself in a manner that would lessen the discomfort as she continued to stand in the tub. "Very good...come out of there now, and walk around for a bit. There?s my good maid Mara," The noblewoman held out a hand for Tamara to grasp as she stepped out of the tub, feeling shots of discomfort as she did so. She could feel the water slosh and slap around within her as she took her first couple of steps, "Hhhow..." Tamara winced as she paced around the tub. "...hhhowwuuuh...hhhow l-looonnngh?" Rosemary grinned, holding up a hand and spreading its fingers. "Five minutes. I might also remind you that we will be doing this all over again once you?ve relieved yourself. Think you can persevere, maid Mara?" Despite her grimacing, Tamara nodded as she kept pacing around. The five minutes she needed to endure seemed to last longer as she dwelled on the time, and all Rosemary was doing was watching her through it all without saying a single word. When the time came for her release, Tamara made no attempt to request for release. She felt like she was being tested. She didn?t want to fail! Rosemary was nevertheless sympathetic. "Time for your release, my brave little maid," She then guided the still-grimacing Tamara to the nearby toilet, where she settled her plushy posterior upon the toilet seat and began releasing the enema fluid inside her as Rosemary refilled the enema container with fresh warm water. Tamara?s burden came out as drops and squirts at first, and then she felt the rest of the scented liquid gush forth from her anal hole. A horrible smell accompanied this release. The noblewoman stared upon Tamara?s hair as she returned to the enema to fill herself up once again, struggling at first to insert the cold tube back inside her. The oil-drenched bathwater did indeed not only straighten and re-invigorate the former boy?s hair, it also changed its color to a pleasantly golden blond color. As Rosemary assisted in filling her new maid up with more scented water, she was reminded very much of the boy named Aaron who, through the noblewoman?s influence and attentions, became Alison. Once again, Tamara began pacing around with the fresh fluid within her. Once again, she endured the discomfort that came from the enema procedure. "Mmmm...can you feel it washing around inside you?" Rosemary mused. "Purifying you? Just think of the rewards that await you for being so resilient for me, Mara." "Uu-uuuuhhh..." Tamara felt herself twitch a bit as the scented water continued to linger inside her bowels. "...hnnnnngh..." "This is the price you pay to be one of us, Mara dear," Rosemary reminded. "To be the woman that you are now." When the next five-minute period passed, Tamara lowered herself onto the toilet seat once again to relieve herself of the watery burden within her, and Rosemary refilled the enema bottle for the third and last time. Once again, with the warm, scented water within her, Tamara once again labored to persevere through the painful contractions of her bowels. By now, her hair was becoming dry, and Tamara saw strands of the longer hair fall in front of her face as she once again planted her posterior on the toilet seat. Her hand ran through the much softer and fuller strands that streamed like a waterfall from her scalp. The strands felt like pure silk running through her fingers. Rosemary placed a hand on Tamara?s head as she relieved herself for the final time. "Good girl, Mara. Do you feel much more clean now?" Tamara slowly nodded, still staring forward in her recovery from the enema ordeal. "Yes, Milady Rosemary," She quietly answered. "Most women do this every morning," Rosemary noted, producing a hairbrush, which she ran through Tamara?s hair as she spoke. "Outside of here, however, I will let you be the judge. With repetition, the process becomes less painful. For the time you are with me, however, I will expect you to hold to this regimen, Mara, and I should like for you to remain with me until my new house looks presentable for guests." As Rosemary continued to run the thick-bristled brush through her now long and golden hair, a thought occurred to her. "I...have an appointment to keep with a friend, Milady Rosemary. On Thursday." "Oh, I imagine you should be completed by then," Rosemary assured. "There?s not as much work as you might think needs to be done around this place, but aside from the grace of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I will expect you to attend to your duties just like any other maid, Mara. Remember, though..." Tamara felt one of Rosemary?s legs rub enticingly up against one of Tamara?s upper thighs. "...the rewards will be well worth earning." The noblewoman once again instructed Tamara to stare forward as Rosemary began to manipulate the former boy?s renewed head of long, silky hair, arranging it into a pretty bun. "So..." Rosemary began as she continued to work on Tamara?s hair. "...I understand you and Rita Noble have a bit of a history." Tamara?s eyes widened a bit, suddenly feeling very wary. "Yes, Milady Rosemary." "Apparently, she was the reason you were changed," Rosemary continued. "You used to be a...Tommy?" "Timothy, Milady Rosemary." "Ahh, Timothy," Once the noblewoman completed her work on Tamara?s hair by applying the finishing touch in the form of a white bow, she stepped in front of the naked, plus-sized woman. "Did you ever find out why?" "Revenge," Tamara calmly replied. "Ah-HAH," Rosemary mused. "Naughty boy, eh?" "Against my father," The former boy then added. "But...he had died, so she went after me instead. I had moved here with my mother because she wanted to start a new life in a new town. They wanted my mom, but...well, I guess they had to do something with me." "I never figured that Rita would have an interest in plus-sized women," Rosemary thoughtfully observed as she guided Tamara out of the bathroom and into the hallway of her new home. "Unless that was part of the revenge?" Tamara shook her head. "That was Maggie Katzhoff?s idea." Rosemary frowned in confusion for a moment before realizing who this was. "Maggi...oh, yes. The rebellious hellraiser. The one who pulled you away from the Halloween party with her. Is she...an Aunt?" "She?s my friend, Milady Rosemary," Tamara replied. "She always will be." Rosemary giggled amusedly at this as she stepped in closer to the plus-sized woman. "Well...if a dangerous woman like her is your friend..." The noblewoman then pressed her lips, passionately, against Tamara?s, lingering the kiss for a moment before pulling away. "...I?d hate to be your enemy, Mara dear. But seeing as how neither Maggie, nor your boss, are around for the moment, you belong to me until the work that needs to be done on this house is completed. You would not want me to inform Rita that you are here, would you?" Tamara swallowed hard, looking a bit nervous now. "No, Milady Rosemary." Still deviously smiling, Rosemary guided the nervous former boy over to a mirror so she could look at what was done to her hair. Tamara?s eyes widened when she saw how wonderfully precious she looked. Her much better-looking hair now had the appearance of a ballerina, and she looked...and felt...very clean. Every time Tamara breathed in, she could catch the scent of her sweet-smelling body. The noblewoman wrapped her arms around Tamara from behind her. "You look wonderful, maid Mara. You?ll look even better when you go into your room and slip into your maid outfit. Bear in mind that the outfit is...Victorian in nature, because that?s the way I prefer my maids to look." Rosemary then guided her guest to another room, which had a dresser, a very comfy-looking bed, a vanity table with a mirror, and a single closet. A window near the bed permitted a view of the outside, and upon the bed were the black and white pieces of what had to be the maid outfit the noblewoman mentioned. Rosemary took a moment to explain the pieces and how to put them on, after which her devious smile returned. "I have a feeling you?ll never want to leave here after your first day, maid Mara. I have a really good feeling about you. Now...go on and attire yourself. The closet is full of similar outfits, all of them clean and ready to go. I will expect you to clean the outfits you use, of course." "Yes, Milady Rosemary," she added a curtsey to this, to which the noblewoman nodded in approval. "When you are dressed and ready, you will come right to me, and I will give you your first duties of the day," With this, Rosemary stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Tamara alone to begin applying the dress pieces of the outfit, beginning with the stiff-looking, red-laced black suede boots. She next lifted the burgundy-laced black velvet dress, and buttoned it up. The red-striped white apron was next, which draped all the way down to her ankles and wrapped around her velvet-covered shoulders. Tying a bow in place in the back of the apron, the woman Tamara entered as seemed to recede into her subconscious as she looked at herself. This was no longer Larry Hanel?s buxom young secretary staring back at her. This more precious-looking creature was Mara, the Lady Rosemary?s newest maid. * * * Maggie expected him to attempt a strike as she smiled, defiantly, at the bald, scarred ex-black ops commando. She was ready to match him once again, blow for blow. Instead, Xavier walked past Jemima?s raven-haired, well-toned visitor and stepped over to examine Jemima, whose puzzlement was clearly evident. Maggie had to giggle at this. "I didn?t hit her, dummy, if that?s what you?re wondering." Xavier snapped his head over to Maggie. "Shut it," he angrily growled. Maggie just grinned as Jemima?s bald boyfriend started to examine the effeminate boy, who just sighed in irritation. "I kissed her, but I didn?t hit her!" Maggie then mused aloud. Once again, Xavier snapped his head angrily towards Maggie, only this time, his eyes boggled with rage. "Xavier, STOP IT!" Jemima yelled, stepping in front of him to face Maggie. "You too, Maggie. Either of you lay so much as a finger on each other, I-I?m...I?m going back to mom!" He then turned back to Xavier. "And don?t bother checking for bruises, because she?s right. She didn?t hit me! At all! In fact, she helped me!" "Did she kiss you??" Xavier asked, still alarmed over Maggie?s claim. Jemima hanging his head shamefully, sighing helplessly, was all the answer Xavier needed. He stormed back over to Maggie, flashing his teeth in anger as the raven-haired woman stared back at him with a defiant smile. He got right in her face as he fumed. "You bitch," He growled hatefully. "You goddamn bitch!" "Proud of it, cueball," Maggie amusedly replied. "Xavier, this is your last warning!" Jemima tried to sound as stern as he could as he glared at the bald Nightshifters man. "No fighting!!" "Si! Si! No fight! You no fight!" The italian servicewoman was back. "You make-a mess, you pay!" "Ah! Domestica. Bene!" Maggie stepped over to the woman, switching to italian. "See that man there?" She pointed to Xavier. "HE will be the one to cause all the damage, because he never thinks before he acts!" Maggie then circled around one of her ears with an index finger as she continued speaking to the servicewoman. "He is not quite right in the head!" Frowning, the woman nodded in agreement. "I know the type." "We were just about to step outside to settle our differences," Maggie assured. "I don?t want anything to happen to this fine establishment, but if he wants to start a fight right here, you charge him for the damage. With interest!" Maggie then slipped the servicewoman the euro equivalent of a 20 dollar bill. "Let me handle this, though. We can?t be disturbed. It?s...kind of a private matter." The woman nodded, switching back to her accented english. "Bene." She then turned to Xavier, frowning. "You no break-a nothing!" Her eyes then narrowed. "Or I make-a you...sleep-a with de fishes. Capiche?" The round-bodied servicewoman then stepped away. Xavier?s eyes narrowed. Surprisingly, he switched to the italian language. "I?ve been all over the world, Katzhoff. I understood every word you said to that woman." Maggie just shrugged, smiling. "Bello." She switched to english. "So what?s it gonna be? You gonna kiss me or kill me, baldy? If you?re trying for the latter, it should be obvious to you by now that your tough-guy glares don?t mean shit to me at all." Jemima spoke warily, through gritted teeth. "Maggie...!" But Maggie ignored Jemima?s warning, keeping her amused gaze on Xavier?s angry eyes. "Sure you want to waste your time, and your money, on a lose-lose scenario, jarhead? You hurt me, you lose Jemmy- jems over there. You get lost, and the only thing that?s getting hurt is your testosterone-fueled pride. If you gave me the best of you last time, then you?ll just have to accept that I can take anything...anything at all...that you can dish out with your bare hands and feet. I?ll give you that you?re good, but you?re not as good as me. I?ll come away with a few bruises, and you?ll be sent back to intensive care. You wanna prove me wrong? Step the fuck outside, but you can kiss lover she-boy over there...mwah!...arrivederci, no matter what happens." Xavier was clearly boiling up inside from the rising fury in his face, but he glanced to Jemima, and it seemed that he, too, was waiting for a response. Jemima looked...and sounded...very serious about what he had said about abandoning Xavier if a fight broke out. To Jemima?s surprise, Xavier walked away in a huff, still visibly stewing as he turned away and stalked down the hotel hallway. Maggie amusedly waved to him as he left. Maintaining her smile, Maggie turned her head to Jemima, who heaved a sigh of relief. "Just makes you wanna punch ol? Julie-Boolie for putting you through all this, eh?" "Psssh...I wish," Jemima thoughtfully replied. "I should never have taken that damned Teaboy job." "Oh, they would have gotten to you in some other way," Maggie mused as she closed the door to the hotel room. "That?s just how the Sisterhood works. People like you are their puppets, and they?re the ones that pull the strings." Jemima went quiet. He didn?t quite know how to respond to this admission. Maggie definitely sounded serious. Maggie now looked surprised. "Oh, for fuck?s sake...I figured YOU, of all people, being the secretary of the Mayoress herself, would kn...? Oh wow. You really do need the full skinny, don?t you?" The raven- haired hellraiser settled her butt on the nearby bed, and then patted the space next to her. "Come on. Time for a sit-down. You?re badly in need of a ?mind-blown? moment." Jemima was initially hesitant, but his relent was clear as he approached the space Maggie indicated and settled his own fleshy butt down upon it. "Okay...from what I know about you, you have a friend, right? Gaming buddy?" Jemima nodded. "Neale. Neale Cozens." "But you?re not gaming anymore, right?" Maggie noted. "Now what is the last thing you remember doing before things began to change for you? How long did you know Xavier?" The effeminate boy frowned a bit as he tried to remember. "I was...well...yeah. Mayoress Stroud gave me a job as a Teaboy. She told me she was restructuring the apprenticeship program, and...I apparently didn?t fit the qualifications." Maggie nodded, confirming the information on the file she had an electronic copy of. "And you knew nothing at all about your hair- deficient ex-commando boyfriend back then, right?" "Right...wait a minute," After a moment, Jemima?s eyes widened considerably. "Oh shit. Oh no, nonononononononono...fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuck!" Maggie nodded amusedly. "Go on, say it. I already know." "Julia put ss..something..." Jemima went pale. "...in my coffee...or that girl Iris did...it tasted different. I remember that much..." The effeminate boy now hung his head down distressfully. "....ohhhh, goddeeeesssssss..." "Mmm-hmm! And you?ve been drinking the Kool-Aid ever since!" Maggie added. "Jem...what you need to understand about the Sisterhood is that they have nearly every corner of prominence, or areas with some kind of importance, is as owned as owned gets by those Divine Feminine bitches. They?re the supreme shadow players. They run the whole darn show here in Bullchester, which used to be a very masochistic kind of city. The figureheads behind the shadow players...and yes, Julia Stroud is among them...have not only modern science, but modern technology at their fingertips. Anyone who knew the truth would be no different from, uh...from that guy in that old movie who tried too late to warn everyone that Soylent Green?s primary ingredient is a dead human being." "What...what about...Xavier?" "Pawn. Just like you," Maggie calmly replied. Jemima turned her head forward, still finding this difficult to comprehend. "But...well, I can sorta understand how a cup of coffee could mess with my genes, but...how could that get me infatuated with..." "Speakers," Maggie interjected. "Small enough to hide in a bed frame, or even a plush toy. They play music that sounds tranquil enough to put you to sleep, and then the subliminal voices follow, and feed your subconscious mind the instructions you need to do exactly what the Sisterhood wants you to do." "But...why??" Jemima whined. "I mean...why me??" "Might have had something to do with your being a tenant in an apartment building the Sisterhood wanted to get its hands on, she- boy," Maggie answered. "They needed the proverbial foot in the door. You just happened to be a terribly convenient foot." "And...Neale?" "Heh...probably a limp-wristed fairy by now," Maggie responded. "You?re in a better place compared to him, Jem-bo. Trust me." "Him and Paula. My ex," The former boy noted. "She?s just a bubble- headed ditz by now." "While you still have a brain," Maggie added, nodding. "I guess you can say it?s a karmic thing. The Sisterhood wants men who fall under their feminizing spell to believe that it?s a gift from the ?goddess? they worship through their fake religious practices, but that?s all smoke and mirrors." "So...this Sisterhood is, like, declaring war on all men?" Jemima surmised. "Pretty much, yeah," Maggie confirmed. "They want those aspects of the world misogynistic men believe they?ve conquered, and everything in it. Used to be an ambitious little microcosm called Cresswell Industries, but now it?s everything around that nucleus. Bullchester has pretty much become the nucleus, since the percentage of misogynistic men in the city has substantially dropped compared to the way it was months ago, before Cresswell decided to branch out and expand." "And where do you fit into all of this?" Maggie couldn?t resist the urge to giggle before answering. "I?m the proverbial fly in the ointment, kiddo. The hemlock in the Sisterhood?s wine. A ?p?, to the ?i?, to the ?t?, and the ?a?." Jemima nodded. "The devil of Bullchester." "Si! That?s me!" Maggie grinned with pride. "Although I should remind you that I don?t mind seeing misogynistic men become feminized semblances of what they used to be, I take sympathy on people like you and Tamara. You don?t deserve to get mixed up in this pro-fem bullshit the Sisterhood is pushing. Just upsets the delicate balance. Macho men, so to speak, just need to be taught a lesson. They need to accept a little...humility, y? know? Stop thinking they own the world. Stop taking pride in thinking women naturally drop to their knees in front of them. You weren?t like that before you were changed, were you?" Jemima shook his head. "And that, my dear, is why I am trying to sharpen your edges here," Maggie noted. "You don?t want to be a puppet for the rest of your life, do you? Have your life pre-programmed by someone else, like a fucking robot?" As Maggie spoke, affectionate thoughts of Xavier began to re-assert. Times in which they shared a bed together. All those dreams of being held in his strong, warm arms, smelling his manly essence, engaging in passionate sex...he refused to believe that he could be any kind of a pawn. Not her beloved X-factor. "No...nonononono, stop, stop, stoop..." Jemima brought his delicate hands to his head in his despair. "...you?re full of shit, you?ve got to be. Yeah...you?re programming me...Xavier told me not to trust you and he was...hey! Get your hand off my arm! Where the fuck are you taking me??" Maggie was easily able to get the conditioned boy out into the hallway, and she began dragging him over to a room six doors down from her own. Halfway there, Maggie grabbed Jemima?s arms and glared at him as she quietly spoke. "You want the truth? Buckle up, zombie girl, because what you?re about to listen in on is gonna scar your ass for life. Now keep your mouth shut and do exactly what I tell you, or I?ll rip that little Tootsie Roll between your legs off of you with my bare hands!" When they reached the door to the room, Maggie pulled the still- pouting Jemima over to the room next to the one behind which the both of them could hear Xavier?s voice murmuring within. Although a female voice was also murmuring as well, which immediately piqued Jemima?s curiosity the moment he heard it. The room they both entered looked like an untouched room that had not been rented, although there was a black plastic case on the double-bed which Maggie opened as she quietly spoke. "When I knocked out Xavier prior to our first meeting, I stuck him with a tracer, which can also pick up sounds. Whatever he says, whatever he hears, I can pick up on using this." She gestured to what was inside the case, which looked like a high-tech listening device. Maggie plugged in a set of headphones, and held them out for Jemima to take. "Seeing as how he?s still talking, you might as well listen in, but remember...keep your mouth shut." Still wary, but at the same time, still aghast as to the very notion of Xavier spending any length of time with another woman, slipped the headphones on and quietly began his eavesdrop. * * * "Damned if I know about her," The female voice sounded as clear as if she were in the same room with Jemima and Maggie. "All I heard was that she was causing trouble. Oh...and that she kicked your ass." "Don?t remind me, Princess," This was definitely Xavier?s voice. "She?s tough, but if that fight had gone on a little longer, I would have found a way to permanently drop her." The woman called Princess giggled at this. "Whatever you say," A moment?s pause, and then her voice spoke again. "All I care about right now...is us," Another pause. "Whether you like it or not." Goddess... Jemima thought to herself. ...can?t you FIGHT this?? You?re MY man, Xavier! The sounds of lips smooching seemed to answer Jemima?s thoughts as his sense of despair deepened. He continued to listen, however. "Question is..." Princess then remarked. "...who do you truly care about? I know you told me before, but...tell me again," More kissing sounds. "Who would you truly die for? Hmm?" A long moment of silence passed. Time seemed to freeze in that moment for Jemima as he awaited Xavier?s answer. "It?s you, Princess," Xavier?s voice sounded way too tender, and genuine, to be conflicted. "I?d die for you. Always you." "And...Jemima?" Princess challenged. "He?s just a job," Xavier?s voice replied. "Nothing more." * * * Jemima?s heart sank, but his inner rage rose significantly at the same time. Once the effeminate young man had angrily removed the headphones, however, Maggie grabbed him before he could race over to the next-door room. "Let me..." was all that Jemima could growl before Maggie had pressed the palm of her hand over the effeminate young man?s lips. "Shhh," Maggie quietly remarked. "Let?s do this my way. We do it your way, you and your mom pay for the damage you do to the door." The raven-haired hellraiser then produced a white card with a single brown strip running near the lower edge of one side of the card, and slipped it into the slot. Pulling it out, a small red light by the card reader died, and the green light next to it came to life, accompanied by the sound of an electronic lock disengaging. When Maggie pulled the door lever down and pushed it open, she and Jemima quite literally caught the bald ex-commando with his pants down, and sharing a bed with the slim, red-haired young she-male called Princess. "Just a job??" Jemima yelled as he stormed into the room. "JUST A FUCKING JOB??" The redhead?s initial reaction was naturally one of shock as her eyes fell on Jemima, after which she frowned as the she-male?s head turned back to Xavier. "You gave her a key??" The wide-eyed Xavier looked totally mystified. "No! I..." His head then turned to look back to the glaring Jemima, and he also spotted the grinning Mary Margaret Katzhoff waving amusedly to him. In her other hand was what looked like a white keycard. "Oh for fuck?s sake..." Xavier?s expression turned into a frown as he glared at Maggie. "...you bitch!!" "Time to face the music, cueball!" Maggie called out. The naked forms of both Xavier and Princess slipped off of the bed. The bald, scarred man was quick to confront Jemima, who despite the fury in his face was on the verge of tears. "Peaches, look..." "Don?t you dare give me that ?Peaches? shit!!" The effeminate young man angrily shouted. "We shared a bed together!! How could you do this to me, you...you two-timing asshole??" He then turned to Princess. "And you...I don?t care what kind of history you both might have had before he met me. He?s mine now. You stay away from my man!" Princess initially answered with a smirk. The she-male then shoved Jemima to the ground. "Fat chance, junior." Xavier fixed another hard and hateful glare upon Maggie, who just winked merrily at him in response. "Xavier...please," Jemima whined as he rose back up from the ground. "Tell this tramp you love me!" Maggie?s eyes were on Princess, who had gone to the room?s dresser to apparently produce an item which she clearly hid within her fist as she confidently turned back around to face Maggie. "You?re the only one in the room who swears by that lie, kid," Princess calmly noted as she sauntered over to the raven-haired spectator, and then turned to face Jemima. "Even your friend behind me knows who he truly loves." With that, Princess, who had been miming a bit of hair-primping, then misted what she had in her hand...a small bottle of perfume spray...over her shoulder towards Maggie, who only blinked once in reaction to the chemical concoction. Maggie suspected that this was what Princess had in her hand, and it didn?t bother her for the fact that she knew she was completely immune to this sneaky Sisterhood tactic. Yet, Princess smiled with satisfaction as she turned to Maggie. "Go on, dear. Tell your teaboy friend that what I just said is obviously true, and then take him out of our room." "Uhhhh..." Obviously, Maggie was feigning the drug?s effects. "...what did you just say?" Princess smirked. "I said..." "Oh, I remember now!" The now-grinning Maggie suddenly interjected, tightly grabbing the shocked redhead by the neck with one hand, and grabbing the diminished cocklette between the she-male?s legs with her other hand. "You wanted me to rip your dick off!" "NO!! Dammit, Maggie!" Xavier screamed, his eyes wide as saucers. "Let her go!! I?m warning you..." "Oh, you?re warning me??" Maggie began pulling, painfully, at Princess?s crotch, causing her to groan in agony. Keeping her hands where they were, she then repositioned Princess so that they both faced Xavier and Jemima. "Nooo, no no...you have to beg me, leatherneck. It?s the only way you?re gonna keep me from tearing this little bugger right off." Xavier took an angry step towards Maggie, but his path was deliberately blocked by Jemima, who stubbornly stood his ground as he continued to glare at the ex-commando. "You say the word, I begin pulling, Jemmy-jems!" Maggie amusedly reminded, continuing to hold Princess in a tight grip. "You really do care more for her than you do for me, don?t you, Xavier??" Jemima looked astonished now. "I really was just a fucking job to you! You think I appreciate being used like that??" Xavier struggled to find the kind of words that would disarm the situation, but any words he could have used would make no difference at all. All he could do was stare at Jemima in stunned silence. "You cheating bastard," Jemima angrily remarked after waiting for over a minute to hear a response from Xavier. "We are done. We are fucking through. I should vomit the sperm you put in me back in your goddamn face, you piece of shit...and don?t you ever call me ?Peaches? again!!" As Jemima spoke, Maggie tightened her grip around the redhead?s throat, cutting off oxygen to the point where Princess easily slipped into unconsciousness. Once Jemima was done speaking, he rushed out of the room, still trying to keep from crying outright. "Here, hold this," Maggie shoved the red-headed she-male?s naked and unconscious body towards Xavier as he shifted his attention back to the raven-haired hellraiser. Momentarily distracted, the scarred soldier?s face was exposed to a quick blow from Maggie?s right fist. The hard shot impacted Xavier?s temple, and he dropped down to the ground, just as unconscious as Princess was. As much as she wanted to follow Jemima, she knew he wasn?t the real reason why she was sent out to Venice. Her true target was Xavier, and now that he was out cold, it was just a matter of restraining him. Then she could have Special Agent Marion Briggs send in Xavier?s one- way trip back to where the blond woman called Grace awaited his return to Bullchester. First, however, she lifted up Princess and deposited the unconscious she-male onto the bed of the hotel room. Carrying Xavier back to her room, Maggie produced a spool of thin but sturdy plastic cord from her bag and wrapped one wrist and one ankle together behind him. He did the same with the naked ex-commando?s other two unbound limbs. The finishing touch was a thick piece of duct tape, which Maggie firmly pressed over Xavier?s mouth. With her quarry ready for transport, the raven-haired hellraiser put the call through to Agent Briggs. An hour later, two individuals...one of them Briggs herself...arrived at Maggie?s room to carefully extract Xavier. Briggs smiled to Maggie as they lifted him and began making their exit. "Need I ask how you managed to drop an ex-commando?" Maggie shrugged, smiling back. "Hell hath no fury like a secretary spurned."