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Repurposing. by Writer345© If you are looking for a story the drips raw, pointless sex and violence from every paragraph please go and read something else. Alternatively just watch 'Game of Thrones'! The story is set in the UK and is written in British English by an insane author who suffers from dyslexia. Spelling and grammar may therefore differ from that of whatever dialect you happened to have been educate in or indeed from reality. Although the story is original it was influenced by the works of other writers including Betsy Leohtar, Tabico, Trilby Else, Zorkmeister and several others. I have tried to avoid plagiarism but most of the ideas behind the story are second-hand. * * * 1. Reviewing the Evidence. Seated behind her desk in front of the compulsory computer screen, the blonde woman looked like any other busy twenty-first century female executive working in her office. At the moment she was ignoring the computer and concentrating on the sheets of paper piled up on the desk in front of her. She was in her early thirties a blonde with a not unattractive face although her jaw was too heavy and square for her to be accused of being beautiful by anyone not trying to flatter her. The computer screen, with its large County Constabulary badge gave some indication of what she was but not who she is. She reached for her mug and took a swig of the cold coffee in the bottom. She winced. God, that's awful. As a Copper, Jessica seemed to live on cold coffee or cold, stewed tea. She banged the mug down and realised that something was wrong, very wrong. Detective-Inspector Jessica Deacon, for that is who she is, closed her eyes as tightly as she could and pinched the bridge of her nose. There was a migraine coming on, she could feel it welling up from the pit of her stomach. Now if she could only hold it back for a short time she could finish reviewing the evidence and could then she could knock-off with a clear conscience. It was an interesting job and an unusual one: a mystery concerning the disappearance of a group of four teenaged lads. Normally it was girls who vanished, which made this case unusual. Okay, teens had a habit of running away and this was the initial suspicion, however certain things did not quite add up and this had raised suspicions that the disappearance may well have been assisted. It was unlikely to be gang-related as there was no real street gang problem in the area unlike London or Manchester so this had been largely ruled out as a possible cause. No, it was a weird one - four lads on a Friday night out: the lads had been picked up by the taxi that they had booked to take them down town to celebrate a birthday. The only thing was that the taxi that had collected them hadn't been the one that they had booked... The real one turned up five minutes later. Jessica glanced at the lads' photos again, two white, one Asian, one Indian and all immature-looking and lightly built. She read a couple more paragraphs but it was no good as little gold, purple and blue lights were dancing between her eyes and the pages of the statement that she was trying to read. She dropped the page on top of the open folder and sat back in her chair which creaked and moved in protest. The chair, like most other things in the office, had seen better days - lots of them. Then the pain started. Thrum! Thrum!! Thrum!!! Thrum!!!! A constant hammering , throbbing pain that mimicked her heartbeat. Thrum! Thrum!! Thrum!!! Thrum!!!! "Ohk!" Jessica let out a little involuntary groan and tried to squeeze her eyes shut even harder. She clamped a hand over them and felt tears begin to stream - it really was a bad one. "You okay, Ma'am?" It was a woman's voice. Jessica opened her eyes and looked vaguely in the direction from which the voice had come. There was a woman standing in the doorway silhouetted against the dazzling light that spilled in from the corridor, she seemed to be dressed in navy blue, no surprise in a nick, but her face was nothing but a pink blur. Migraine! Another blast of pain thumped into her skull and seemed to ricochet around. "Can hardly see you." Ghost-like, the dark blue shape with the blurred face glided into her office and moved towards her. "You look done-in, Ma'am, if I may say so." The Inspector winced. The voice was familiar but recognition wouldn't come. Jessica's voice was laboured, her words forcing their way through the pain as she asked, "Who're you?" The woman's voice was heavy with concern. "Andrews, Ma'am, Police Constable Rebecca Andrews. I'll run you home, if you like." "I'm okay, Andrews, it'll wear off soon." She winced again as further stabs of pain lanced through her brain. Andrews was leaning over her, the Inspector could smell the clean scent of the soap that she used. "It's okay Ma'am," she chided, "I know what it's like, I get 'em myself." She placed something on the desk in front of Jessica. The Inspector frowned and tried to focus on it... It looked like a glass or something. Gently Andrews grasped her right hand and pressed a couple of tablets into it. Then, her voice forceful but gentle as she explained. "Here, try these, they're good, they work for me." "Who're you?" Deacon asked, her voice slurred. "I'm new, I work for you, remember? I made you a coffee earlier." Jessica nodded painfully as she gripped the tablets convulsively. "Andrews, ah yes, pretty brunette, just transferred into the nick." - 'Nick' being Copper-speak for Police Station or Prison or 'To make an Arrest' or 'To steal something'. Police slang is confusing isn't it? Somewhere behind her, PC Andrews smiled. "Take your tablets, Ma'am, they'll make you feel much better." Her voice became gentle but persuasive: it was a voice that seemed to say, trust me, rely on me. The Inspector nodded and on the second attempt managed to get the pills into her mouth. She was grateful when Andrews guided her hand to the beaker of water and helped her lift it to her mouth. She swallowed, once, twice, three times. The water was cold and flat- tasting, but then nothing tasted right with a migraine. Jessica's head spun and she began to feel sick. Oh, this was a bad one, the pain stabbed and hammered for a couple more minutes before beginning to fade. It didn't get any better, but it didn't seem to matter any more, either. Gently, Andrews pushed the Inspector back into her chair and made sure that she didn't slip sideways onto the floor before collecting up the papers that lay on the desk in front of her. "What 'oo doin'?" Inspector Deacon asked in almost a little girl voice. "Hush, now, my darling. We need to put these safe, don't we? They're statements of evidence: I'll help you keep them safe." The papers all vanished into a manilla wallet, Andrews didn't bother sorting them but just pushed them in, willy-nilly. She turned her attention to Jessica's computer. "What's your password?" "Juliet-Bravo_96." The woman answered without meaning too, but she could trust Andrews... Andrews was a copper... Andrews was one of her team. The Constable smiled sadly as she pushed a memory stick into one of the USB ports at the side of Deacon's lap-top then quickly logged into Jessica's account and used it to gain access to the police network before working away steadily for several minutes. She deleted most of what she came across with the shredder-routine that was on the thumb drive but also moved a couple of the files from the computer onto it. "Don' do that!" the Inspector ordered, her voice was more slurred than ever: speech, like thought was becoming difficult. The migraine had faded and dissolved into a rhythmic drumming that sounded a bit like garage music - nice! Andrews logged off, collected the stick then picked up the folder and laptop dropping everything into a carrier bag before commanding, "Come on. Ma'am, time to go home: stand up and get your coat." She helped the older woman into the jacket and then picked Deacon's radio up off her desk and informed control as to what was happening and logged them both off duty. Finally she half supported, half steered the Inspector out through the door and into the corridor. They only got a dozen yards before a uniformed police sergeant stepped out of an office and blocked their way. He stared at then both. "You okay, Jess?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern. "She's got a pretty bad migraine and has asked me to run her home," Andrews informed him. His gaze moved from her to the Inspector and then back again. "Yes, well..." he said, his voice uncertain. "She's hardly fit to drive herself, Sarg, an' I'll hurry back after and make the time up at the end of my shift." The young woman sounded determined. "Okay, don't worry about coming back, just take your time: make sure she's okay. She tends to over-do it and gets these things regularly." he said as he stepped to one side and watched the young PC help the Inspector down the corridor. He never saw either of them again. 2. Meeting Trainer. Jessica Deacon was confused: she was warm and comfortable lying there on the padded bench in the dimly lit room but she had no idea as to how she had got there, or even where 'there' actually was. She rolled onto her side before opening her eyes hesitantly: someone had considerately covered her with a blanket. At first she had thought that she was in bed, or at least on top of her bed; but no, this wasn't her bedroom. Then she had thought that she must be lying on the couch in her front room but that wasn't possible her front room was bigger than this... This cupboard! Confusion hit her, confusion and panic. Where was she? The room was only about the same length as the bench that she was reclining on - say six feet long. It was also about twice the width which made it something like four feet wide. She frowned. Had they put her in a cell? Well it certainly looked like one, except that it was dimly lit. Oh the walls were lined with white tiles and the floor was covered in pale grey lino: it certainly looked like a cell and she'd seen hundreds over the years. She sat up causing the blanket fall away revealing that she was still wearing the same no-nonsense dark green blouse that she'd put on this morning. Except... Well the blouse seemed to be freshly laundered and ironed yet she remembered that she'd worn it all day... Jessica looked around, yes it certainly looked like a cell, but no custody sergeant would turn the lighting down to this level because prisoners were daft enough to get up to all sorts of silly things if they thought that no one could see them. She swung her legs around so that she was sitting on the edge of the bench. She looked around again, there was a door by the side of the raised bed head, a door without a handle or a lock. Jessica stood to examine it and realised that the lino was cold against her bare feet. She grimaced: who ever had put her in here had removed her shoes and stockings. The door proved to be little more than an outline of one with no catch or mechanism or at least, no catch or mechanism on this side. There wasn't even a fisheye lens let alone an observation window. Her mind raced: who ever had put her in here didn't care what she did because there was precisely nothing that she could do. "Where am I?" She demanded, not expecting an answer. However, to her surprise, she received one. "You are in holding room four." It was a woman's voice, calm, accentless and patient. It was a voice that she thought that she recognized. "Andrews? Is that you?" She asked, sounding as bemused as she felt. "What the fuck's going on?" The door clicked and then slid slowly open. Jessica stood her ground and stared into the blackness of the corridor, she could make out the opposite wall in the light that shone out of her cell, but little else other than that it was white-tiled also. "Please leave the room." The voice instructed. "Not until you tell me what's going on, Andrews." She was ninety-nine per cent sure that she recognised the voice. Things happened rapidly by way of a reply. The bench folded up with a 'clunk' and slid back into the wall taking the blanket with it. Detective-Inspector Jessica Deacon still didn't move. "Andrews? Quit fucking about and talk to me!" She snapped. The walls started to move, first the bunk wall slid across turning the room into a two feet wide passage. Jessica folded her arms and stood there impassively, her face grim. "I'm waiting, Andrews. And I'm very patient, just ask anyone on my team!" She felt the movement a few seconds later as the floor vibrated once more, she frowned but stood her ground until the wall behind her bumped into her back, knocking her off balance and causing her to step out through the door which slid shut behind her. The corridor was dark. She exhaled explosively and then chuckled grimly for she hadn't realised that she had been holding her breath. Suddenly a light seemed to come on about a hundred feet away. She recognised it as another doorway. "Walk towards the light, Jessica," Andrews' voice had a friendly tone as it directed her actions, "being pushed a long by a wall is most undignified, isn't it?" Reluctantly she began to do as she was bidden, the unlit corridor was silent and seemed featureless although she thought that she could make out other doorways as she walked slowly past them. "Migraine better is it?" Andrews asked and sounded as if she cared. "Yes, thank you." Deacon said gruffly. "Sorry about that, it was a drug in the coffee that I made for you. It seemed to be the easiest way to get you safely out of the nick." The voice sounded genuinely sorry. "What's going on?" The Inspector demanded but received no answer until she stepped through the open door and into the new room which made her gasp. She stepped back in shock but found that the door had slid closed behind her. She looked around and gasped. "What? No! This can't be happening." The room was a large one: forty feet by twenty and completely open plan. The walls were lined with the same white tiles as everywhere else that she had seen in the building: and yes, she realised, it had got to be a building even though there were no windows. There where details: furniture, fittings, equipment but they scarcely had time to register before she noticed the room's other occupants. There were five of them. Four teenaged boys and a thirty-something Japanese-looking woman. The woman turned towards her and purred. "Ah, good, you have deigned to join us, have you Jessica?" Deacon strode over to her. "What the Hell's going on?" She thundered. "I'm a copper and you're in so much trouble over this. You and Andrews." The Japanese woman stood her ground impassively and then nodded. Suddenly Jessica was trying to get both feet off the ground simultaneously as electric shocks tore into them. She screamed and so did the boys as they received the same jolt. The Japanese woman was clearly unaffected. "I am Trainer and you will address me as Madam or Ma'am at all times." She looked pointedly at Jessica. "Do you understand?" "Yes." She said nodding before screaming again as another electric shock tore into her feet causing her to shriek once more before gabbling. "Yes, Madam!" "Good!" Purred the Japanese woman as she smiled at Deacon. "Please take your place at the end of the line." Jessica saw that she was indicating towards the four boys and moved over to stand next to them. She thought that she recognised them, but remained silent, mainly because the conclusion seemed so unlikely. Trainer walked over and positioned herself in front of the ragged line-up. "As you will have realised, there are metal strips embedded in the floor which can deliver an unpleasant electric shock. This is merely a training aid and will not be used to torture you or even to hurt you unnecessarily although a mistake committed by one always results in all being punished - you will remember that!" Jessica took a good look at the woman who seemed to be about the same age as she was but there the similarity ended. Trainer was slightly built and only about five foot two tall. She was dressed totally in black: shiny black thigh boots, complete with four-inch heels; black skin-tight breeches that were equally shiny, a figure-hugging shiny black top with a roll-neck and shiny black gloves. Her glossy, waist- length black hair was pulled back from her face and secured in a pony tail by a black sparkly scrunchy. For some reason the term 'fetish clothing' sprang into the copper's mind. That isn't a top and beeches, it's a one piece garment. Her mind raced. What is it? Latex? Trainer leered when she saw that Jessica was looking at her. "Do you like what you see?" The Police woman was taken by surprise. "Uh? Madam?" Trainer chuckled throatily. "Don't worry, you will soon!" She walked along the line inspecting them all in turn, Jessica and the boys. "I am in charge of your training and re-orientation. This group is an experiment: we have previously trained only women and girls but you four were obtained to test whether males could be trained and modified to suit our purposes." The boys began to stir and mutter. "Silence!" snapped Trainer. "As this is your first day in training I am feeling generous but the next unseemly display will be punished. Do you understand?" "Yes, Madam." The boys mumbled listlessly. -but- "Yes, Ma'am," snapped Jessica, who had decided that 'playing along' was going to be a whole lot less painful than meaningless and futile dissent. There would be a time and a place for rebellion - this was not it. Trainer just couldn't seem to keep still as she paced backwards and forwards along the line, her boot heels clicking angrily as she did so. "Life as you know it is over: you are going to be repurposed in some way or other to serve superior women. The repurposing will be dependant upon what ever role you are required to fulfil together with the wishes and requirements of your future owner." 'Owner?' thought Jessica. She makes it sound like slavery. Click. Click. Click Click. Went the boot heels. "You, males," she made the word sound unclean, "were brought here for training but the supplier was sloppy and left a trail so blatantly obvious that even the local police were in danger of following it. Fear not! Steps have been taken to correct this error. Steps that have resulted in Detective Inspector Deacon being invited to join our little training group." Click. Click. Click. Click. The clicking stopped suddenly when Trainer paused in front of Jessica. "Say hallo to Inspector Deacon, boys, I know that she is happy to have found you!" The Japanese woman's voice acquired an amused tone. "She leads the police investigation into your disappearance... Or rather she did. That of course ended when it was decided that she should join you and undergo similar training and repurposing as yourselves." Click. Click. Click. Click. "Because Jessica is a female she is now your squad leader. You will obey her in all things or suffer the consequences. Do you understand?" Jessica remained silent while the boys mumbled in their confusion. The jolt of electricity provided by the floor served to unconfuse everyone and made the shout of, "Yes, Madam," sound almost sincere. Trainer smiled proudly. "You DO understand," she purred. "We've nearly finished for the day and it's almost time for tea, but before that there is just one small administrative matter to attend to. Please remove your clothes." No one moved, oh, they looked around with puzzled or frightened expressions but made no attempt to comply. The next jolt from the floor lasted a full five seconds and resulted in a mad rush to follow instructions as clothing was almost ripped off and flung onto the floor. "Bra and panties, too, Squad-Leader!" Then smiling again added, "There. That wasn't difficult, was it? Now, all of you, line up next to Jessica once more. "You, pretty-boy," she gestured to a slightly built lad with red hair and freckles, "gather these rags up and put them in the sacks by the door. The rest of you stand still while I number you." She produced a permanent black marker from somewhere and moved slowly down the line. Jessica was marked with a large figure '1' that Trainer drew just above her right breast, the lad next to her becoming '2' while the next was labelled with a '3'. This went on until she reached the red-headed boy who dodged back into line just as she got to him. "I like you! What is your name little man?" she asked, her voice sneering. "Sam Harper," he mumbled bashfully. "It isn't you know." Trainer chuckle as she drew a large daisy on his chest: a child's version of a daisy with a '5' in the centre. "From now on your name is 'Daisy'," she stated, laughing at the lad's obvious discomfort. And then it was time for tea... Naked and confused, Jessica lined up at the serving hatch in front of the lads and received a meal and a drink on a tray. She carried it over to the table and sat down at the head of it, clearly the boys' distrust and embarrassment were causing them to distance themselves from her. As she sat she noticed that all of the meals differed in menu and in quantity. Her portions seemed to be rather larger than the others. Trainer watched them eat but despite there being an empty chair, did not join them. The lads clearly hadn't eaten recently, so much was obvious by the speed that the food vanished. When the meal was over the Japanese woman gestured to Jessica who moved over to stand by her. "You will live with them, train with them, eat with them and sleep with them until the program is complete. Your very presence will serve to keep them off-balance and will humiliate them. Don't worry, Number One, you will be perfectly safe because they are being dosed with enough testosterone blocker to restrain a bull elephant: in effect they have been chemically castrated. From now on, the only thing that will get hard is their luck." She chuckled at her own joke before continuing. "That and the tranquillizers in their food... Not enough to make them lose interest but more than enough to prevent them from trying to do anything about it." Jessica listened but said nothing other than the simple and quiet statement: "I'll not help you to train them." Trainer laughed musically. "But my dear, you help just by being here: your presence embarrasses them, and when they discover that they cannot perform despite them living with a naked and attractive, older blonde woman they'll be so deeply humiliated that they'll cooperate, as will you." She slipped an arm around Jessica's waist causing the woman to shudder involuntarily. "Besides: considering that the alternative to your eager assistance is punishment: the floor has a nasty bite, remember? Refusing to help train them means that you will hurt them... Your choice, Number One, your choice." 3. First Interlude. There were six of them, five in uniform and all seated around the conference table in the Chief-Constable's office: six including the Chief herself. The mood of the meeting was, needless to say, sombre. "Okay, it's been a month since Detective Inspector Jessica Deacon was abducted," she said, her voice determined and business-like, "what do we know about the affair?" She turned towards one of the two Deputy Chief-Constables present. "David?" David Marchant sighed. "Well, Ma'am, perhaps I can begin by listing just what we don't know." A woman wearing the uniform of a Chief Superintendent looked up from the briefing paper that she had been speed-reading and, owl-like blinked behind her large spectacles before groaning theatrically. "Do you have a problem with that, Della?" The Chief-Constable asked icily. The Chief Super's head swivelled from side to side as she scanned the people present. "What? No, no." She shook her head which caused her mousey-brown hair, with it's pudding-basin style to flick outwards She paused. "Don't take any notice of me, Ma'am, it's fine; it's a good place to start." She paused again. "Except... Well... No, nothing..." The Chief Constable sighed, she was used to the Chief Superintendent and decided to cut her a little slack. "Spit it out, Della!" "Well except: it's more than a little negative isn't it?" the Chief Superintendent stated. DCC Marchant glared at her, it was obvious to those present that the two of them did not get on. He glance across at his boss for guidance. "Carry on, David," she instructed even though she secretly agreed with Della. Marchant, grey-haired and the oldest present, was not far off retirement. He had well over thirty years service and did not like being messed-about by women who always took each others' side.. Never-the-less, he nodded his thanks and continued. "Well for a start we don't know who abducted Jessica Deacon." The woman wearing civilian clothes seated next to the Chief-Constable looked up. "Abducted?" she asked sharply. "Surely you've no proof of that." David Marchant smiled grimly. He wasn't happy to get another interruption so soon after the first, but as its source was a senior Home Office civil servant he let it ride. "Oh yes, we're sure. PC Andrews made a mistake, she left a glass behind that contained traces of a rather powerful hypnotic drug." The female Chief-Superintendent made a noise that sounded like 'Harrump' which interrupted Marchant's narrative for a third time. Everyone else naturally turned towards Della who asked. "Made a mistake or left a little something to make us think that DI Deacon was a victim and not cooperating? Or there again didn't take it because she knew that she was bomb-proof." "Della," the Chief-Constable said patiently, "please leave the questions and comments until after David has finished, otherwise we'll never make any progress." "Ah," Della said brightly, "so we're still at the 'review' stage, are we?" "Review! That is after all the purpose of this meeting," the Chief- Constable stated, although more than a little exasperation was obvious in the tone of her voice. Della Fordice was a damned good copper but was better at leading than following; she'd go to right to the top if nobody strangled her first. Marchant continued. "We also have no idea as to who Rebecca Andrews actually is. She's not a copper in our force, or anybody else's for that matter as far as we can tell. No photo ID, no fingerprint record, nothing. She turned up at Disraeli Street Police Station two days before Deacon vanished, they had been notified that she was joining them and the transfer seemed genuine enough. In fact everything checked out with our computer records and it seemed to be just another routine transfer. Then this happened and she promptly vanished, not that she ever really existed in the first place. Whoever is behind everything not only had access to our computer system but they knew their way around it." "There!" Della interrupted triumphantly. "We do know something after all!" David Marchant ignored her and tried to continue. "She also knew enough to access our network from Jessica's computer and delete everything appertaining to Jessica Deacon herself, including her service record as well as everything that she was working on including the abduction job." The Home Office civil servant was the next one to interrupt, which she did smoothly. "Forgive me, but can't our computer experts recover deleted files as a matter of course?" "Deleted, yes! Shredded, No!" Marchant stated sombrely. "It seems that she used a shredding routine at least of the same standard as those employed by the security services. She also knew enough to delete all on-line back-ups and to take the hardcopies with her. Unfortunately Rebecca Andrews was very thorough." "What, are their no traces?" the Chief-Constable asked sounding shocked. Marchant sighed. "Well our internal CCTV system picked up several shots of Andrews' car both before and after she abducted Deacon, there's even a nice sequence of her helping the Inspector into it. There are a couple of problems, however, the first is that according to the DVLC computer, that car doesn't exist. And when Andrews drove away from the Nick she avoided every CCTV camera in the town, both public and private so we have no idea of where she was heading!" "Actually we have!" Della interjected. "Even a cursory check reveals that there are only two routes that were possible and both of them lead to the M40." There was shocked silence during which everyone stare at Della who just smiled and shrugged. This was then followed by a burst of chatter when everyone, except Della, seemed to be trying to speak at once while the latter sat back and observed the chaos. The Chief Constable waited for the disturbance to run its course before instructing a ruffled DCC Marchant to continue. He quickly regained his composure and returned to his pre-prepared spiel. "The second is that a review of our own CCTV records at Disraeli Street nick failed to yield a decent picture of Andrews' face: she seemed to instinctively avoid looking directly at any of the cameras," he said peevishly, almost as if he didn't think that the woman had been 'playing fair', "So," Della mused, "this wasn't a spur of the moment thing, was it? The whole sequence of events was carefully planned and orchestrated. It seems that DI Deacon was just as much a target as the abducted lads that her team were trying to find." Marchant gave her an icy glare which she ignored as she carried on with her interruption. "This just gets better and better. So many questions starting with: who would abduct a female Detective Inspector and what do they plan on doing with her now that they've got her?" The Chief made a spur of the moment decision, she had been going to give Marchant overall control of the investigation but today's fiasco of a meeting had caused her to change her mind. "Della, I'd like you to take this job on and find out what the hell is going on." "What?" The Chief Superintendent sounded horrified. "And risk getting snatched by a Rebecca Andrews all of my very own?" The Chief-Constable gave her a pleading look. "Della, I need you to take this one: you seem to be the only one of us that actually grasped what's happening." Fordice paused and looked thoughtful before sighing. "Yeh okay, Boss, I'll be glad too, just point me at 'em and let me go!" Dave Marchant reddened and groaned, he was on the point of objecting: he'd done the preliminary work, he was senior, he was a man so it should be him that ran the investigation. He looked across at the Chief Constable and thought better of it. What the hell, I retire in three months... If the bitch wants to take this one on, good luck to her. He thought bitterly. Sooner it's her that fails than me. The meeting broke up shortly afterwards with even the Chief-Constable having to admit that they seemed to know less now than she had previously hoped and Fordice really was the best person for the job. Della Fordice remained behind after the others had departed and to the Chief's surprise made demands. She would only lead the investigation if her team was kept to a maximum of four plus a bodyguard and that she could pick everyone of them personally. When the Chief Constable objected, Fordice became determined. "Look, Ma'am, this one is dangerous: they must have taken DI Deacon to derail the investigation and if they could do it once then they'll do it again. God knows what has happened to Jessica, but as sure as fuck it ain't happening to me! Either I pick my own team or you will have to give the job to Marchant, just like you originally intended and we both that know he's burned out and that he'd make a complete bollox of it!" The Chief Constable was on the point of issuing a reprimand when she hesitated. She had known that Fordice was a loose cannon when she had instructed her to attend the meeting. And a big part of being a leader was to have the ability to recognise when people are right. "Okay, Della, let me know who you want and what resources you need and I'll make sure that nobody interferes." 4. In Training. Jessica's first night as part of the training squad had been surreal. Never in her wildest imaginings had she ever thought that she would be forced to share a sleeping pad with four naked eighteen and nineteen year old males. Even Trainer's reassurance that they had been chemically castrated did not allay her fears completely. It was embarrassing as well as humiliating! But then, she realised, this was precisely what it was intended to be because it was the same for them also, or may be it was worse. She had thought of trying to spending the night sitting on one of the chairs over by the table but even a cursory glance at one revealed that the furniture too had a metallic mesh embedded in it. If she had refused to 'go to bed' when instructed she could imagine just what would happen. Instead, she compromised and lay down on the edge of the large sleeping mat. The lads didn't seem too keen on contact with her and shuffled away as soon as she lay down. There then followed a period of renewed movement as they didn't seem keen on contact with each other either and shuffled around trying to avoid each other. After Jessica had rolled onto her side and the lights had been dimmed she sensed that one of them had moved closer to her. "Not much room is there, Ma'am?" she heard him whisper. She grunted then said, "Try to get some sleep, I suspect things might get a bit rough tomorrow." "You really a copper?" he asked. Jessica's mouth ran away with her. "Yes and I'm going to get us all out of this... Just play along with them, they'll make a mistake sooner or later and we'll get out of here: either that or we'll all be rescued by my colleagues." She felt something rub against her arse, something wobbly, flexible and soft. "Stop it!" she snapped. "Sorry," came the crestfallen reply. The night seemed very long indeed. Next day, their training began in earnest. Jessica had spent a fitful night not quite asleep and not quite awake. The new day began with the lights slowly brightening. That and a great deal of confusion with Jessica wondering where the hell she was. Suddenly reality, or whatever it was that had replaced it, crashed in with a vengeance. Trainer... Training room... Teenage boys... Naked... Oh My God!!! There was a toilet sited in one corner of the room, a toilet without privacy screens. Did I use it yesterday? I must have done so why can't I remember? Jessica had no alternative but to empty her bladder in full view of the four young males, although to give them their due, they did look away, just as she did when it was their turn. Next to the toilet was a shower cubicle that was plenty big enough for the five of them and only worked when they were all inside it. Then, after they had dried themselves off on surprisingly good quality towels, breakfast was served which was a re-run of yesterday's meal and again the menus differed: two of the lads received nothing but yoghurt while the other two were given cornflakes. However all four looked enviously at the 'full-English' that Jessica was presented with. She tried to use the meal to carry out the job that she was paid for ? investigation: just because she was here against her will didn't mean that she'd stopped being a copper. The woman took a good look at the four of them; she'd been with them now for something like fifteen hours and they were beginning to accept her as their partner in misery. Therefore instead of just watching them eat, she tried to fill in a few of the many blanks in her knowledge. "So," she said looking towards the slight redhead that Trainer had christened 'Daisy', "you all vanished about a month ago: what happened to you between then and now?" 'Daisy', formerly known as 'Sam', frowned. "A month? No way!" The plump Asian-looking lad backed him up and sounded very sure of himself when he stated. "I don't think so, Jessica!" The woman looked at them all in turn: the other two were nodding their agreement. "Let's get this straight," she said quietly, "you hired a taxi to go clubbing because it was someone's birthday on the 14th of April?" "Yeh," the Asian lad confirmed, "it was mine, I'm Alan, by the way. We got into the taxi, and then, well, nothing. But that was definitely only a day or two ago!" Jessica sighed. "To you, may be. However I was kidnapped on 12th of May: so what has been happening to you all in the mean time?" The young men looked confused. "It's sort of hazy, a bit like a dream," 'Daisy' said. "It's only been a couple of days and nothing happened that I remember, it's just, well..." He hesitated. "It's just that those couple of days seem to have taken one hell of a long time: thinking back, nothing seems to have happened that's worth remembering but it seems to have just kept on happening.." "A bit like a long series of Sunday afternoons," the Indian lad added. "I'm Raj, I know its a bit formulaic as Indian names go but my parents sort of want me to become Britain's first Indian Prime Minister: the first one in Europe." Jessica chuckled. "Yes, well but haven't the Irish beaten you to it?" Her remark, however, was answered with four blank stares. "Leo Varadkar?" she prompted. "You know, the Prime Minister of the Irish Repblic? He's Indian isn't he?" She was rewarded by more blank expressions. "Don't you lot watch the news?" "Why bother?" the second white lad asked. "It's boring!" "How about Twitter?" "It doesn't have any music!" Ah, the snow-flake generation in all of its inane glory. Jessica thought bitterly. "Okay," she continued, trying to gain some semblance of control which is not easy when you are a butt-naked woman in the middle of a room full of equally naked boys, "whoever it is that's responsible has held you for a month and you've got no memory of it." "If you say so," Alan said although he didn't sound convinced. Suddenly he managed to think of something. "How do we know that you are not part of all this?" Jessica shrugged and then wished she hadn't as it caused her tits to jiggle. Still it captured their attention, such as it was. "Would I willingly put myself through this?" Once more, they all did the one thing that they were really good at ? they looked blank. Suddenly the door slid open and an ominous 'Click... Click... Click.. Click...' sounded across the room. As one, the five heads swivelled around to watch Trainer walking towards them, she was dressed exactly as she had been yesterday but with the addition of a black shoulder bag. "Good morning, playthings, please return your cups and plates to the hatch and then line up in number order." And with that, the unpleasantness and humiliation resumed with a vengeance as Trainer began by surpassing the previous day's abuse. "I'm pleased to see that you are all getting along so well and have managed to work out that you have been our guests for some time." She said with a radiant smile. "As to why you don't remember anything that happened during those four weeks. Well I'll leave you to work that out." She walked along the line and stopped in front of Raj, who was number '2', and stared at his dark skin and chest. "Hmm, the marker pen does not show up very well, does it?" He carried on staring straight ahead but never the less managed to come out with a quavering. "No Ma'am." Trainer chuckled and removed several marker pens from her bag before proceeding to draw a large white flower on his chest She re-drew the number in black on the flower. "There, isn't that nice? It's a jasmine flower. Your name is now 'Jasmine'... So who are you, Number Two?" "I'm Raj!" the lad shouted in a sudden burst of defiance which caused Jessica, who was standing next to him, to wince. She knew exactly what would happen, after all. The electric shock lasted a full five seconds and caused them all to scream. "Who are you?" Trainer asked again, acting as if nothing had happened. "I'm Jasmine." Raj sobbed in reply. Trainer stepped sideways and stood in front of Alan. She stroked his dark golden skin which caused him to pull back. "Hmm, your number doesn't show up very well, either, does it?" She reached into her bag, swapped the black marker pen that she had been holding for another one and then proceeded to expertly draw a large white cat on his chest ? the cat was then numbered '3', again in black. "And you, my dear, are now called 'Kitty'," she almost purred. "Now tell everyone your name." "I'm, Kitty!" Alan snarled through gritted teeth, which caused Trainer to chuckle triumphantly. She returned her pens to her bag and extracted a white plastic ruler which she used to make a show of measuring the length of 'Kitty's' penis. "Four inches?" She laughed as she flicked it with the ruler causing him to wince. "Oh you really are pathetic!" The tall, quiet lad who had introduced himself as 'Justin Parker' was next and the design that Trainer used to adorned his chest was an easily recognisable red flower. "Your name is 'Poppy'... Who are you?" "I'm Poppy," mumbled the lad numbered '4' which was rather inappropriately as he was the tallest of the group as well as being the best endowed. Trainer side-stepped again. "And we all know our little 'Daisy', don't we?" she asked mockingly as she used yellow and white pens to improve the flower that she had drawn yesterday. When he blushed the bright red the only redheads can manage, Trainer chuckled and reached down to gently squeeze his penis. "Oh I really do like you!" There was a pause, followed by, "Hey this cute little thing isn't getting hard, don't you like girls?" Suddenly the lad snapped and lunged at trainer who palmed him off easily and then knocked him to the floor, "Pathetic!" she sneered, stepping away from the line-up. Jessica closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable which arrived in the form of three five second electric shocks that arrived one after the other in rapid succession. "Stupid! Very stupid!" The Japanese woman hissed while walking slowly to the head of the line. Then, behaving as if nothing had happened, she turned to face Jessica. She stared quizzically at the copper for several seconds: almost as if trying to decide upon a suitable design. "No!" she chuckled as she fondled one of the police woman's firm breasts, musing. "Your chest has more than enough ornamentation already. What are you? Let me see... 'B' cup, I think... Possibly a 'BB': nice shape but too small... Most of our ladies tend to prefer them much larger." By now Jessica was beginning to shake with suppressed rage which caused Trainer to chuckle even more. "We both know what will happen if you lose it, don't we?" she whispered menacingly. Then smiling again she placed a hand under each of Jessica's breasts, raising and lowering them several times over the next few seconds all the while leering at the blonde woman. "You need a name, don't you? An appropriate one would be nice." There was a pause long enough to allow Jessica's anxiety levels to increase considerably. "I know! We'll call you 'Titty'. Trainer gave Jessica a beaming, triumphant smile before releasing her breasts and stepping back. "Now, Miss Policewoman, introduce yourself, say hallo to the boys and do it properly: remember that they'll suffer if you don't!" Blushing deeply, Jessica seriously thought about telling the bitch to go to hell; instead she tried to meet the Japanese woman's gaze but found that she couldn't. Crestfallen, she stared at the floor. "We're all waiting," the woman purred menacingly. Jessica closed her eyes to hold back tears and then, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her, she did as she was ordered. "Hallo, Boys, I'm called Titty!" "Come on,boys, be nice... Say hallo to your new friend," Trainer instructed mockingly and then laughed as the four lads chorused. "Hallo, Titty." When the copper opened her eyes she found herself staring into a pair of hard almond-shaped ones. "Why are you doing this?" she almost sobbed. "Do you enjoy it?" Trainer's only reaction was to point at the floor and smile knowingly before taking a couple of steps back so that she could speak to them all once again. "Each day your training will commence with a period of exercise to build up your stamina and to make sure that you are fit and healthy. I cannot tell you what your ultimate fate will be because that is yet to be decided but you will be trained, conditioned and modified extensively. However you should feel proud as you are the first males to be processed and trained here at the Farm." Jessica's ears seemed to prick-up at the mentioning of the name 'Farm'. Although it conveyed a lot less information than she had initially hoped... Just what is being farmed? She wondered. Then it struck her. Us! Trainer led them to the back of the room and indicated the long treadmill that was installed there. "Imagine that you are going for a stroll in the country which is what it will be the equivalent of. I'm going to start you off gently with a half hour's exercise: for the first twenty five minutes the machine will be set at 'walk' after which it will increase to an easy jog for the final five. As your training progresses then so will the speed of the treadmill." Jessica noticed that there were five sets of restraints. Each restraint consisted of a belt that was attached to the handrails that ran along either side by a pair of chrome plated chains. Trainer ordered them to step up onto the treadmill and clip the belt around their waist. As number one, Jessica was given the lead position. When she clipped on the belt she found that it was self locking, Trainer then adjusted the chains to prevent her from moving more than about six inches out of position. She waited patiently while the lads were shepherded into the remaining four positions. "Right," said trainer briskly. "There's plenty of room because it is intended for six people which is the normal size of one of our training squads." What? Thought the copper. So we're not the first. How many more groups has she humiliated? When the five of them were secured in position and Jessica was painfully aware that one of the lads would be getting close-up view of her naked backside in motion. Suddenly the treadmill hummed and the belt beneath their feet began to move. Trainer was as good as her word and even allowed it to take five minutes to get up to a gentle walking speed. Being physically fit, the policewoman had no problems coping with the routine but the boys hadn't walked or run any distance since leaving school and tended to grumble if it took more than two minutes to walk from the car park to the chip shop. This meant that they were complaining long before the five minute jog began. Trainer kept an expert eye on them all until close to the end when she moved to the front where she could get a good view of Jessica's body when she was forced to jog by the increasing speed of the machine. The policewoman always went out for a run two or three times a week, so the effort required for an easy five-minute jog was well within her capacity except that she never went out for a run totally naked or without a bra for support. Now she could feel her breasts bouncing up and down as she jogged to keep up with the treadmill. In a way, she was glad that the lads were behind her because the thought of them watching her tits in motion would have been excruciatingly embarrassing. Trainer ogling her was bad enough: the lads, however would have been much worse. "And stop!" Trainer called out as the machine slowed to a stand over a period of about half a minute. Jessica heard a mechanical 'clunk' and felt the catch of her belt open and fall away: she exited the exercise machine by ducking under the side rail. For some reason she wandered over and stood by Trainer who was regarding the four young men with contempt. "You were poetry in motion, my dear, but look at this sorry shower: why, they're exhausted." She allowed them a half hour's break for rest, toilet, a shower an a drink before recommencing the training. "Okay, some people might get turned on by the sight of your harmless little willies bobbing around whenever you move, but I don't." She waited for the insult to sink in before continuing. "I am therefore going to issue you with your training uniforms, these will be worn at all times other than when you exercise, sleep or take a shower." She she pointed to the row of numbered lockers at the opposite end of the room to the toilets and instructed them to stand by the one that bore their name and number. When they had ambled over it was obvious that the lockers were built into the wall. Jessica examined hers and found that her new name was proudly displayed on a doorplate for all to see. It was printed in plain block letters together with a large figure '1' and a picture of a well-endowed woman's chest. Needless to say, she also found this to be embarrassing. She glanced sideways at Raj who didn't seem very happy to to find that his locker was emblazoned with the picture of a large white flower together with the name, 'Jasmine', together with the figure '2', all written in a florid feminine script. Then glancing down the line, saw that the other lockers were appropriately adorned. "Titty," Trainer called, "as squad leader, please take out your uniform and demonstrate the correct method of wearing the garments." Slightly bemused, Jessica opened her locker and found a short grey pleated skirt and a pink Lycra sweater: there was no underwear or shoes. She stepped into the skirt first and fastened it with a simple clip over her left hip. It was the sort of garment that she would have worn for school when aged eight, although as it only reached halfway down her thigh, maybe not. The Lycra sweater was a different matter and after pulling it over her head found that it was a snug fit and offered some support for her breasts. She looked down and grimaced, she was definitely not a pink person. There was also a black collar made of something like rubber which Trainer instructed her to clip around her neck, Jessica glanced at it before complying with the instruction. It was an odd looking thing with her new name embossed in gold on the front and something like a USB port on the underside at the back. She shrugged and clipped it around her neck: it seemed to tingle after she had done so. Suddenly Jessica heard several gasps of horror and looked up, 'Kitty' had a grey skirt, identical to hers and was holding it at arms length while staring at it. "I ain't never wearing girl's clothes!" Jessica knew what was coming, mainly because Trainer looked straight at her and mouthed the word 'sorry', although the grin made it obvious that she was anything but. 5. Changing Minds. As they sat eating their midday meal, Jessica couldn't help but recall the speed at which the lads had donned their skirts and jumpers after the series of one second long electrical pulses had focused their minds. It was almost worth the pain and discomfort just to see them doing as they were told for a change. The police woman mused. She dropped her fork and looked shocked. "Where did that thought come from?" She muttered, which caused the lads to shop eating and stare at her. "You okay, Jessica?" Alan asked, his voice heavy with concern. "Sure, Kitty, I'm fine," she answered without thinking as she shook her head to clear it. Alan/Kitty glared at her but she didn't notice. The woman screwed her eyes tightly shut, covered them with her hands and rested on her elbows, narrowly missing her empty plate as she did so, What's happening to me? she wondered. Did I really call him Kitty? Somewhere in the darkness, a little voice seemed to nag at her. But she is called 'Kitty'. Jessica gasped. That was it, she was hearing things. Behind her hands her face screwed itself into an expression of despair. Gods, what's happening to me? Am I going mad? But in the background, just at the threshold of awareness, voices muttered and music played as an accompaniment to her thoughts. I'm a good person not a monster. I should be helping these kids not tormenting them. Her hand moved up to the collar and she tried to work her fingers under it but couldn't. It's this thing, she thought, horrified, it must be! The damned thing seems to be talking to me. After lunch, Trainer led them out of their room and into something that struck the Inspector as being some type of high-tech medical facility. During the short journey along the corridor that Jessica remembered from yesterday, the small Japanese woman had instructed the Copper to "bring up the rear" and to make sure that none of the boys tried to vanish into side turnings, without thinking Jessica had complied she was squad-leader after all. As soon as she had shepherded the boys into the gleaming white medical room several things struck her about the place firstly, there was the high-tech equipment that looked like something out of Star Trek. She counted six work stations: each one identically equipped and built around an adjustable black reclining chair. Secondly there was a staff who numbered about a dozen of them, all female, now there was a surprise ? not! Although they seemed to be busy with the equipment Jessica couldn't help but be surprised at how they were all dressed in identical, shiny white figure hugging one piece suits complete with tight-fitting hoods and face masks. The only hint of individuality was their hair colour, for their long hair emerged as a plume-like ponytail from a small tube that extended from their hoods close to the tops of their heads. There were blondes, brunettes and even a red-head but the hair colour that predominated was black: about half of the technicians had black hair. Beside the figure-accentuating suits they also wore shiny black boots with four inch heels that were identical to Trainer's and chunky black neck collars identical to her own. "I wonder..." she muttered quietly to herself. Thirdly she noticed the smell which was a strange and subtle combination of the antiseptic smell that people associate with hospitals combined with a hint of the burnt-flesh stench of cremated barbecue meat. As soon as the door slid shut Trainer turned to face her squad of trainees. "Ladies," the boys were 'ladies' now, or so it seemed, "you will cooperate with the meditechs ? they are here to help you, after all." The staff seemed to move in a well rehearsed dance. Working in pairs they took control of the confused-looking trainees and escorted them each to a different work station, Jessica began to hesitate and to show open resistance and the boys started to show signs of copying her until the low background noise that she had recently become aware of rose to a muttering crescendo causing them all to relax. Is it my imagination or is the noise really coming from my collar? They helped her into a reclining chair and clamped her arms to the armrests. "Relax!" One of her pair of shiny white women said, telling Jessica what to do. Her red, very human, fleshy lips visible through an opening in her white inhuman face mask. Her eyes, however, were hidden behind a chunky built-in visor that looked like some sort of VR headset. Jessica felt her anxieties wash away as her body obeyed the strangely dressed figure. Trainer moved over and joined the women who were working quickly to prepare the copper. "Be patient, Titty, very soon things will begin to make sense," the Japanese woman informed her. "I need an assistant and have high hopes for you, my dear, do not fail me." Then, with those words ringing in her ears and complimenting the background muttering 'voice', one of the women lowered something that looked like a massively oversized motorcycle helmet over her head while the other fiddled with the built-in computer. The last thing that Jessica saw before the helmet visor went opaque was the sight of Trainer smiling encouragingly at her. "Don't fight it, that wouldn't help anyway: its all automated so relax, enjoy the show and let the meditechs do their work." Something seemed to contract around her skull, this sensation was replaced by one of movement ? something was moving through her hair, something that felt like a myriad on little insects scampering and cavorting over her scalp tickling and prickling her. It was almost as if the whole lining of the helmet was lousy and the lice were moving around. Suddenly the 'burned- barbecue' stench increased and Jessica realised that it was coming from inside the helmet itself. Although she new nothing about the workings of the machine and would never know that tiny micro CO2 lasers were burning over a hundred channels through her scalp and skull: channels less than five microns in diameter. This unpleasant sensation that lasted for several minutes before she heard a noise inside her helmet, a whirring noise, almost as if all of the tiny insects had taken flight. Quietly, gently, tiny platinum/iridium electrodes were forced down the newly created channels and into the surface of her living brain. Tiny electrical impulses were pulsed across pairs of the electrodes in turn as the computer searched for the requisite depth to force each one. An hour passed as microscopic adjustments were made. Then when the computer was satisfied, the rest of the machinery pulsed into life adjusting Jessica's personality until it conformed to certain required parameters although the basis of just who she was would not yet be affected. Drastic personality changes of that sort were still in her future. Pictures began to flicker and flash onto the display screen inside her helmet. Basic, neutral pictures to begin with: a car, a grassy field, a tree, a train, an empty beach... Each one invoking electrical responses in her wired brain. Soon pleasure centres were identified and confirmed. This done, the nature of the pictures changed as the display became more and more sexual: a series of naked woman produced responses that were rewarded and amplified while similar pictures of naked men earned the opposite response from the machine. This went on for half an hour or so with the helmet displaying pictures too rapidly for the conscious mind to recognize. All of the time Jessica's collar, which had been plugged into the system, told her to relax; told her that this was all for her own good. The 'flick-book' show suddenly became overtly sexual: pairs of woman were having sex, were utilizing a range of techniques utilized only by women: pussy licking... scissoring... fingering... fisting... A whole lesbian Karma Sutra, in fact. As each picture was displayed, Jessica's electrochemical responses were recorded as a table of values. The pictures were repeated and the responses were magnified. Males appeared: a slide-show of males fucking females and the resultant brain activity was logged which allowed Jessica's heterosexuality to be measured, logged and ruthlessly suppressed. Variety was introduced: Jessica was shown pre-op transwomen and as a precaution, taught to like them also and shown how to please them and how to use them for her own pleasure. Groups of women engaged in activities that she had previously been unaware of flickered across the inside of the helmet and Jessica knew that this was also good. Finally the whole of the woman's brain was scanned, the positions and coordinates of the several hundred electrodes were measured and logged before the channels were chemically sealed and the helmet was allowed to power down and disengage. The system now knew the location of every single electrode and would be able to reconnect instantly whenever upgrading or further modifications were deemed necessary. This would be done when Jessica's fate and ultimate purpose were determined and a her personality could then be rewritten to satisfy whoever she was destined to serve. When the basic package installation was complete the machines brought this to the attention of the white clad meditechs who lifted the helmet off and stowed it in its storage locker. Ten minutes later the augmented Jessica Deacon was allowed to awake. Although, strange as it was, she no longer thought of herself by that name... As far as she was concerned she was 'Titty', always had been and always would be ? until renamed and reprogrammed. The trip back to their training room was different and Titty was invited to walk besides Trainer while the now subdued boys trailed along behind like a family of baby ducks. "What was all that in aid of?" the bemuse Police Inspector enquired. Trainer halted the column in the corridor before reaching up and pulling Jessica's head down until their lips met in a sensual kiss. "Does this answer your question?" the Japanese woman purred. Jessica didn't pull away but was shocked by her own response. She enjoyed the contact, but how? She was straight... Well she was, wasn't she? What have they done too me? Why is my pussy leaking down my leg? She didn't know it but the computer had realigned her sexuality. In the old days, before the new computerized techniques had been developed, the primitive hit and miss methods had taken weeks. Today, Jessica had been functionally and efficiently reprogrammed in less than two hours. She would retain the tiny electrodes for the rest of her life and unless someone actually looked for them, the chances of their detection were almost zero as there was nowhere near enough metal in her brain to trigger even an airport metal detector. The machine had made a few other modifications: her collar, for instance, had been temporarily hardwired into her and would need minor surgery to remove, but that was only a minor detail when compared to the way that her mind had been changed by what those in charge cynically referred to as "Basic Lesbian 101". There were other, more subtle packages that might or might not be installed at sometime in the future: it didn't matter for eventually her new owner would decide how she should be utilized and reprogrammed. Either way future routines could be implanted in her brain just as easily as a program could be installed into a laptop. By the time evening meal was served, Jessica noticed that the lads were so much more tractable. 'Daisy' even collected her food for her and brought it to her at the table. She knew that something fundamental had been done to them all during their visit to the medical facility but she neither remembered nor understood the significance of it and neither did the the now subdued young males. At the end of the day they were instructed to remove their uniforms and place them in their lockers. Come morning, when they were opened, there would be clean ones inside. 6. Revelations. The days slipped by and Titty almost became used to her new home, not that she ever saw any of it other than their training room, the corridor and the medical facility. Once a routine had been established the confinement became easier to bear or so it seemed. Whether this was down to the the fact that every day was the same as every other or to the constant tinkering with their minds, the woman never quite worked out ? mainly because she stopped thinking about it. By the end of the second week, their training began to alter. Every day began with a period on the treadmill and then the boys were taken through simple yoga routines to encourage their joints to become more flexible. While this was going on, Titty had to do weight training and other underbody strength exercises but was given no reason as to why. By the end of the second week she was openly contemptuous of just about everything that the lads did and by the start of the third was actively assisting and supporting Trainer even though the latter still persisted in humiliating her in similar ways to the boys. Half way through the third week, just before they departed for the medical room, they were instructed to undress and put their uniforms in their lockers. Trainer, as usual, gave them no explanation and treated their queries with the usual contempt. "What's going on, Ma'am?" the squad leader asked casually. "Why the change in routine?" "Just do it, Titty!" the Japanese woman said dismissively before ending the conversation by turning her back to the policewoman. Jessica did something that was becoming increasingly difficult for her ? she thought about things. If any of the boys noticed her frown, they didn't say anything but the frown accompanied a very profound idea... The bitch is as much in the dark as we are, I don't think she knows! Titty stared at Trainer's back and continue to think and quickly arrived at another conclusion... She doesn't know anything: she's only a kind of servant. She's not the one in charge. The Japanese Woman seemed to sense Titty's disquiet and spun around to lock eyes with the taller blonde: they stood without saying anything for several seconds staring each other out. Suddenly Trainer looked away... Titty had used an old copper's trick to outstare her ? she'd been staring at the end of Trainer's nose. This little display of dominance didn't go unnoticed and Trainer glared at her. "Alright, you foetid bitch! Stop standing around and get these limp-pricks lined up and lead them to the Processing Room!" Then leaning closer she whispered. "Try that again and you'll get a jolt. Do you understand me, you cunt?" Titty/Jessica nodded and, fighting to hide a grin, hurried to obey ? she'd won one and they both knew it. "Today" proved to be the first of an unpleasant series of visits, not that they remembered much about them anyway, which was fortunate because it involved their first permanent body modification ? depilation. Whether or not anything else was done to them, they didn't know but Titty suspected that their minds were fucked with every time they were strapped onto the chairs. This time the short walk back was more of a waddle due to the soreness of their genital areas caused by the procedure that they had undergone. Trainer found this to be very amusing which was only to be expected and made quacking noises just to emphasise the trainees' discomfort. Not only that but she also seized upon an opportunity to continue humiliating them. "Just look at yourselves, you silly bitches: the skin around your repulsive tools is swelling up nicely! Get used to it as you are going to get more of these sessions over the next couple of weeks! You should make the most of it because it's the closest to stimulation that your willies will ever get for the rest of your miserable lives," the Japanese woman chortled as she led them back to their room. She then made a point of staring at Titty's crotch and pointing out the way that her labia had swollen up. "That slot of yours is so puffy that it will take you a week to find you clit ? assuming they didn't accidentality burn it off with their laser!" After the unpleasant experience she more or less left them to their own devices for the rest of the day. Something that they would have been grateful for if they weren't so miserable. She might even have felt sorry for them because she eased off with the insults to some extent once they were back in their room. Relieved to be back in what they had come to regard as their own space, they flopped down anywhere that they could, legs spread to ease their discomfort. Titty plonked herself down on one of the dining area chairs and sat there with her lags spread as wide as possible for several minutes in an attempt to get some relief. After a time she bent her head down to examine her swollen pussy and tacitly admitted that Trainer had made a good point ? her pubic hair was gone but everything was so swollen up that her labia looked rather like one of those party balloon animals. She sighed happily when she saw that her clitty was still there however. Kitty and Poppy had plonked themselves down on the sleeping mat and were sitting back to back, using each other for support: their legs spread obscenely, not that anyone was taking any notice. Jasmine copied Titty and tried to get comfortable on one of the dining chairs while Daisy seemed to give up and was wandering aimlessly around. "What did they do to us, Titty?" Jasmine asked plaintively. The blonde woman looked up from her own misery, her eyes falling on the Indian lad's bare crotch before she moved her gaze up to his face. "Depilation!" she said quietly. "Say what?" the lad asked, sounding puzzled. She had sighed. "They're permanently removing all of our body hair and by the look of it they are using multiple methods to kill the hair follicles. It seems that someone or other has decided that we will look better if our bodies are smooth and hairless." The lad had looked up and glared in trainer's direction. "Why is she putting us through all this torture? Aren't the insults bad enough?" The policewoman shook her head. "Don't blame her: she's not the one in charge. She's only doing what they tell her." Jasmine, formally known as Raj, looked surprised. "You mean that someone is telling her to treat us like this?" Titty gave him a pitying look. God, you really are thick! Then she spoke quietly, trying not to show her contempt. "Oh yes. She's just obeying orders: so don't hate her ? pity her!" Jasmine looked surprised. "Why?" "Because we are better than she is." Titty looked around the room, smiling as she did so. "Save your hatred for the ones who are really in charge ? Trainer is nothing but their glove puppet!" Titty would probably have poured out more anguish if Daisy hadn't de- railed everyone's train of thought by shouting out. "Hey, there's an extra locker at the end of the row!" The rest of them, Trainer included looked up and as many of them that were able waddled over to join the little redhead. Needless to say, the Japanese woman got there first. The locker door was blank and didn't have a metal name plate, or at least, it didn't yet however it did have the four screw holes that were needed to attach one. Titty watched a whole gamut of emotions run across the Woman's face as her expression change several times. The policewoman had long suspected that the meme of 'Oriental Inscrutability' was nothing but a myth: Trainer was proving her correct. "Are we getting a new trainee?" Titty asked, being careful to omit the words "Ma'am" or "Madam". "I... I don't know!" The voice was suddenly uncertain and hesitant. Titty smiled mockingly. "Come on, Trainer, you are the one that runs this place... You can tell us. Who could we possibly tell?" "I haven't been told," she snapped, regaining some of her composure. Titty gave her a maternal smile. "Don't you think that you aught to go and find out?" Without another word, Trainer spun on her four-inch heel and Clack- Clack-Clacked out of the room. The lads could not understand why Titty burst out laughing as their nemesis retreated. "Like I said to Jasmine, she's only a puppet," the blonde spat. 7. Third Interlude. Chief Superintendent Fordice wiped the smirk off her face just before she knocked on the oak panelled office door. "Come on in, Della," a woman called from inside the room. In rapid succession, Fordice made a rude gesture, straightened her uniform, pushed the door open and stepped inside. "You wanted to see me, Ma'am?" The Chief Constable, resplendent in her navy-blue uniform with its silver buttons and badges, looked up from her paperwork and smiled warmly. "Thanks for dropping in, Della. Please take a seat." Fighting back the impulse to enquire, 'Where too?', the Chief Superintendent sank into the easy chair that was more or less in front of her Chief's desk and asked, "What can I do for you, Ma'am?" The Chief Constable smiled warmly. "The Home Office are chasing me on this so I really need an update on your investigation and please can you start by giving me some good news?" she said breezily. Fordice sighed and then gave an ironic chuckle. "Well there is no more bad news!" The Chief looked disappointed. "Is that all?" "No more coppers have been kidnapped. So I suppose that that's good news too," Della added lightly. "But other than that things are pretty much the same as they were when Jessica Deacon was snatched." The Chief Constable placed her pen down carefully and then gave her subordinate her full attention. "I am very disappointed, Della!" she said ponderously. The noise that Fordice made would have been interpreted as insulting by someone who didn't know her as well as the Chief did. "You'n me both, Boss! My team is working its metaphorical arse off and still getting nowhere. Oh, we're questioning informants and reinterviewing witnesses but that's just a matter of routine. We've tried to get the National Crime Agency, Interpol and the FBI involved and well, they proved to be just as useless as they always are with regard to cases like this. Closer to home, however, everything we try hits a dead-end sooner rather than later." "How about your investigation, the one into the computer-hack?" the Chief asked hopefully. "Hah hah!" Fordice chuckled dismissively. "Even worse than we are being led to believe! The worm that Rebecca Andrews introduced was of military grade and spread through just about every UK police computer system in under an hour leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. It's been shredding files seemingly at random: back-ups too." "What?" the Chief demanded. Della nodded ironically. "They're are still trying to clear it out of the PNC and the Home Office computer: allegedly!" "The Police National Computer? Never!" Della's boss snapped. "That's impossible! What about the multiple firewalls?" "Every firewall has trap-doors, it has too otherwise it would be impossible to access a system in the event of a major failure. The virus 'knew' exactly where and what they were and went through them faster than crap through a goose!" Fordice explained. "Della!" the Chief exclaimed, taken slightly aback by her subordinate's colourful language. "Oh it's probably worse than that, Guv!" the Chief Superintendent added almost gleefully. "Rumour has it that it has spread to the security services and is also half way across Europe and North America by now." "What's your appraisal?" the Chief Constable asked. Della pulled a face. "I think that we've been lucky, Ma'am. It's clear that they were targetting something specific otherwise why didn't they just shred the lot? I mean, think about it: this damned virus could have pushed us back right into the 'pen and paper age'. No, they were after something bigger than the kidnapping job and these buggers really know what they are doing." The Chief stirred uneasily. "Okay so what's your gut-feeling on this one, Della? What's your 'coppers nose' telling you about this one?" Fordice didn't answer straight away, instead she looked thoughtful for a few seconds, almost as if she was reluctant to stick her neck out. She sighed before answering in a quiet voice. "They've beaten us, ma'am, the only hope is that they will try something else and make a mistake the next time around." She shrugged. "Until then, I reckon that we can kiss Detective Inspector Deacon good bye!" The Chief Constable sighed. "Please keep trying, Della. We can't let these scum-bags win." The woman smiled grimly. "Oh, I'll keep going for as long as you let me ? longer even. This one is personal!" 8. The Turning of Tables. Later that day, Della was out of uniform and ready to attend yet another meeting. However this time when she approached the plain office door she neither paused nor knocked but barged right in. Rebecca Andrews looked up from her desk, surprise and shock writ large across her face. "Waa!... Madam Fordice! How can I help you?" Della grinned at the pretty young brunette. "I'm here for a progress up-date ? I know that it's your project but I am charged with its oversight and The Farm is my centre, remember?" Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "But I've made a point of sending you regular reports," she said defensively. "What else do you need to know?" Andrews was feisty ? Della liked that as it reminded her of herself and needless to say she rather liked herself. Fordice sank into an easy chair that was positioned in a corner of the small, windowless room and smirked. "My dear child, I need to know everything! Or rather, The Circle does and some of the older biddies are not exactly happy that we are working on boys: they see it as a waste of our time and resources. This being the case, I need something that will keep the foetid bitches happy!" Andrews made a point of tapping on her keyboard a couple of more times before giving Fordice her full attention. "Well, I'd say that the main thing that both yourself and the other Ladies of The Circle need to be aware of is that the project has been surprisingly successful, so far. "We really need to start the next phase as Mariko and the techs have done everything that they can with things as they are. The lads are partially processed and are ready to graduate to more specialised, er, conversion routines. We won't know if we've succeeded unless someone pays good money for them and we make an overall profit on the deal." The younger woman tried to come across as confident but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice that Fordice picked up on. Della nodded as she reached for the coffee pot that sat on the little hotplate beside her. She lifted the lid and sniffed at the murky brown liquid inside, turning up her nose as she did so, but poured herself a cup of the stewed steaming dirty-brown brew adding sugar and powdered milk to try and disguise the taste. She sipped it. "God! That really is bloody awful!" Never-the-less she began to drink the foul-tasting liquid which was nowhere near as bad as some of the coffee that they brewed at her nick. Looking up at Andrews, she gave her a predatory smile. "The six of them were auctioned as-is on the deep web yesterday and their sale carried the usual proviso that any further modifications would be carried out here prior too delivery. This work of course must be quoted for." She fished a print-out out of her briefcase and passed it to the younger woman. "As you can see the four males and two females have rather piqued the interest of certain of our wealthier lady-patrons with certain, er, tastes. I'll help you draw-up quotes for the work that needs doing, although some of it is extensive," she said sounding smug. Andrews gasped: the penny having suddenly dropped. "Two females? But there is only one: Jessica Deacon!" "Oh no, my dear Rebecca, there are two now!" Della purred menacingly which caused the younger woman to shudder. * * * It was early the next morning and the the start of another one of what seemed like an endless series of identical days. Slowly the lights came on and gradually brightened: the familiar routine was about to launch them into another new day It would begin with a shower which would be followed by dressing in the prescribed uniform of short grey skirt and pink Lycra top. The hair-removal sessions had ceased many days earlier and now that the swelling and discomfort had largely faded Titty thought that it was a relief to be able to wear clothes again. She smiled at the thought of not having to spend the day watching floppity male sex organs bobbing pointlessly around. God, I loath them! Why on Earth did I ever let men push those repulsive things into me? She wondered. She frowned as a different memory began to surface in her confused mind. A memory of a time when she had not felt that way: of a time when she had really liked men... The memory faded as if it had never existed... Those things are really nasty, there should be a law against them. After they had got dressed in the clean clothes that their lockers always provided, they would eat breakfast and wait for Trainer to arrive and begin to torment and train them just like she always did. Titty wondered what new humiliation the ever-inventive woman had dreamed up and which one of them would be today's principle victim. Breakfast came and went but still Trainer did not appear. The lads relaxed, no doubt enjoying the respite, however Titty began to grow concerned or rather as concerned as her partially re-programmed mind would allow. Perhaps the Queen-Bitch would deliberately turn up late to make today's torment even more profound when it eventually descended upon them or perhaps she was giving them a day off? Titty did not know but made the most of the respite by attempting to relax and chat to the four idiot-boys: not that she could expect much in the way of meaningful conversation ? they were just too shallow in that regard. Suddenly they all heard the door open and looked around receiving their first hint that things were different today for Trainer was not alone. As far as Titty was concerned the surprises continued for she recognised both women who were accompanying their nemesis. She gasped and jumped to her feet. "What's wrong?" Jasmine demanded but she ignored him. "Oh my God," Jessica muttered, not quite believing her eyes, for Trainer was chatting to Rebecca Andrews, the woman who was responsible for her being here. "Oh shit!" Jasmine added. "That's the woman who was driving our taxi..." His voice trailed off as disbelief overwhelmed him. The boys did not recognise the second woman but Titty did as she'd met her several times during her police career. "The other one's Chief- Superintendent Della Fordice: what the hell is she up too?" Suddenly little bits of a complex picture began to drop into place almost like a jigsaw puzzle that solved itself and, needless to say, Titty did not like the picture that it revealed. It was Andrews who spoke first, her remarks being addressed to Trainer. "Get them lined up so that Madam Fordice can get a good look at them." The Japanese woman nodded and motioned that her squad should do as instructed. "Come on, Titty, get those limp pricked losers moving!" She snapped. With Jessica chivvying them the squad shuffled into number order the same as they did every morning. Titty used the short respite to steal a glance at their diminutive Japanese instructor... Is it my imagination or is she really flustered? Fordice made a bee-line for Titty and stood in front of her, staring at the blonde woman for several seconds before breaking into a grin. "Well, well, well. We meet at last, DI Deacon." "You!" snapped Titty. "You're a copper!" "Yes I am, aren't I?" Her voice sounded kindly and matched her smile. "Best if you think of this place as my hobby. You know: like 'Crafting' or 'Flower Arranging' or 'Amateur Dramatics'." Her smile faded. "And you will address me as 'Mistress', do you understand?" The look of triumph that was suddenly plastered across Della's face was too much to bear. Titty was confused... So confused that, despite her weeks of conditioning, she completely missed the instruction that she had been given. "What are you doing here, Ma'am?" Suddenly both her self and the lads all screamed as a five second current tore through the floor. "I gave you an instruction, Bitch!" Fordice spat. "You will address me as 'Mistress' and the same goes for your little boys! Now do you understand me?" It was like a re-run of the first few days all over again as they all chorused "Yes Mistress" as loudly as they could. Della looked pleased with herself as she purred, "Good!" Chief-Superintendent Fordice walked slowly along the line peering at each unfortunate trainee in turn before spinning around to face Trainer. "You have done well, Michiko." "Thank you, Mistress," the Japanese woman almost sang out, pride and relief obvious in both her voice and manner. Fordice smiled at her, but it was a sad, pitying smile. Next she turned to Andrews. "Okay, Rebecca, lets get it over with!" Rebecca Andrews nodded and then walked over to Trainer and grabbed the roll-neck of her black, shiny top. When she pulled it down it revealed a black plastic collar of the type warn by the trainees. Titty noticed at once but wasn't surprised. "See! She is a prisoner, just like us." She muttered. "Eh?" replied Jasmine, who, as number two, always lined up next to her. "Oh, fuck: you're right!" "Silence!" Andrews shouted and gave them a menacing look. She opened her shoulder bag and pulled out a mobile phone-sized device with a long lead attached to it. She plugged the other end into Trainer's collar and then let her fingers dance across the face of the little tablet. Trainer froze. Andrews paused and turned towards Fordice. "Are you really sure about this, Madam? She's fantastic at her job, after all and its going to take me a while to bring a replacement up to speed." Della Fordice smiled sadly. "How old are you, Michiko?" she asked her voice kindly and sympathetic. "I am thirty-seven, Mistress. Thirty-eight next month," Trainer replied crisply. Titty was still watching as closely as she dared. Was that fear that she could see on Trainers face? "See?" Remarked Della Fordice triumphantly. "She's nearly past her sell-by date. Another year or so and she'll be virtually worthless. Nobody wants to buy a geriatric pet!" Andrews had nodded and then, while everyone watched, resumed inputting code into the little device. She unplugged it and returned it to her bag before speaking. "Okay, Michiko, get undressed ? boots first," she instructed, her voice quiet but heavy with resignation. "Mistress?" Trainer asked quietly but when no answer came she hesitantly complied and remove her clothes under the gaze of her former trainees. Boots, gloves and one-piece suit were all deposited in an untidy heap on the floor. Was it Titty's imagination or did a tear course down the woman's cheek and fall onto her breast? Andrews sighed and fished a felt-tipped pen out of her shoulder bag which she used to draw a large figure six above the Japanese woman's right breast. "Now what shall we call you?" she asked, but it was a rhetorical question as that particular detail having already been decided upon. There was a pause followed by. "I know ? we've already got a 'Daisy' so we'll call you 'Buttercup'. Isn't that a nice name?" Andrews smiled sadly as she watched the former-Trainer wilt into a puddle of misery. "Now don't you think that you should introduce yourself to your new little friends?" The Japanese woman hesitantly turned to face the other trainees, then, lip trembling said, "Hallo everyone, I am Buttercup!" "Good girl!" Andrews laughed and patted her on the head. "Now take your place at the end of the line and listen carefully." Then, as Della watched approvingly, Andrews turned towards the line-up and snapped, "Right, Madam Fordice wants to have a better look at you so go and put your clothes into your lockers and get back here within two minutes!" One mad scramble later and the line reformed, everyone dreading whatever was in store for them. The lads seemed to be doing their best to keep away from Buttercup, probably thinking that it was some sort of ruse to wrong-foot them. Titty, however, could tell by the woman's body language that it wasn't an act and that the Japanese woman was genuinely upset by it all. Mistress Fordice casually moved across the room and took up a position about ten feet in front of the line which she turned to face while Andrews trotted across to stand next to her. The woman ran her eyes across the extended group and smiled nastily. She breathed out noisily before beginning to speak: it was quite obviously that she was amused by the proceedings. "From this moment on you will think of yourselves as 'girls': not 'women' or 'men' or 'boys' but as 'girls' and as such you will be treated. Remember that!" She turned towards Andrews and held out a hand... Andrews fished a sheet of paper out of her bag and showed it to her. She glanced at it, grinned, walked towards Titty, stopped and began to fondle the blonde's body. She smiled as she placed her hands beneath the woman's tits and lifted them gently. "Nice! Any improvement?" "Oh yes!" Andrews replied happily. "With the exercise routine, the hormones and the high-cal diet, she's gone up a whole cup size to 'C'; her hips and butt have enlarged nicely too." Fordice removed her hands which allowed Titty's breasts flop down without warning. She then slipped a hand between the woman's thighs, ordering her to, "Spread 'em!" Frowning, Titty did so and was rewarded with the feeling of a couple of fingers working their way into her always-moist pussy. "She'll do!" Della announced with a grin. She withdrew her fingers, sniffed them and stepped back. "Well, Jessica, or should I say 'Titty'? You are going to become a Bimbo: that's what you're new owner wants, so your tits are going to become even bigger... E's most likely! "We'll also ramp up your libido which will turn you into a hyper- feminine sex-mad lesbian: oh and your IQ will have to come down drastically too." Fordice chuckled merrily. Shocked, Titty could no longer keep quiet. "Why are you doing this?" Fordice gazed at her for several seconds, her large spectacles magnifying her grey eyes. "Because your new owner wants you to become a sex-mad, a vacuous, air-headed blonde bimbo. And as that is what she is paying ?50,000 for; that is exactly what she is going to get!" She reached out and groped Titty's breasts once more. "Don't fret!" She purred. "Trust me, you'll be conditioned too love it!" The woman who had once been Jessica Deacon persisted. "No I meant why are you running this place? You are in-charge, aren't you?" Della smiled and decided to humour the woman, well they had previously been colleagues and she felt some sympathy. "This, place, as you call it, is the property of an organisation known as 'The Circle': all members of which are Lesbian Slavers. This place is where we condition, modify and repurpose girls and women to satisfy the more specialised or extreme fantasies and fetishes of some of our members. These males are a new sideline and hopefully a profitable one too: when we have finished with them they will be unrecognisable!" Horrified, Titty gasped in dismay as Fordice suddenly turned away and examined the rest of the group. The next phase of their training was about to commence and she made sure that they knew it. Before leaving she turned and addressed them for one last time. "You should all feel proud of yourselves for each of you, in your own way, has helped us to demonstrate that boys too can also be repurposed as lesbian sex-slaves. In a few minutes time you will begin the first of a series of major upgrades during which your minds, bodies and sexuality will be altered beyond recognition but you will just love what we do to you: we will make sure of that. You will become the pets that your new Mistresses want and as we have already worked out exactly what needs to be done to you so I will not detain you any further." Della paused and looked at each of them in turn, noting their expressions of horror. She smiled knowingly and concluded by saying. "You have helped us to discover jwhat is possible, thanks to you I have been given the go-ahead to obtain a steady stream of useless boys and repurpose them as shemale sex-slaves. Thank you one-and-all!" 9. Repurposing. A couple of weeks later, after another long day, the first part of the group finally staggered back from the Medical Room: tired, naked, dishevelled and almost unrecognisable. Andrews had taken personal charge of their training: not that they were able to detect any difference: as far as they were concerned, they had merely swapped one sadistic monster for another equally as bad. Della Fordice, who was making yet another visit, had been waiting for them in the training room and leered as she watched them stagger back in. It had been a long session and once again much of it had been surgical, although as usual, it had been done under local anaesthetic and they had been given running a commentary by the white-clad women who had reshaped their bodies even further. The whole thing being the latest in a series of highly unpleasant experiences and one that they would eventually be made to forget. "Good work, Rebecca," Della said and sounded genuinely pleased, "you organised today's little party perfectly! I have really enjoyed seeing your team at work and know that all of our trainees are in good hands." The woman smiled and added, "Oh, by the way, you are authorised to recruit a new Trainer, but before you ask, you can't have Titty, she's spoken for!" She had scanned the four members of the group who had so far returned and then continued. "I'd love to give them a good seeing too with my strap-on but I'd better get back to work before anybody important misses me, I've got an investigation to sabotage after all. "Thanks for a lovely day." Fordice had added before grabbing Andrews and passionately kissing her. She then turned on her heel and left without so much as a backward glance. Rebecca Andrews had looked both pleased and relieved when she had turned back to the group. "Okay, dinner will be serve after the other two get back: have a nice day!" Then, after one last look around, she also departed chuckling with relief as she did so. Titty flopped down onto one of the dining area chairs, she notice that something had changed but was unsure as to what it was. She tried concentrating but giggled when she found that she couldn't ? there were so many distractions. Suddenly it came to her... "The table's smaller and there are only four chairs..." She giggled again. She frowned momentarily. Since when did I giggle all of the time? Kitty, who was hovering close by, heard her and giggled back which caused Titty's stray thought to evaporate. Kitty looked at the table and chairs once more. "Oh, like yeh! I hadn't noticed. Wanna fuck?" Titty's face lit up. She loved Kitty's massive breasts which, to her expert eye. looked like E's and were about the same size as her own. She stared at Kitty's tiny Willy, which was locked up in a pink plastic chastity cage, and pouted. "What with?" Momentarily a confused thought memory flashed through the woman's mind. Did it ever get hard? Kitty's answer caused her doubts to vanish. "Oh, yeh!" the Asian shemale had answered, her disappointment obvious. "I didn't think of that!" She plonked herself down next to Titty and asked. "What are they turning you into?" Titty frowned and tried to put an answer together. "They said I was being bimbo-ficated, or something. How about you?" "I'm a Sissy Bimbo Slut!" Kitty said proudly. "That's why I'm in chast... In chastit... In chast... They've locked my cock up!" Titty giggled to hide her confusion. "But why lock it up, like that?" Kitty bent over as far as she could and took a good look at the object under discussion. "They say it's to stop me from getting a stiffie and wanking it off. They told me that it won't shrink and get smaller if I keep playing with it. But I don't ever remember it getting hard." Poppy chose this moment to join them and completely derailed Titty's train of thought, such as it was, by asking, "You two okay?" "Oh yeh!" exclaimed Titty as she stuck out her chest and waggled her boobs from side to side. Kitty copied her. "Oh wow!" Poppy exclaimed somewhat enviously. "Yours are much bigger than mine." She looked at her own chest. "Still D's are nice, too." She looked around the room and said, "We've all been given breast enhancements by the look of it." "What's that then?" Jasmine asked as she plonked herself down in the last empty chair. "Bigger tits!" Poppy explained. "Great isn't it. I just love having bigger tits..." Jasmine frowned looking down at her own breasts which were the same size as Poppy's. "What are they turning you into?" "A shemale sex-slave," the tall girl answered. "Hey, me too," gushed Jasmine, she glanced enviously down at Poppy's crotch, "but they've castrated me to speed things up." Titty and Kitty both giggled which cause Poppy to mutter, "It's not funny, you two!" Suddenly the door slid open and Buttercup and Daisy trotted in on their hands and knees. Clearly they had had a lot more done to them, which was why they had returned so late. The newcomers saw the group seated around the table and crawled over to join them. Their arrival completely distracted the trainee-Bimbos, making them totally forget the previous conversation. "Ooh, aren't you two just so cute?" cooed Titty. Kitty noticed that their breasts had been enhanced to a massive 'G' cup so that they hung down and flopped around ever so invitingly every time their (not-so) proud owners moved. She hopped down onto the floor and began to fondle Buttercup's dangling boobies, much to their owner's displeasure. "Please don't do that," the woman previously known to them as 'Trainer' pleaded. Kitty stopped in mid-fondle and then frowned as recognition almost dawned upon her. "Hey hadn't you used to be someone else?" "No," sighed Trainer/Buttercup. "I've always been me." "Oh," Kitty giggled, "never mind! Don't take any notice of silly little me," she said as she tried to play with both of Buttercup's breasts at the same time but gave up when the Japanese woman pushed her away.. Titty slid of her chair and applied similar loving attention to Daisy's dangling undercarriage. "And like what are you being turned into?" Daisy gave her a sad look. "We're 'hucows'," the shemale almost wailed. Kitty looked blank. "Woz that? What have they done to you?" "Human cows," Buttercup explained shuffling back a little before holding up her hand to show them one of her hoof-gloves. Then carrying on, she tried to answer Kitty's questions. "They've changed us quite a lot! They removed our finger nails and locked our fingers in place before sealing our hands permanently into these gloves. Then they pinned our hips and fitted us with knee braces which stop us from straightening our legs." She indicated the hoof-pads strapped to each of their knees. "We have to walk on all-fours now which they say is permanent." Kitty shuffled forward an began to fondle Buttercup's breasts all over again. "Wow! I just love these. Did they do anything else?" "Well they castrated me and gave me massive doses of female sex hormones." Daisy wailed. "They said it was to speed up my changes. But there's more..." "When we go back tomorrow they're going to give us drugs to start us lactating so that we can be milked," Buttercup said sounding very sad. "And they said that they will cure all of our bad habits over the next week." "What habits are those?" Titty asked while she shuffled round before beginning to kiss and snog Daisy who she continued to fondle. "Speaking!" Daisy said. "Thinking!" Buttercup added. "Being straight!" Daisy moaned as she began to respond to Titty's amorous advances. "When they've finished we will be sex-mad dumb animals who can only 'moo'. They said that this is exactly what our new Mistress wants," Buttercup sobbed. "Then they showed us a picture of a big fat Russian woman who was wearing a strap on and they explained that we would 'moo' with pleasure every time that she fucks us with it." "And she's going to do that at least twice a day when she milks us!" Daisy added, suddenly sounding gleeful. No doubt there would have been many more revelations, but their chat was cut short by the serving hatch sliding open... It was dinnertime at last. 10. ...And They All Lived Happy Ever After ? I. "Come on in, Della," the Chief Constable called in response to the sound of her door being knocked. "Morning, Ma'am," Della called cheerfully as she entered the office. "You wanted to see me?" Her Boss nodded and gestured towards an easy chair. "Any progress?" Della sank into the chair and looked grim. "Nothing that you want to hear, Boss." The Chief Constable closed her eyes and sighed. "Let's have it. What's gone wrong now?" "I think that who ever is behind Jessica Deacon's kidnapping has or had an insider in the force." The Chief Constable's mouth fell open showing her surprise. "Do you have any evidence? Do you know who the bent copper is?" Della relaxed and shook her head slowly. "Sorry, Ma'am, its just my copper's nose... But there is a suspicious lack of loose ends. Tracks have been covered up too well for it to have been done from outside or even by someone from another Police Force. No, there has got to be at least one of our own who's been helping them." The Chief Constable looked shocked. "Are you completelysure?" Della shrugged. "Like I said, it's just 'Copper's Nose': every now and again one of my team finds a hint or a little clue but when we try to follow it up it fizzles out. The only explanation is that some bugger has been tidying up and for it too be done this well, it this well it has to be an inside job! You've got a traitor." * * * The door slid open and Jessica Andrews strolled into the training room a contented smile playing over her lips. She stopped and watched as the new group of trainees were put through their paces by their brand- new trainer. "Right, you miserable shower of shite! Life as you know it is over, so listen carefully to what I say... Do what I tell you and you might just avoid a lot of grief!" the black-clad woman almost snarled at them. Oh, she was good: until three months ago she had been a meek and mild primary school teacher who wouldn't say boo to a goose. Now, thanks to a spell of repurposing followed by a number of sessions in the medical room, the former quiet and submissive woman had been warped and perverted out of all recognition: her personality twisted to serve The Circle who now owned her. Thanks to expert manipulation and conditioning, she had discovered a dominant streak that she hadn't previously known that she had and now seemed to revel in it. The training had also turned her into a man-hating lesbian, which was exactly what Andrews needed to replace the late, lamented Michiko who was still very much missed. The upgraded former teacher continued. "I am called 'Trainer', but you miserable losers will address me as 'Madam' or 'Ma'am'." She drew their attention to Rebecca and added. "And if you should ever have cause to speak to theat lady over there, then you will address her as 'Mistress'. Is that clear?" The three lads and three girls glared at her and a couple of them mumbled something. Suddenly they all screamed and tried to get both of their feet off the ground simultaneously. "I said, 'Is that clear'?" Trainer repeated when they had finished jumping around. "Yes, Ma'am!" they chorused enthusiastically which caused Andrews to smile. It was just like old times! * * * The previous group of trainees had been settling in to their new lives and homes for a couple of months now and were really loving it... They would, wouldn't they? They were conditioned to be happy so they had no alternative as they had been trained to like everything that had been done to them. Buttercup and Daisy, for instance, had settled in well and were now living in their Mistress's luxurious Dacha just outside the town of Primorsky Krai. Owning a Dacha, or second home, was a long-standing tradition amongst the old Russian nobility which the Communist Party elite had eagerly adopted after the revolution. Now-a-days the same tradition was maintained by the Russian novo-rich ? the group to whom their new Mistress belonged. Primorsky Krai was just about as far from Moscow as it was possible to get in Russia... Something that seemed to please new-Mistress although the two Hucows couldn't know this as they were just two happy, but dumb, animals. They lived in a large, open-plan room that poked out from one end of the Dacha and had a little walled garden in which they could play on the odd occasion that the weather was warm enough. They even had their own dairy-maid to feed them, look after them, and milk them twice a day. Sonya, as she was called, was also one of Mistress's slaves and this is probably why she took her duties very seriously. The hucows were very affectionate and really loved Sonya and the things that she did to them which included fucking them when Mistress was away... They needed to be fucked as it was all part of the milking-experience that they lived for. Today, however, Mistress was back from one of her business trips and had breezed into the room with a big smile calling out to her pets as she did so. Buttercup and Daisy scampered up to her as fast as they could and proceeded to rub themselves against her legs, 'mooing' as they did so. Mistress had chuckled and made a fuss of the two pet animals which had delayed proceedings somewhat and caused the over-full Daisy to leak milk. "Oh, just look at you!" Mistress had cooed happily as she patted her pets' heads and stroked them. She spoke Russian of course; which happened to be a language that neither of the hucows understood: but then there was nothing strange about this as they no longer understood any spoken language other than the odd word of command. "Come on!" Mistress said happily. "Let's get you milked." They eagerly followed her across the room and up to the machine by which Sonya waited. She was actually slightly annoyed although she was careful not to show it ? Mistress was Mistress, after all. Her presence meant that the cows' routine would be disrupted and that she would probably not get the chance to have sex with either of them today, which was more than a little frustrating. Still Mistress was considerate enough not to try and help with the actual milking and stayed to one side fingering her own pussy while Sonya led the animals, one at a time into their milking stalls. Deftly she clipped chains to their collars to stop them from wandering off before turning the machine on and attaching the suction cups to their swollen nipples. As soon as she heard the machine begin to hum, buttercup moo-ed happily and her pussy began to juice-up, the liquid dribbling down her legs and onto the floor. When the pumps ha begun to o their work the cows relaxed smiling vacantly and mooing contentedly. "Thank you, Sonya, I'll take it from here ? just monitor the milk levels, if you would," Mistress said, retrieving a strapless strap-on from the box by the side of her chair and deftly slipped off her skirt and panties before easing the stem of the dildo into her own pussy, using her vaginal muscles to grip it securely. She straightened up, which thrust the eight-inch toy forward, and walked over to Buttercup before kneeling down on the mat behind her pet's backside which she examine for a few seconds before coming to her decision. She used a finger to gently stroke the hucow's taint and chucked as her pet's body jiggled expectantly. Then, shuffling forward on her knees and using her hand to position the bulbous tip of the dildo between the pet's pussy lips, she suddenly lunged forward into Buttercup's eager orifice being rewarded with a very loud 'MOO' as she did so. Mistress gasped as the force of her pelvic thrust pushed the other end of the toy back into her own pussy, rubbing against her clit as it slid further into her. She set up a steady rhythm of push-in... pull back... push-in... pull back... and rode her pet for several minutes until both of them climaxed. This procedure, of course, was repeated several times until Mistress, temporarily spent, collapse over her pet's back and lay there smiling inanely until she recovered. She slipped out of Buttercup's dripping pussy before moving across to Daisy who she knelt down behind. But Mistress was very considerate and well knew why Sonya was giving her a pained, hopeful look. She stroked Daisy's pucker with an out stretched finger before reaching down to play with the hucow's useless little girl-cock. She felt it twitch and smiled when she realised that it was actually dribbling a tiny amount of pre-cum. "Sonya," she called over to the dairy-maid, "you can fuck Buttercup's arsehole if you wish, but make sure that you lube up properly first." Sonya's face lit up as she grabbed her own strap-on and almost skipped across the room to take her place behind the Japanese hucow. Mistress examine the end of her tool, decided that the secretions already plastered onto it would be sufficient and thrust forward into Daisy's rectum ? nodding her go-ahead to Sonya as she did so. Needless to say the noise levels skyrocketed as the moans of the two woman and the 'moos' from both cows almost drowned out the soothing background "thrum-thrum" given off by the milking machine. After the fucking and the milking were concluded and the sessions product had been taken away to the Dacha's kitchens; the two hucows, basking in a post-coital glow, curled up together and slipped into a rewarding sleep prior to the afternoon's repeat performance. Life was good and being happy, contented cows, their yield was high. * * * The day was young and Jasmine just loved her new Mistress dearly. As she slipped her pink satin French-Maid's uniform on over her pink, frilly underwear the Indian girl reflected on just how fortunate she was that Mistress loved her too. She glanced at her clock ? six-forty five, right on time she smiled and gave her dyed-blonde hair one last quick brushing before tripping out of her bedroom and heading for the kitchen to make Mistress's wake-up cup of coffee. She would wake her with a deep kiss and hand her the coffee (sweet with lots of cream) and step back. Usually the woman would dismiss her maid with a casual wave of her hand but sometimes, such as this morning, there would be other little duties for Jasmine to perform. Mistress Anna sipped her coffee, closed her eyes and sighed. Then to Jasmine's delight, she placed the paper-thin porcelain cup and saucer down on the bedside table and swivelled around so that she was perched on the edge of her bed. She spread her legs, indicated in the general direction of her exposed pussy and smiled languidly up at her maid. Jasmine reacted at once and fell to her knees so that her face was just inches away from Mistress's divine orifice. Gently Mistress Anna stroked her hair before gripping it and pressing the girl's plumped-up lips down to her own nether ones. Jasmine sighed and began to worship her Goddess. Losing herself in the sighs and moans that her licks and nibbles elicited. "Jasmine!" Mistress Anna purred, her Austrian accent obvious. "I think I will let you keep that name... It sounds so exotic." Jasmine, who had once answered to the boy-name of Raj, sighed and came there and then: her little chastised willy leaking colourless cum into her panties. Anna was so amused by her maid's reaction that she did not punish her for cumming without permission. If Jasmine wanted to worship her in that way then Mistress was certainly not going to discourage her. Then, after a couple of little trembles and a sigh the happy girl returned to the sacred duty which she so enjoyed. Using her mouth and tongue to worship her beloved Mistress gave her life genuine purpose.. Like her former companions Buttercup and Daisy, who now lived several thousands of miles away... Jasmine had been conditioned to be ecstatically happy, so what could be better than that? 11. ...And They All Lived Happy Ever After ? II. "Come in, Della," the Chief Constable called in response to the sound of her door being knocked. "Morning, Ma'am," Della called cheerfully as she entered the office. "You wanted to see me?" This really was becoming a habit! "Yes, please take a seat," the Chief Constable said smiling reassuringly as she did so. "Della, I have come to rely upon you during these troubling times and needless to say, I am impressed by the way that you have thrown yourself into the hunt for Jessica Deacon and the investigation into the computer hack." Despite herself, Della gasped. "Oh, wow, Ma'am! Thank you. I've done my best and am only sorry that I haven't been able to come up with a result ? yet!" She was going to add that she was sorry that she had let everyone down but the Chief silenced her with a raised hand. "Della, now that Dave Marchant has retired there is an opening in my leadership team. I've had a look around but you are the one that I would like to fill it," she said. Della, who just loved filling lady's openings, smiled. "Ma'am?" "I'd like you to be my new Deputy Chief Constable, subject to the regulations, of course," the Chief almost gushed. "Thank you Ma'am, I happily accept!" Della almost whooped, not quite being able to believe her luck. Who says that crime doesn't pay? * * * Several hours later and a couple of thousand miles away, somewhere in Toronto, a religious ceremony was taking place. The House where this was being conducted was notable for several reasons: it was large and could easily be taken for a mansion; it was secluded being set in its own walled estate and it was beautifully decorated and expensively furnished. Today, however, the select guests, most of whom whom were women, were not in the house but were seated under what was technically a large striped canvass gazebo, although it looked far more like a giant marquee from which the sides had been remove to allow the warm summer air to circulate. The guests were seated in two blocks, one on each side of the aisle, and facing the garlanded alter before which stood a female Anglican minister. As the clock ticked closer and closer to ten, last minute checks were made and everything was found to be ready. Suddenly; right on the stroke of ten; an organist struck up with Handel's Wedding March which was played loudly and with a great deal of feeling. In response the congregation stood and half turned to watch the bridal party make its way towards the alter. And what a party it was! Two brides both clad and veiled in white silk and lace gowns that shimmered in the light as both young ladies moved slowly and in a stately fashion towards the minister. Behind them a small platoon of bridesmaids carried their long trains and added to the dazzling spectacle of a secluded Toronto society wedding about which nothing would appear in the society periodicals or indeed in the gossip columns. Today was a special day for the family of Lillian Crossley, one of the brides: the other lady, Kitty 'Chen', was from England and did not seem to have any family of her own. The two brides could not be more different for while Lillian was a tall, statuesque blonde with a peaches and cream complexion, Kitty was a shorter golden complexioned Asian ravenette with a fuller figure. And while Lillian was twenty- six, Kitty was just nineteen years old: guests having been led to believe that the girls had met a year ago when the Canadian girl had been on holiday in England and it had been a fairytale romance beginning with love at first sight. When the bridal party arrived at the alter, a traditional (more or less) service was conducted although one of the bridesmaids had doubled as ring-bearer. The wording was familiar to the gathered congregation, almost all of whom were friends or relatives of Lillian and her mother, the rest being a handful of carefully chosen school friends ? all Lillian's. As far as Kitty was concerned, she was strictly on her own. After the ceremony Lillian and her Mother, the redoubtable Lillian P. Crossley senior, did a pretty good job of shielding Kitty from the wedding guests both while the the brides circulated for drinks and during the reception. Any one who spoke to her found her to be a little vague... No doubt the affect of Wedding day nerves! But she was a very pretty girl and obviously head over heels in love with Lillian. After the lunch, Lillian's Grandfather made a speech and told everyone how proud he was of his beautiful granddaughter who had his best wishes now that she had taken the first steps along the highway of married life. Then the two brides had opened the afternoon's celebrations by dancing together to the polite applause of the guests before slipping away to fly off on honeymoon to a secret Caribbean destination. That evening Lillian had carried the slightly shorter Kitty over the threshold and into the villa where they would spend the next two weeks relaxing and having sex. And yes, the blonde really did love her new 'store-bought' wife. As far as Lillian senior was concerned, a castrated shemale such as Kitty, was the ideal wife for her daughter as she could neither have children nor get Lillian junior pregnant. When the happy couple 'decided' to start a family then only the best would be considered, in the form of an exclusive Toronto sperm bank: Lillian senior fully expected to be in control of whatever selections the happy couple eventually made. The future of the Crossley dynasty was of paramount importance after all. * * * Still on the same side of the Atlantic, but several thousand miles away on the other side of the continent, Ms Rowena W. Trost was looking pleased with herself as she examine the latest addition to her extensive collection. Ms Trost was not a recluse even though she lived at the isolated, but self-contained Skywalker Ranch in an out of the way part of Arizona. With her nearest neighbours living sixty miles away she could pursue her hobby with little threat of interference from friends, acquaintances or even the authorities. Ms Trost collected girls as a hobby, hence the need for solitude. However not just any girls would do as Rowena Trost had one proviso... They must all be a minimum of five foot ten inches tall, full of figure and graceful: oh, and they had to be lesbians but the latter detail was an easy thing to arrange. She wasn't fussy as to hair or skin colour nor did she care about their racial or national background: they just had to be tall and shapely with an exquisite hour-glass figure. She was, however, fussy about what they wore ? very fussy. In fact they were only allowed to dress in one way and one way only: They had to wear a satin leotard that displayed the full length of their long and shapely legs, the latter being encased in old fashioned nylons, complete with a seem running down the back. They also had to wear shoes with six-inch stiletto heels and to this end, all of them had been operated on to shorten their Achilles tendons so that they could no longer walk if they were not wearing Mistress's favourite footware. Their hair also had to be worn long and straight with a fringe so that it framed their faces: the latter being fully made up at all times. In fact Ms Trost was so keen to obtain new girls that she wasn't bothered whether they were cis- or trans- and today she was taking delivery of a new shemale to add to her collection ? an English girl provisionally named Poppy. Rowena Trost could not settle and had even started to pace up and down although she did not realise it. It was a shade after two when the minibus had pulled up in the ranch house carport. Rowena had watched as two of the Circle's agents had hustled the tall figure out of the vehicle and in through the side door of her house... She would not inspect her new prize until after the woman had been appropriately prepared by her other pets, instead she greeted her guests, signed for her acquisition and chatted while they both both ate. They had had a long day so far and it would be late before they arrived back at the airport so she wanted to make sure that she maintained her reputation of being a courteous hostess. Eventually two of her pets escorted the new girl into Mistress's presence so that Mistress Rowena could see her for the first time. Poppy was a brunette and according to the initial description, was not quite nineteen years old and had only been female for a matter of a few weeks. Mistress slowly walked around her new pet and despite the girls' lack of real hips, pronounced herself satisfied. At this point the agents had thanked her and left. It would have been easy for Rowena to have been disappointed but she wasn't as she could see Poppy's full potential: a heavy course of oestrogen coupled with a quadruple daily dose of testosterone blockers over the next twelve months would complete the feminization process which, despite her D-cup implants, had barely begun. The brunette's hair was a nice shade but far too short although that would grow. Rowena carried on examining a confused looking Poppy, who was still unsteady on her high heels. Never mind, this was nothing that practice wouldn't put right. She stroked the girl's satin-clad body noting the softness ? yes they had definitely made a good start on her. The breasts were okay and they would definitely get bigger as she grew more of her own breast tissue: Rowena gently groped them ? they felt natural enough, the implants had obviously been put in behind the girl's pectoral muscles which always produced a much more realistic result. Ms Trost stroked a hand down the girl's belly and grasped the bulging crotch. It wasn't a big bulge but it was enough to scream 'shemale'. Rowena chuckle... Thanks to the hormones' her thingy would shrink and eventually it would become far less prominant. In a year or so, when it was possible to reduce the strength of the girl's medication it would hopefully begin to function again, but by then it would be tiny. Many Mistresses made a point of castrating shemale slaves or even of putting them through full GRS: Rowena didn't as she thought that a tiny cock looked cute ? especially when it was under two inches when erect and would only squirt when the girl was fucked. She smiled: her other shemales were both like that already and no doubt Poppy would emulate them given time ? their miniature cocks were quite harmless being for show only as they were far too small to fuck anything with. Mistress Rowena was very pleased... English Poppy was definitely a 'work in progress' and she would enjoy training and moulding her until the young shemale achieved her full statuesque potential. But first of all the girl would be trained as a pussy-licker as well as serving as a maid... That way Mistress would get some pleasure out of her from the get-go. 12. Result! Della ended the call, switched off her mobile phone and sat back smiling happily. In front of her the cosmetically cluttered desk gave the impression of great activity while her team were seated around the office casually chatting and drinking tea or coffee. A large "In Conference ? DO NOT DISTURB!" sign hung on the outside of the door guarding their privacy. There were just the six of them, all female: Deputy Chief Constable Della Fordice and the four members of her team, two of whom, like Della, were in uniform. The sixth person, a large, dykey looking copper named Wendy, was the DCC's bodyguard. Della's smile turned into a grin. "Well ladies, it's been a restful five months but I think that it is time we got a result!" The members of her 'specially selected' team looked confused while, in the far corner, Wendy sat with her hand inside the waist band of her trousers as she carried on rubbing herself while watching lesbian porn on her phone, oblivious to everything else. A uniformed sergeant was the first of the group to speak. "I thought that was the exact thing that we weren't supposed to do." "Change of plans, Ginnie, change of plans!" Della said trying to sound mysterious. "A positive result will look good on all of our records and during my last progress meeting with the Chief I got the hint that our Lady and Master is thinking of wrapping this one up due to our total lack of progress." "Ah well," a Detective Inspector said sadly, "it's been fun while it lasted. Looks like we will all be back to doing some real work in the near future!" This brought an ironic chuckle from some of the others. Della shook her head. "Oh no it won't... It'll take at least a couple of months to wrap this one up with all of the 'follow-up investigations' that'll be needed. I reckon that we will still be a hive of total inactivity come September!" "Okay, Della," the sergeant said thoughtfully. How the hell are we going to get a positive result out of this one when we've been doing our damnedest to to prevent one?" Della did a passable impression of a cat who'd found her way into a cream factory. "That phone call was to let me know that everything's set up and this afternoon we are going to rescue Jessica Deacon!" "WAAAA?" The level of surprise was so great that even Wendy paid attention. * * * Just after two o'clock a couple of police cars left the yard behind the nick and tore off down the street, blue lights flashing and sirens screaming. In the lead car, Della spoke into the radio. "Whisky Victor, Charlie Three ? urgent!" Whisky Victor being the call sign of the controller while, Charlie Three was Della's own call sign. "Go ahead, Ma'am!" Control answered while everyone else kept off the air. "I need back-up!" she snapped. "Can any mobile units within ten minutes of the Cumberland Road Industrial Estate head for Unit Four on the hurry-up?" 'On the hurry-up' being copper-speak for using blue lights, driving badly and making as much noise as they could get away with. Another car and a foot-patrol answered with an affirmative while a traffic car also said that they were on the way but were farther out. All over the patch, pretty well everyone else was listening-in because a Deputy Chief Constable actually doing police work is a real novelty ? just ask any copper! "Charlie Three, please have an ambulance on stand-by," Della concluded then braced herself as Sergeant Ginnie Bryce braked heavily before cutting across a junction against a red light. Wendy muttered something obscene from the back seat as the car lurched right then left before accelerating away. Then it was brake ? accelerate: brake ? accelerate all the way across town until they screeched into the industrial estate closely followed by the second car. Then it was out of the cars and over to the front door of Unit-4 at the run. They were joined by another car just as Wendy and the sergeant used a handheld ram to deal with the door lock. "Go round the back," Della shouted to the two coppers who piled out of the beat car that had just turned up, "and grab anybody who comes out that way!" Crash! The door flew open and Big Wendy dropped the ram and pulled out an automatic pistol before leading the charge into the building. The gun of course was not loaded ? Della did not want to risk an accidental discharge from injuring anyone ? especially Jessica! And then it was all over and Detective Inspector Jessica Deacon was found drugged and semi-conscious, tied to a chair in the disused office next to the junk-littered workshop that took up the majority of Unit 4. The building had "To Let" signs and had clearly not been used for some time, which is why it had been chosen! 'Disappointingly' there was no sign of any of the kidnappers. By the time that the ambulance arrived there was a much larger police presence in and around the building all of them happy that the kidnapped copper had been found safe and well. * * * The Chief Constable looked up as Della entered her office and smiled. But whether it was happiness or relief or a little of both, it was impossible to tell. "I asked you to come and see me so that I could give you my personal thanks." Della smiled. "Thank you, Ma'am, but it was a team effort: I couldn't have done it without them! Now that Jessica Deacon has been discharged from hospital we are reviewing what evidence we have regarding the kidnappers but other than concluding that it was a sex- trafficking gang, we've hit a dead end." The Chief nodded. "Yes, I've read your report: it looks like the scumbags are experts in covering their tracks." She sighed. "Still we've got Jessica back: that's the main thing although according to medical and psychiatric reports she'll never be able to return to duty ? God knows what the bastards did to her; apparently she doesn't even remember her own name or that she's a copper." "Sad, very sad!" Della said, her voice heavy with regret. "According to my informant we got to her just as they were about to hand her over to a paying customer for shipping abroad. This is probably what has happened to those four lads." The Chief Constable looked blank for a second or so until the penny dropped. "Ah, yes, the job that DI Deacon was working on when she was taken." She paused and then changed the subject. "You handled Deacon's hospital discharge, didn't you, Della?" Della nodded. "Actually she's staying with me, just till she finds her feet and her medical retirement comes through. I thought that it was for the best as she's still badly shaken and, well, my housekeeper can keep an eye on her while I'm at work." The Chief looked impressed. "That's jolly decent of you Della ? looking out for an injured colleague like that." Della smiled inscrutably. "I've got lots of space and she can stay as long as she likes: in fact I am glad of the company!" * * * Della Fordice was happy and contented as she lay back against the mound of cushions and pillows that were piled up against the upholstered headboard of her king-sized bed. She spread her legs and waited for a few seconds before calling. "Okay, Titty, come and show me what you can do." Her new pet "Whooped!" loudly before hopping up onto the bed. She shuffled forward and pressed her plumped-up bimbo lips against her owner's pussy and began to lick, and nibble enthusiastically utilizing all of the skills she had been taught at 'The Farm'. Della sighed contentedly and idly began to run her fingers through her her slave's long blonde hair. This was the life! She had paid around ?50,000 for Titty (formerly Jessica Deacon) which was a lot less than a trained lesbian sex-slave was worth on the open market so she wasn't grumbling. Besides, all of Jessica's assets including her home, savings and pension now belonged to her Mistress which meant that Della would begin making a profit on the deal almost immediately. Yes, life really was good! And if the enthusiasm that Titty was displaying was anything to go by, she thought so too! The End