Cat And Mouse 2 - Pink Persuasions - Chapters III And IV free porn video

III: Women Roar, Cows Graze Two young ladies approached a gravesite in a graveyard in Woodside, New York. One of the ladies was smartly dressed in a frilly white blouse and a tight black skirt, while the other was more casually dressed in a tan-colored angora sweater and a pair of color-faded blue jeans, holes of which had been fashionably ripped in places along the legs. On the head of this lady was a pair of purple-rimmed sunglasses, while a more formal pair of reading glasses sat on the other lady's forehead. The headstone of the grave they stood before confirmed that they had reached the right gravesite. BROCK SAMUEL PORTNOY 1961 ~ 2017 IN LOVING MEMORY In the right hands of both of the young women were a handful of flowers, which they placed upon the grassy surface in front of the gravestone. Shelley Portnoy, whose chestnut-colored hair was in an updo, gazed thoughtfully down upon the gravesite, speaking aloud as her curly, red-headed sister Sandra similarly stared quietly down upon their late father's grave. "It looks like your daughters will be heading into virgin territory, daddy," Shelley began. "Brand new lives in a brand new city, and we're going in with new jobs to boot. Good money, too. We've been doing okay so far, getting good grades. I was surprised that they offered so much in the way of a salary for the kinds of jobs we were looking for, but...I chalk it up to what you told us so long ago after mom left. That we were both destined for greatness. I guess now it's time for us to prove how right you are. If things work out, this may be the last time we see you here. Keep smiling on us, as we know you always do." Sandra stepped up to the gravestone and lowered to a knee, bringing up a hand to her mouth. She planted a kiss upon the palm, and then pressed the hand against the headstone. "Goodbye, daddy." As the two young women left the gravesite for what seemed to be the final time, they casually made their way between the other plots towards the exit. "I sure as hell hope that we're not going to be wasting our time out there," Shelley warily remarked. "For the kind of money they offered? I think this is a sure thing, Shel," Sandra replied. "You're getting an executive job, and I'm gonna see how far I can go in modeling. We'll both be working for the same company, too! Dad would be proud." Shelley just nodded, still deep in thought as they neared the graveyard's exit. Once they were at Shelley's car, she noticed that her sister...who was only a year younger than her...had a more worried look on her face. "San?" Shelley strapped herself in after settling herself in the driver's seat of her light blue Audi. "What's wrong?" After a moment of silence, Sandra turned her head to her older sister. "What if...we see mom? Or even Timmy? They weren't at the old house. What if they relocated to...you know...where we're going?" "Two words, San," Shelley answered, with a touch of disdain in her voice. "Who. Cares. I won't give a fuck if we see them anywhere or not. As far as I'm concerned, they killed dad. Whatever they do with their lives is their own damn business. Remember what dad once said? 'If you had a choice between winners and retards...'" "'...go with the winners'." Sandra nodded in acknowledgement as she completed the quote. "If the numbers are any indication, we're gonna win big, sis." Shelley, heaving out a thoughtful sigh, twisted the key which brought the car's engine to life. "Bullchester, here we come." * * * It seemed like only yesterday, Waldo Pickering was a college boy with scientific ambition. He was to be part of a 'think tank' before he was found by another far more ambitious...and for the most part, dangerous...scientist named Celeste Richards. Ever since that first night, Waldo's life quite literally changed. Through a combination of subliminal recordings that played to his subconscious mind, powerful drugs laced in his food and drink, and visits to the Butterfly Salon, the slim, bespectacled young man Celeste had acquired for herself was forced to watch his masculine frame develop into a much more feminine one. His head of short, plain- looking, dark brown hair became fuller and more lustrous, which was reshaped into a shoulder-length curly hairstyle following a Salon visit, His hips expanded, and his chest began to swell into two fleshy bumps. The timid she-male that was the result of Celeste tampering so radically with the young man's chromosomes served not only as the ambitious older woman's devoted servant and housekeeper, but as a lab assistant as well since Celeste chose to have Walda retain all of the scientific knowledge possessed by the young man the fidgety she-male used to be. As part of his daily routine, Walda was to pay a routine visit to Gourmandizer's for grocery shopping purposes. In the wake of a visit by a man that Celeste considered politically important who had taken a particular interest in the she-male Waldo was becoming at the time, the scheming Sisterhood figurehead...who was initially hesitant to see Walda develop a larger frame...changed her mind, and adjusted her perpetually meek servant's diet accordingly. The results were certainly visible by now compared to the slim young man Walda used to be. While not as grossly obese as the unfortunate woman who was attached to the hip of Gemma Schultz as of late, Walda certainly developed curves. Particularly in her posterior. Walda's softly-curled hair had grown a bit, and it reached to about mid-back. Celeste's beauty regimen made her timid prot?g? smell like she had bathed in Avon cosmetics. Wherever she walked, her curvy body emitted a powdery sweet scent. Walda's face, however, reflected the kind of person she had become as an associate of Celeste Richards: a bundle of nerves, despite her slavish devotion to Celeste's desires, however menial...or kinky...they could be. Walda was conditioned to know her place as nothing more than a veritable doormat not just for the Sisterhood, but for anyone of a dominant nature. Typically treated to all kinds of gospel by Gemma herself whenever Walda came in for a shopping visit, the red-haired advocate of the Divine Feminine religion was in the midst of explaining the spiritual calling to a married couple this morning. This allowed the plus-sized she-male to quietly slip by without being singled out for another round of gospel. The short-haired Marcia was, as always, alongside her. In one of her pudgy hands was a half-eaten cheeseburger. Walda was able to roll her shopping cart into the aisles undisturbed, and she began looking for the items she was to collect. As she rolled the cart into aisle 3, she nearly collided her cart...which was about 25% full...with that of a tall, dark-skinned, and bald man who she immediately recognized. His face sent a combination of excitement and intimidation running through her. Once Leonard Hardcastle realized who the curvy she-male was, a wide grin formed on his face. "Small world, isn't it, little one?" Walda swallowed hard as the taller man stepped over to her. "H- hi...sir..." she practically whispered. Leo breathed in the scents she generated. "Mmmm...you smell so deliciously precious, my dear..." A firm hand rubbed at Walda's fleshy bottom. "...and I seem to recall that you looked significantly thinner than you appear now. I wonder if you felt compelled to take my advice, despite what Celeste had said? Are you openly betraying your Mistress? Should I..." The hand at Walda's butt now sharply slapped it. "...punish you for this?" Leonard then stepped in much closer to the curvy she-male, snaking an arm around her and pulling her against him. The hand of this arm then burrowed beneath the skirt of the dress she was wearing, the fingers beginning to slide between the cheeks of her larger posterior. "...or should I show my appreciation instead? It's flattering that you should think of me, little one." All Walda could do was angle her head up and pant, anxious to feel his fingers within her anal hole once again. Her eyelids lowered as she continued to stare lustily up at him. "Walk with me, my dear. Push both carts." After releasing Walda, the dark-skinned man gestured to both his cart and Walda's. "I insist. You will acquire whatever I point to, and place it in my cart for me." After the way Leonard had stimulated Walda the last time they were in the same room together at Celeste's home, he knew the fidgety, pudgy she-male would jump at the chance to honor his commands. She certainly made an effort to see that the two carts were side by side at all times, even going to the trouble of steering them very carefully as they went. As there were aisles with unpacked goods stacked up, effectively creating an obstacle for a dual-cart passage, Leonard had his anxious she-male thrall bring the carts past one at a time before re-combining them. She did the same thing whenever another cart...or a person...needed to pass them. Every time he leveled his finger at a product he needed Walda to fetch for him, she was quick to respond in kind. Even as she shopped for her own routine stuff. Walda was eager, the entire time, to feel the intimidating black man's fingers in her once again, wiggling them around sensuously and torturously. She had such vivid daydreams over the kinds of things she had hoped he would do if ever they were alone together, and in a bedroom. Once they were at the end of the last aisle, Leonard trapped Walda against the handlebars of the cart, one arm at either side of her. She just stared up with a mixture of intimidation and undeniable excitement, feeling his warmth against her feminized body. She slowly panted as he spoke in his impressively deep bass voice. "You're such a naughty little thing to be feeling the way you do for me," Leonard intoned, grinning wickedly. "You do know that I am a married man, do you not?" Walda nodded. "Y-yes...Mister Leonard..." "Master Leonard." "Sss-sorry...Master Leonard..." She felt herself begin to sweat as she continued to stare up at the taller man. "...I...I-I can't...help it...yyy-you're so...you're so..." At the sudden touch of his hands on her face, Walda practically melted where she stood as he interjected. "Intoxicating? I find that very flattering, little one. I could steal you right now and shape you into the kind of servant I could appreciate...but I wonder just how deeply you could go down my little rabbit hole? Down to where my long, probing fingers await you? Are you willing to go down deeper, little one?" Walda, sweating a little more now, nodded rapidly in response. Leonard nodded back, grinning. "Once our groceries are paid for, we will meet again outside, and you will receive instructions to which you shall be bound to execute for me, if you wish to continue seeing me." "Yes, Mmm-mmaster Leonard." "You must be cautious with these instructions, little one," Leonard warily added. "If your Mistress Celeste should find out what you are doing for me, you may get yourself into serious trouble. Are you prepared to take that risk for me, my sweet?" Walda could now feel Leonard's fingers teasing the rear hem of her pants, as if he were about to slip his hands beneath her panties once again. "Oh, yesss...YES! Yesyesyesyesyes...oh, please, yes..." Grinning with satisfaction, Leonard released Walda and gestured to her cart. "I will see you outside, then." * * * Maid Mara's first task was to sweep up the floors of the house. There was a considerable amount of sawdust all over the floors from the modifications that were made to the house, no doubt through local contractors. Said modifications made the residence look a little more Victorian in nature. And she had to sweep...and subsequently wax...the floors of each and every room on every floor of the house. This would be followed by a dusting and a polishing of the pieces of furniture that were moved into the home. Certain furniture pieces were moved into the home, but they were not where the Lady Rosemary wanted them to be. This was also a task that her newest maid was to perform during her stay. This in addition to the completion of the paint jobs that were only partially done within the house, and the laying of carpets in some of the other rooms of Lady Rosemary's new Barford home. Perhaps as a consequence of having been conditioned by Rita Noble, Mara applied herself to the many tasks that had been placed before her quite eagerly, and without any manner of complaint. Breaks for lunch and dinner were certainly permitted, although Rosemary reminded Mara that once the house was in order, her new maid would then burden the responsibilities of cooking meals, and feeding, the Lady of the house in addition to herself. With the onset of nightfall, it would be Mara's responsibility to undress Rosemary, and then apply the noblewoman's soft, silken nightgown. Outfitting Rosemary in the morning would also become a part of Mara's daily tasks once her work on the house itself was completed. As she worked, Mara could feel...and smell...how different she was now. Her skin seemed smooth and powdery, her hair felt soft and silky even in its tight bun, and she emitted a much sweeter scent, no doubt as a result of the enema treatment she had endured. Although the experience was initially uncomfortable, the somewhat bloated feel she had when she had the scented water inside her was...oddly stimulating. Particularly when she moved around. The Lady Rosemary, for the most part, left Mara alone as she continued her work sweeping the floors. Mara had started on the largest room in the house, which was the Living Room. She finished within nearly two hours of having started the task, and then moved on to the next room that she needed to begin sweeping. As the noblewoman's new maid worked on the floors of Rosemary's bedroom, however, Rosemary herself appeared at the doorway, smiling as she observed her maid's work. "You're doing a wonderful job so far, Mara dear." Mara stopped to look to the grinning noblewoman and offer a small curtsey. "Thank you, Milady Rosemary." "Keep up the exquisite work, and the compensation you earn will be well worth it, Timothy." Hearing the name of the person she used to be, Mara only blinked in surprise, but held her attentive composure. "Oh, I'm sorry...did I just call you Timothy?" Rosemary slowly walked over to her maid, pacing around her. "Isn't that the name of the young man you used to be? "Y-yes, Milady Rosemary." The crafty noblewoman was behind her now, speaking into her right ear. "Do you miss being Timothy, Mara? Does it ever bother you that you can never, ever go back to being the boy you were born to be?" Her hands were at Mara's breasts now, rubbing them enticingly. "Hmmm?" "I...mmmh..." With Rosemary's fingers pressing and rubbing at her nipples now, Mara found it a challenge to concentrate on her thoughts. "...I-I've...gotten u-ooooohh...used t..." "Yeeesss...you have, haven't you, my sweet little Mara?" Rosemary groped at her maid's breasts some more as she pressed herself against the now moaning former boy from behind. "Why think about ugly, disgusting boy things when you have such a big, soft pair of breasts to play with? To squeeze. To fondle," Her lips came close to Mara's ear. "To suck," she hissed. Mara's eyes narrowed in her effort to maintain lucidity despite the onslaught of pleasurable sensations she wanted to surrender herself to as she panted, "Did y...yyyou...want me t-to...toooooooooh...ffffinish mmmmh....mmmmmh...mmmy work?" The noblewoman giggled at this, but she also kept groping at Mara's mammaries. "I suppose you could, my little maid...but when you finish later this evening, you are to join me in my bedroom, so you can earn your, ah..." She hissed the last word in Mara's ear. "...compensation." With one last tweak to her maid's nipples, Rosemary finally stepped out of the room so that Mara could finish her cleaning duties there. With Rosemary being as suggestive as she was, more predatory urges manifested in Mara's mind as she resumed her sweeping of the room's floor. Urges she had been conditioned to embrace by the woman who forever robbed Timothy Portnoy of his masculinity. Urges that were becoming increasingly difficult to suppress. * * * The rationale that finally compelled Howard Venis to leave Ron's house after their meal was that Ron wanted Howard to keep his over- protective parents from becoming too suspicious. During the night, however, Howard's dreams were fixated on a longing to return to Ron, and once again feel the taste of his friend's soft lips. After they had finished eating together, Ron and Howard had kissed deeply in the hours that followed. It was all Howard had wanted to do seeing as how he no longer had any reason to worry for as long as he was with Ron. When Howard awoke, the sheets of his bed were a bit of a disheveled mess, and they were moist with his own sweat as well. Heavy on the young man's mind were the words that Ron had cooed to him the previous night. Words that brought him into the now effeminate Ron's room. Words that assured him that everything would be fine. As he came out of his wild and fretful dreaming, he literally felt like he was floating on a pink cloud, the scent of which was sugary sweet with every inward breath. He heard himself moaning softly as he rose up from his sweat-dampened bed. His mind felt...softened. Like he wanted nothing better than to do the kinds of things he did with Ron the previous night, and in the comfort of the former athlete's bed. Sleeping in his own bed reminded Howard of those hours in which they kept their lips locked together. He felt his body shiver as he sat up. He could feel a generous tingling through every inch of his body, from head to toe. His eyes were thin slits as he softly panted. His body felt a bit peculiar, too. Somehow, it seemed as if his time spent with Ron had a somewhat slimming effect on him. He always knew he had a kind of average build, but this morning, there was a visible difference. Even his skin felt soft, and when he ran his hand over his arms, they felt...strangely smooth. The entire time he assessed himself, Ron's lustful, yearning face remained on his mind. He had to go back to him. To see him again. This was now far more of an urge to him compared to school. There was no disputing this. Nothing else mattered. The sound of the door to his bedroom being pulled open, angrily, snapped Howard out of his reverie, and he let out a slightly high- pitched gasp as he angled his head towards the door. At first, his mother had a frown on her face as she glared at Howard...but then, after seeing how strange her son looked, her frown became one of confusion rather than anger as she slowly stepped towards him. "What in the world...?" Claire Venis quietly remarked as she came up close to her son. "What happened to you? Y-you look so..." The fingers of her right hand rummaged around Howard's hair, which felt a lot softer, and which had apparently developed a bit of length as well. "...girly?" Howard looked as if he was about to explain...but he let out a girlish giggle instead, for no apparent reason. A finger flirtatiously went to his mouth as more lustful thoughts of being with Ron filled his mind. All that eventually came out of his mouth was "Ev...rything's...fine. Mmm. Everything's...just fine." Another girlish giggle followed. At a loss for anything to say...at all...regarding her son's strange appearance, it was academic how Claire would respond to this. "I...I'm calling a doctor. This...where were you last night? With Ron?" The glare returned to her eyes as her tone turned angry. "Did he do anything to you?? Did he...did he put you on drugs??" This forced yet another giggle out of Howard, whose answer was merely a shrug as he continued grinning, looking a bit mystified over his mother's behavior. "He's not gonna hurt me, Mom. Stop worrying." But Claire had already stepped closer to Howard to place a hand to his forehead. It deepened her confusion when she found that he did not feel warm. She then shook her head in her self-contemplation. "No...no...doctor. Yes. That's what I do. Yes." She wagged an index finger at him. "You...you're gonna see a doctor, young man. Something is very wrong here." She hurried out of his room. "I'm gonna call him right now..." It occurred to Howard, in that moment, that he was let off relatively easy compared to how he knew his father would have responded. If he had known that Howard had effectively skipped so much as a day of school, Vincent Venis would have gone ballistic in his response. He might have even slapped his own son, hard, in his building inner rage. Although that could still happen, which put Howard in a rut of worry as his mother went downstairs to make her phone call. Howard, however, was not about to stick around for any further parental overtures. Quickly getting into clean clothes despite his disheveled hair, he quietly snuck out of his bedroom and went downstairs. He already heard his mother talking to the doctor on the phone, explaining what she had seen. As quietly as he could, after successfully descending the stairs without making a sound, he went for the front door... ...which was locked tight. Howard let out a fretful sigh. He really wanted to be able to escape the house and head over to Ron's home to rejoin him, but there was no way he could. A check at the house's back door showed that Claire had secured that means of exiting the house as well. And, naturally, Claire had the keys to both doors. The only thing that Howard could do, for the moment, was to return to his room and await further overtures from his mother. Overtures that would make him feel younger than he really was. His pouting and his casual posturing, however, appeared considerably feminine in nature. When his mother returned to Howard's room, a more inquisitive look was on her face. "Yes. I locked both doors. I didn't want you sneaking out of here, young man. You think I'm not wise to such things?" She stepped up a little closer to her effeminate son. "Now...I want you to tell me what kinds of things you were doing with Ron Bailey last night. I want full and complete details, and I don't want you leaving out any details. We have two hours before the doctor gets here." Another giggle. "Come on, Mom. Relax. Everything's fine." "It's not fine!!" Claire snapped. "I mean...look! Look at this!" She gestured to the bed. "Why does your bed look like this? Did you pour water all over it during the night? It's covered with sweat, and since you're the only person who sleeps here, I can't say that it could have been anyone else, can I?" Howard let out another loud sigh of irritation. "Mom..." Claire grabbed her son's shoulders now, shaking them angrily as she yelled. "What were you doing with Ron Bailey last night??" "Notheeeng, notheeeng...stop! You're hurting meeee!" Howard immediately burst into tears as he whined, and then began sobbing despite himself. Seeing his reaction...seeing how quickly her own son crumbled so quickly...deepened Claire's concern even further as she released him, and she began a slow retreat towards the door of her son's bedroom, walking backwards as she kept her eyes on Howard. "We're gonna continue this conversation after the doctor is gone, young man...and I will get the answers I want. For now, just calm down and relax. You want breakfast, you come down and you make it yourself, seeing as how the breakfast I made for you is cold by now." With that, Claire turned and closed the door behind her, leaving Howard to recover from his unexpectedly extreme emotional response. He usually got very steamed, and would all too easily lapse into a shouting fit over such a confrontation. That he reacted the way he did over her mother's confrontational attitude concerned him. But then, his mind drifted back to Ron's reassurances, which made him feel better as his hand fished beneath his underwear to begin stroking his somewhat diminished penis. Stop worrying. Relax. Ron's voice, still in his head, repeating over and over, assured him as he continued to stroke himself. Everything's fine. * * * The last thing Donnie Blatz remembered, after spiking Ron Bailey's drink at school in revenge for the beating Ron gave him, was that he was walking home from school about two days after being reprimanded by the Dean about it. The beating was itself retaliation for the relentless bullying Donnie had inflicted upon his nerdy friend, Howard Venis. Among the cruel pranks Donnie had perpetrated was to identify himself as Howard Venis to a substitute teacher when he was called out for a class disruption, leading a shocked Howard to correct things following the class session. This was of course among several opportunities Donnie had acted on in his constant torment of the bespectacled and socially awkward student, most of which Donnie was able to get away with. For the moment, however, Donnie was nowhere near the school grounds. His life had come to a veritable halt, in fact, the moment he felt the sting of a dart in his back. The world spun in the next moment, and he felt himself falling forward. By the time his body collapsed to the ground, a numbing unconsciousness had set in. When he returned from a void of total darkness to a softly-blurred vision handicap, which then restored itself to crystal clarity, he discovered that his wrists were tightly bound behind him. He was still wearing the same clothes he wore when he was unexpectedly tranquilized, but his surroundings were intimidatingly different. The room he was seated in was dark, and there were no other features that he could make out save for the patterned white floor beneath him. He also saw a large metal lamp to the right of where he had been seated. There were no tables, and no other chairs. He was reminded of the police interrogation rooms he had seen on law enforcement-related TV shows. He was not alone, either. A large, well-built, broad-chested, and bald-headed man shrouded in shadow had stepped over to the lamp before Donnie could make out his face, and this second occupant turned on the large lamp and then had the blazing hot brightness shine right in Donnie's now frightened face. "Who gave you that formula?" the bald inquisitor asked. "Fff-formula?" Donnie had to squint his eyes over the blinding light beaming right down at him. "Wha...what d' fuck...what're y'...talkin' 'bout?" "Don't play dumb, kid," his captor growled back. "We're told you used a formula on a jock at the University. Don't make us have to make your life any worse than what they want for you. Just tell us where you got it. Give us a name." "I don't even know what you're talking about, ma..." Donnie then caught on to the mention of the word 'jock'. That's when he finally realized what this was truly about. This, however, was about taking something from his father and using it for a retaliation. Donnie figured it was some kind of poison, and he wouldn't have cared if it killed Ron Bailey. When he found out that Ron had been skipping school, he figured that the altruistic athlete might have at least gotten sick from whatever it was that Donnie had slipped into his water bottle. That, to him, would be enough of a satisfaction. The bald guy, however, patiently waited for Donnie to continue after the sudden stop in his confession. "Yes...? Is there more to this?" Donnie didn't want to see his father get in hot water over this. The school bully kept his mouth shut, and said nothing more. The bald man's tone turned impatient. "Hey, look, kid. If you don't tell us anything more, you're gonna find yourself wishing you cooperated after you find out what's in store for you! Now what the fuck else is there?? Did you get this from another student? From your dad? Your mom? Your fuckin' dog?? WHERE DID YOU GET THE GODDAMN FORMULA??" The verbal assault on Donnie definitely had its intended effect. The bullying student now looked very intimidated. Nevertheless, he remained defiant. "I..." He swallowed hard, trying to recover from his captor's screaming fit. "...I'd like t-to talk...to a lawyer, please." After a moment, the bald man shook his head. "Lawyers ain't gonna save you from the rehabilitation you're in for, kid. You might as well kiss that limp biscuit between your legs goodbye while you still can." The bald man then went behind Donnie. As the frightened student let out a scream, he found his cry muffled by the presence of a large, black felt cloth that had been placed over his head, which was tightened shut at his neck. His screams and cries for help went unanswered as he was pulled out of his seat and dragged forward by his captor. His sweaty body then felt a cool breeze run against him following the sound of a metal door being opened. It occurred to Donnie that he was being taken outside, only to find himself placed in more cramped quarters, curled up into a ball as a metal hood slammed shut above him. Still bound, still lost to the darkness of the hood he was wearing, and still very scared, he heard the sound of a car engine come to life, and the feeling of forward movement followed. Where he was being taken to, he had no idea. For all he knew, he was being taken far enough into a forest to be covertly shot dead. * * * Although she was forced to deal with an alternate doctor rather than the one they had always used(their regular one, ironically, was sick), Claire Venis desperately wanted answers as to what happened to her son. He had introduced himself as Dr. Hall when he arrived, and he produced satisfactory proof upon Claire's request for her to see that he was, in fact, a doctor. He had even stated that he was uniquely qualified to examine unusual ailments. From what she overheard outside the closed door to Howard's room, his bedside manner was pleasant enough, although she found it disturbing that Howard sounded so flirtatious as he spoke. It was clear to her that something was wrong with him. As the business between them was benign enough, Claire went to the kitchen of the house to pour herself a cup of coffee, which she preferred black. The sound of someone coming down the stairs about 15 minutes later brought her out of her seat as the doctor stepped into the kitchen to present his after-report. "No, no. Please sit." Dr. Hall raised a hand in restraint. "We need to chat for a bit about your son." Claire re-settled herself into the seat. "So...go ahead. I'm listening." The doctor stood in front of her as he calmly spoke. "Okay...believe it or not, your son is just fine in terms of his general body condition. He doesn't have any kind of a fever and his blood pressure is fine." Claire's eyes widened. "But...he looks so...different!" "I'm aware of this, Mrs. Venis," Dr. Hall replied. "Which is why I took the liberty of taking a blood sample. I'm not finished with him yet, but I would say that he's well enough for him to return to school tomorrow. As for what you said about his sheets being soaked with sweat, it's safe to say that whatever happened to him happened during the night. No doubt some kind of chemical reaction, but Howard is insistent that he was never given any hard drugs. No cocaine, no marijuana, nothing. He would have refused such things in any case." "Well...what do you think..." "Precisely why I took a blood sample, Mrs. Venis," Dr. Hall interjected. "Just give me a couple of days, and I will get back to you with my findings. For now, though, I would not stress Howard out about this any further. On this, I must insist. Just continue your normal, day-to-day routine." He stepped in a little closer to Claire to give a more serious bit of advice. "I might also stress the importance of refraining from trying to get a second opinion. Just trust that I will get back to you with my findings. Until then, don't be afraid to ease up on your son regardless of how he looks." Although this was not the most satisfactory of explanations, she slowly nodded in understanding, but she had to add a caveat. "Get back to me the moment you've finished testing, please. My son gets tormented enough with all that bullying." "Best advice you can give him there is to have him ignore them," the doctor explained. "Bullies always look for a button to press. A connection. Their teasing alone gives them opportunities to press it. If he responds, the button is pressed, and the torment begins. If he starts ignoring them, they can't get that connection, and they'll eventually disengage." Claire nodded, appreciating the advice. "And if they start getting physical in their torment?" The doctor shrugged. "That's what the Dean is for, no? If you feel it would help, just tell your son what I told you the next time he expresses concern." "I will," A smile finally showed on Claire's face. "Thank you, doctor." "I'll get back to you in a couple of days. I promise." Claire followed the doctor to the front door, where they exchanged their farewells. Once Claire closed the door behind her, the doctor hurried back to his car. Once he was inside, and he pulled away from the house, his next destination was a hotel room outside of the boundaries of Bullchester, where Dr. Hall...who was actually CIA Agent Leland Hall...had chosen to temporarily operate out of in his investigations. The next call he made was by way of a secure line, as he needed to check in with Director Lowenthal. * * * In the wake of Jemima's aimless departure from the hotel encounter with Xavier, Princess, and Maggie, nothing other than getting as far away as possible from that place mattered. He didn't care how far he had to go. He just ran, and ran, and ran. It was only when he had inevitably stopped, partially out of exhaustion, that he realized how far he had gone, and how unlikely it would be for him to retrace his steps and return. He had taken so many lefts and rights, down many venetian roads, that he came to an admittedly horrific conclusion. He had gotten himself lost. Lost in a foreign land, where he knew next to nothing of the language everyone spoke. Rare was the occasion where he could hear someone speaking English. Great. Jemima thought to himself, as he cleaned the lenses of his glasses after settling into a park bench. What the fuck do I do now? His first instinct was to look around for anyone that was in any kind of a uniform. A police officer, perhaps. Every civilized country had them. Someone on patrol. That would be a start. He also hoped that this policeman would have at least a bare understanding of the English language. Even if he didn't, he'd do hand signals to the best of his ability to be able to communicate his intentions to go back to the hotel room. It was getting cold, and he had no coat to help keep him warm. Having a femininely slim body obviously didn't help his situation. As the skies above began to turn deepening shades of blue, Jemima was able to see a few civilians, some of whom were couples sharing tender, quiet moments together. One such couple had locked lips, and were getting deeply involved with one another. Jemima couldn't help but stare at this particular couple from afar. He could hear the girl moaning as the young man continued to tenderly kiss and grope at her. Nothing about the moment gave Jemima the impression that she was being taken advantage of. They seemed to ravage each other as their passionate groping and kissing got a bit more extreme. The man had dug a hand beneath her blouse to caress at her bare breast. She buried a hand beneath the crotch area of his pants to rub at the hard phallus beneath it. Jemima kept staring. He felt his diminished cock stir at the sights and the sounds he had discovered. He wanted to be able to rub himself over the moment. He could hear her panting and moaning with inescapable lust. This was definitely mutual love. Passionate love. No matter what the language. His jaw hung slightly open. He wanted to be the woman in that moment. A yearning to be treated in the very same way...by someone other than Xavier...grew considerably. Looking around to make sure he would not be observed, his hands carefully went to the crotch of his pants, and the fingers of one hand fiddled around for the zipper of his pants once he had unclasped the top button... The shock that ran through him as a hand slapped, and grasped, upon his shoulder brought him out of his arousal. His eyes went wide as he let out a girlish gasp. He was turned to face the person behind him. Apparently, he was now face to face with a man in uniform, only the uniform was nothing like the ones he knew police officers in Venice wore. This was a different kind of official. He looked more like a soldier, given his rugged, muscular appearance. A bushy handlebar moustache that was as red as his mullet of gray- flecked hair surrounded a pair of frowning eyes as the soldier began quietly muttering a lot of words Jemima could not understand at all. All Jemima could do was to stare into the eyes of this rugged venetian soldier. He was both afraid...and aroused...at the same time. He was also at a complete loss for how he should respond. He hoped that a word of English would reveal a fluency in that language. "Me..." He gestured to himself. "...want...hotel." He frowned once again, but this frown was one of confusion now. "Inglese?" he asked. Jemima just shrugged. It sounded like the word 'english', sure, but...he had no way, in that moment, of knowing for sure! "Parla inglese?" he asked again. He then shook his head. "Non parlo inglese." Jemima smiled nervously. "I...I go, then." He gestured accordingly as he began to backtrack. But the soldier quickly grabbed his arm, and began speaking more Italian. A veritable paragraph of it this time. Words like pervertito and puttana were sprinkled throughout his purely Italian words. Jemima just shook his head through it all, beginning to fear what would happen next. "No, no...please! I go! You let go! Me...me mad! Bad! Grr!" But the soldier began pulling the effeminate boy deeper into the woods, and far from any illumination. Jemima knew this could get worse. A lot worse. "Wait! Wait!!" Jemima sounded desperate now as a hand went to pull down his zipper. This made the soldier stop, and release his catch. He turned to him as he pulled down both his pants, and the panties beneath them, revealing his diminished...and erect...maleness. "Me boy! See?" He gestured to his small penis, hoping this would scare off the soldier. "No girl! Me yucky! Bleh! Eeerrrgh!" But this only had the effect of softening the soldier's tone as he began speaking more Italian. A rough, warm, and calloused hand rose up and began to feel at Jemima's strands of hair. He also very slowly pulled off the effeminate boy's glasses and slipped them into a pocket of his uniform as he continued speaking. He then felt the roughness of the soldier's hand as it rubbed against his soft cheek. His touch was practically electric. All Jemima could do was stare up at him. He then lowered himself to one knee and grabbed the upper edge of his pants, pulling them back up along with his panties. He zippered them back up, and even re-clasped the button. His lips then went to Jemima's forehead, and the young man felt the pinchy bristles of the soldier's gray-flecked whiskers as he kissed the bare skin beneath his head of hair. "Non sei una puttana," the soldier then intoned. "Ma tu sei molto bella." The deepness of the soldier's voice was practically tranquilizing Jemima as he continued to stare. His cocklette remained hard. The gesture of the soldier pulling up Jem's pants and re-fastening them had effectively made the effeminate boy melt inside. He wanted to kiss him so badly. His eyes narrowed as his gaze lingered on the uniformed soldier. In the next moment, the soldier suddenly scooped Jemima up from the ground with his strong arms, and began slowly walking towards an illuminated section of the park. His eyes never left his face as the Italian soldier stared forward, moving with long strides as he continued to effortlessly carry his lost young foreigner. This is...what it is to be a girl, isn't it? This is the dream. Jemima thought to himself as his tense body relaxed. To be swept off my feet by a big, strong man...with such a low voice...and such...strong arms... The soldier ultimately brought Jemima to a black, full-size Jeep parked by a lamp light on one of the park roads. He lowered the effeminate boy to his feet and opened the rear passenger-side door, gesturing for his confused guest to enter. Jemima gestured to the passenger-side seat in front, indicating an interest to sit there instead. The soldier complied, hurrying over to the door to open it for him. Still shivering from the cold climate, he climbed in and rubbed his hands together to summon up some personal warmth. Once the soldier was back behind the wheel, he spoke a couple of words in Italian as he started up the vehicle, and the car rolled out of its parking spot. The carabineri's eyes were on the road the entire time, perhaps lost in thought. Jemima, on the other hand, had his head rested against the comfortable seat behind him, and his head was angled towards the vehicle's driver, his gaze scanning his entire body as he continued driving. His small penis remained erect in his evident arousal. I'm more girl than boy. Jemima thought to himself as he continued staring. I should just go with it. I wish I knew his language...I wish I knew what he was saying...maybe just...body language... As the soldier had activated the car's air conditioner, the climate within the car became comfortably warm as it continued coasting through the venetian streets, presumably towards the soldier's home. What do you see in me? Jemima quietly wondered to himself. What...what would you like me to be? What can I be for you? Eventually, the vehicle slowed, and parked, in front of what looked like an apartment building. The soldier finally turned to Jemima. "Si sta facendo buio," he began. "Questa ? casa mia. Sarai al sicuro," He then pointed to the building. "Casa. Mi casa." "Uh...right. Casa." Jemima just nodded, still staring at his savior. "Thank-a you." The carabineri rushed over to the passenger door to open it for Jemima, who slipped out and stepped back into the chilly air. He then followed the soldier to the door of the apartment, staying behind him the entire time as they went into the lobby, and then into an elevator. A part of Jemima wanted this man to scoop him up again, or at the very least to just grab him and kiss him. Right on the lips. He couldn't help but feel weak in the knees to be near this big, strong man. I'll follow you anywhere. Jem had wanted to say, but not a word of his thought emerged from his lips. But when the elevator doors opened, Jemima felt the man's calloused hand gently grasp his own. Once again, Jem felt a distinct stirring within him. As they walked through the hall of the apartment floor, Jemima stepped in closer to the soldier, who then placed his arm around his shoulders. Jemima couldn't help but moan softly at this gesture. Yes. He couldn't help but admit to himself. Take me. Own me. Let me be what you want me to be. Just...keep being gentle with me...show me what it is to be a girl for you... A part of Jemima briefly considered how much of a mistake this might be, going into the house of a total stranger. Going into his home, he might discover that this apparently harmless soldier could be a brutal sadist. Perhaps even a murderer, or even worse than a murderer. When the carabineri opened the door, however, he stepped to the side and gestured for his effeminate guest to enter. Slowly and cautiously walking into the blackness of the apartment room, Jemima squinted at the sudden flare of lights that came about when the soldier behind him brought them to bright life. When his eyes adjusted, he found that the apartment looked relatively tame. Nice-looking art pieces decorated the walls, there was a small dining room with fresh fruits at the middle of the table, and a large painting in the living room, above a fireplace, of a man and a woman. The man in the picture looked identical to the soldier. It was the bespectacled woman, however, who held Jemima's gaze. She looked exactly like he did. She even had the same slim build. The glasses looked a little different, sure, and the hair was a bit longer, but the woman was otherwise a dead ringer for the soldier's effeminate guest. Their manner of clothing was indicative of an earlier period in history, perhaps the 1940s. Flanking this painted picture were smaller framed pictures of the soldier and this woman sharing happy times in their lives. Sitting idle upon the upper rim of the fireplace, caked in dust and apparently untouched over a long period of time, was the woman's glasses. Jemima now realized why the soldier's behavior towards him had softened so significantly. His largely female appearance could have reminded the carabineri of his wife, who the effeminate boy had to assume was dead and gone. He then felt the soldier's fingers tap at his right shoulder, and he quickly turned to face his host. "Mangiare?" he asked. After a moment, he began rubbing his tummy, after which he mimed taking a bite out of a piece of food in his hand. At first, Jemima was confused, but he blinked in recognition of his sudden understanding. "Oh, eat. Am I hungry..." He did feel a bit peckish, so he nodded. "...yes. I eat," He rubbed at his own belly. "Yum-yum. Er...pizza-pizza?" The soldier now frowned in confusion. "Pizza?" He seemed to think for a moment, and then he nodded. "Si. Ci porter? un po 'di pizza." A smile finally formed on Jemima's lips. That certainly sounded like an affirmative! His strong hands then gripped Jemima's shoulders, the feel of which made the effeminate boy very flustered inside. "Comprer? la pizza." He then raised up his hands in restraint. "Stai qui." As the old man had raised his hands in this way, it was academic for Jemima to realize what this meant. "Stay here. Yeah. I...I stay." He nodded his head as he spoke, and as the carabineri went to his front door. "I don't know where I am anyway," he muttered to himself as the old man disappeared out the front door. As Jemima basically had the apartment home to himself for the time being, he began idly pacing around, getting a better look at the interiors. Opening the refrigerator revealed that the man had a lot of wine. Some of the bottles were open and half-full, the others were still sealed. Only one carton of milk was in there, and it looked very old. He imagined that he'd be met with the horrid scent of very sour milk if he even tried to open it. The effeminate boy then scanned the pictures that were on the walls. They were old black & white pictures, and many of them had men in military uniform. One of them looked particularly ugly: it was a shot of a large man who had apparently been riddled with bullets. He was hanging upside down at what looked like a service station. Next to him was a woman, who had also been shot up in the same manner. Turning away from this particular picture, Jemima moved to one of the other rooms, which after turning on its light was revealed to be a bedroom. A queen size bed had disheveled sheets upon it which sported a colorfully floral design. The bed looked very comfy, too. He noticed that the room had two dressers, as well, and one of them was covered in dust. As there were masculine items on one of them, Jemima surmised that this was the carabineri's dresser. The dusty one, Jemima concluded, had to belong to his wife. Although he imagined he would earn a rebuke for doing so, the delicate hands of the effeminate boy went to pull open one of the drawers of the dusty dresser as carefully as possible. Within the drawer were stacks of silken, neatly-folded one-piece nightgowns. He also noticed a black and red lingerie slip. His hands, however, reached down to grasp the silvery white silk nightgown, which for the fact that it had been kept in a closed drawer looked perfectly preserved. Pulling it out and letting its full length unravel downward, he quite eerily found that the long silken garment was his exact size. As he figured that he would be turning in to go to bed after they were finished with their pizza meal, Jemima began undressing. Once he was completely naked, he stepped into the nightgown and felt the smooth, silken garment caress his hairless skin enticingly as he pulled it up and over his mostly feminine frame. Going to a full-length mirror, he gazed upon himself for a long moment. The gown looked very nice on his body, and he found the feel of the silk oddly appealing. He had seen other silken gowns in that dresser drawer and his curiosity now grew with the prospect of trying the other garments on as well. His next stop, however, was the fireplace ledge, where the dusty pair of glasses he had found were sitting. I hope he doesn't kill me for doing this. Jemima told himself as he pulled the glasses off of the ledge. After cleaning the dust off of the lenses, he slipped the glasses onto his nose. They were a fairly comfy fit for a pair of glasses that weren't prescribed for him. The lens were a little blurry around the edges, but he was able to see through them just fine. At that moment, the front door opened once more, and Jemima...who was now barefoot...hurried over to meet him as the scent of pizza filled the air. The uniformed carabineri's eyes widened significantly upon spotting his effeminate-bodied guest. He was quite literally stunned. Jemima, in that moment, had the distinct feeling he was either going to earn himself a vicious tongue-lashing in a language he would not understand, or maybe even a beating of some kind. Maybe even both. Yet, Jemima held his ground as he timidly stared back at the old man for another long moment of uncertain silence. "S...sei..." the carabineri began. "...bellissimo." He slowly placed the boxed pizza on the nearby dining room table, and then stepped up to Jemima, who stared longingly up at him as the old man once again placed his strong hands upon the effeminate boy's shoulders. "Il fantasma di mia moglie..." he then quietly muttered. "...ti sta trasformando." Hold me. Jemima found himself thinking, now that he was closer to the well-built, uniformed man. Hold me in those big, strong arms of yours. Hoping to achieve the desired result, Jemima stepped in and wrapped his slim arms around the well-toned body of the carabineri. A part of him figured that the old man would push him away, and throw him out just for doing this. Instead, the effeminate boy felt the arms of the carabineri wrap around him. A rush of emotion sent tears streaming down Jemima's cheeks as he squeezed the old man's body more affectionately. In that moment, he didn't care if he had to let go of his old life, with all its troubles and the wild circumstances that made him less of the male he was born to be, and more of a female. He didn't care if he didn't understand a word of this lonely man's language. Jemima just wanted to remain in this strong soldier's arms for the rest of his life, in that moment. When their eyes locked once again, there was mutual uncertainty. At the same time, however, there was a yearning as well. Goddess...let me start over, please. Jemima found himself thinking as his stare lingered. Let him see me for the woman I could be to him. Let it work out between me and him, so I can forget that bald sonofabitch who screwed me over. Dear Goddess, he looks like he could beat Xavier to a pulp...I could get lost in that gaze...that voice of his... Their lips slowly closed the distance between them as they began to overcome their uncertainty. In a burst of forward motion, the lips of the carabineri pressed against Jemima's as they began to kiss. Ohhh yes... The rush Jemima felt seemed far more real compared to the time Xavier had first kissed him. His eyes closed passionately as they lingered their kiss. ...ohhh, Goddess, yes, yes, yeeeeessss... * * * When Maid Mara finally approached the bedroom of the Lady Rosemary, she was covered in her own sweat, and she lightly panted from the constant array of work that she had been doing. Drops of paint, in various sizes, could be seen on her damp maid uniform, and some of those stains were fresh ones, as she had finished painting the walls of an entire room as per Rosemary's specifications. Mara tried not to let her exhaustion show too much as she drifted into the bedroom and lowered her head, stopping a short distance from where she was seated on the bed. "The room is finished, Milady Rosemary," Mara reported. "The paint should be dry sometime tomorrow afternoon." A smile formed on the face of the noblewoman. "Mmmm, my my my...you look awfully moist, Maid Mara. Have you been perspiring?" Mara blushed. "I'm...a little tired, Milady Rosemary." Rosemary quietly giggled. "So it seems. The longer you stay in that uniform the way it is, the more chilly it might get. Strip down, my dear Mara. I want you completely naked. Don't touch your hair, though. I'll fix that myself once you're in the buff." Just as carefully as she did when she initially dressed up in the Victorian-styled maid uniform, Mara began undressing herself. Laces were loosened, and pieces of the black and white outfit were removed from her body. Once her pink bra and panties were similarly removed, a completely naked Mara lowered her plus-sized, fetchingly curvy body back down to the carpeted floor of the bedroom, resting her knees upon the decorated surface as she submissively lowered her head. "Closer, dear," Lady Rosemary instructed. "I want you right in front of me." Rising up slightly while keeping her knees bent, Mara maneuvered closer to the noblewoman, settling back down onto her knees once she was where Rosemary wanted her maid to be. One of Rosemary's legs, covered in a light brown layer of pantyhose, then rested gently upon Mara's right shoulder. "Remove it, maid. Very carefully." As she had been shown how to properly roll pantyhose off of a leg, Mara reached up and began rolling the fabric down along her smooth leg until she was able to roll it off completely. The heavy scent of her worn foot...which Mara found enrapturous...filled her nostrils as Rosemary fetchingly rubbed the pungent, sweaty underside of her foot gently against Mara's cheek. Rosemary kept this foot against Mara's cheek as she lifted up her other leg, allowing Mara to roll the pantyhose layer off of that limb as well. The temptation for the noblewoman's maid to take one of those feet and place the toes in her mouth was growing considerably as the pungent scent grew stronger. Mara's aroused panting was shaky as the bare feet continued to rub at both sides of her face. Both legs slowly lowered to the floor, and Mara's head began to lower down with them, but Rosemary's voice stopped her. "Ah-ah, Mara dear. Not yet. Look up at me now." With half-lidded, yearning eyes, Mara angled her head up to see the Lady Rosemary grinning lasciviously down at her. She reached a hand down to affectionately rub at one of her cheeks. "You're such an obedient maid, little Mara," Rosemary cooed. "Carefully remove my own dress now. Strip me down until I am totally naked. I want you to earn your compensation in spades tonight." "Yes, Milady Rosemary." As the noblewoman was clad only in a silken robe and her undergarments, there was not a lot for Mara to remove before the Lady Rosemary was in the buff, continuing to stare down amusedly at her maid as she returned to her kneeling posture. The amusement came from the diminished discovery between the noblewoman's legs. Rosemary allowed a giggle to escape her lips. "I bet you didn't know that about me, did you, Mara? I used to be a man as well. Just like you." Her face momentarily went serious. "Knowing that does not bother you, does it, my little maid?" Mara shook her head. "Not at all, Milady Rosemary." "That makes us two of a kind, you know." The noblewoman took a step closer to her kneeling maid, and once again rubbed affectionately at Mara's cheek. "The both of us were once male, after all." Mara swallowed hard. "Yes, Milady Rosemary." "Rise." The noblewoman's naked maid did so, slowly rising to her bare feet as Rosemary's gaze followed her eyes. Rosemary now began moving slowly around Mara, rubbing a hand along her soft curves as she spoke her observations aloud. "You have such delectably fetching curves, maid Mara. Hourglass waist...large breasts...a plushy posterior...meaty upper thighs..." The she-male was behind Mara now, wrapping slim arms around her plus-sized servant as she spoke into Mara's ear. "...this body could be more of a weapon, you know. You have the kind of body men dream of fucking...and if I did not have a husband, I certainly would." "Weapon?" Mara had a pretty good idea as to what the shemale noblewoman meant, but the bare-bodied maid was fishing for Rosemary's intended context. "Come now, little Mara. Don't be na?ve with your Lady Rosemary," She purred, pausing a moment to fetchingly nibble on Mara's earlobe. "I heard about what happened at that Sports Bar, and I heard about how you handled yourself when Hank Fryer tried to subjugate you. In your very looks, you have the potential to be the perfect weapon against any man here in Bullchester. Do you know that you jiggle a bit, in all the right places, when you walk, dear?" Mara could feel Rosemary's hands continue to slowly caress and rub along her baby-smooth body. "I...I feel it, yes." "You could lure men to their doom with jiggles like yours," Rosemary maneuvered herself around her maid's stationary body as she spoke until she was right in front of the plus-sized, soft-haired blonde. She stared right into her eyes with a half-lidded, devious gaze as she spoke. "You could become a very powerful woman in this city with looks like yours, my sweet maid." She must be pitching the Sisterhood. Mara surmised. She must want me to become a part of it. Become a part of the conspiracy against the men we both used to be. Mara already had her answer. "With all respect, Milady Rosemary...I prefer to fend for myself. I have no interest in climbing ladders like that." Rosemary's expression did not change, although she held her maid's gaze for a long and admittedly tense moment. She then wrapped her arms around Mara and pressed her own bare body, affectionately, against her own, savoring the fleshy curves on her chest pressing into her own body. The noblewoman began to pant, her eyes passionately closed, as she savored the feel of a warm, soft body against her own. "I envy you," Mara heard Rosemary whisper as she maintained her tight embrace, leaving the plus-sized woman to figure out what could possibly be on the noblewoman's mind in that moment. When she finally pulled away, still holding to her maid's arms, Rosemary's devious expression had returned. "I wonder if you realize just how dangerous an approach like that could be, my little maid." Her head slowly maneuvered to face the fat nipple of her left breast. "Especially if someone knows as much as I do about you." As Mara's nipples were particularly sensitive to the touch of a warm tongue, she let out a little gasp as Rosemary's own tongue flicked out to peck at the darker flesh of the areola, and then another flick at the tip of the nipple itself, which produced another slight reaction from the noblewoman's naked maid. "You could be very easily exploited, you know," Rosemary warily noted. "Never forget who it was that made you this way. What she wants you to be." Mara had to maintain her defiance. "I was able to handle myself before, Milady Rosemary...I...I can..." Rosemary's mouth was now sucking at her maid's nipple, and a warm tingle began to spread all over the plus-sized blonde's body as the noblewoman continued. "...I can d-do...dooo...oooooooooohhhh..." Mara's eyes narrowed as the warmth became paralyzingly intense. Her head began to droop down. "....m-mmmmmmmmhhhhh...." Rosemary's mouth lingered upon Mara's breast, continuing to draw milk that the noblewoman found to be the best she had ever tasted. She moaned approvingly, even as Mara purred her bovine-like sounds. "...mmmmmmmmh..." Mara kept alternating between the two sounds as the oppressive waves of body warmth kept her inescapably docile. "...oooooohhhhh..." Just when Mara thought her mind would melt from the paralyzingly pleasurable sensations, she found herself panting in her utter exhaustion once Rosemary's mouth released the plus-sized woman's nipple. The noblewoman then watched her maid drop down to her knees, her head still drooped down. "See? Once someone's mouth is on one of your breasts, you've lost the battle. Although I must say, your milk is...quite delicious, little Mara. I'm tempted to have you fill empty glass jugs with what you have in those delectably large teats of yours." Although Mara heard the words, she was far too exhausted to think of any kind of a response. Her mind was as close to mush as it could be. She needed to recover. Rosemary seated herself upon the mattress beside Mara as the blond maid continued her slow panting. She then lifted a bare foot up towards Mara's face, rubbing the edge of it against her cheek. The noblewoman smiled slightly as Mara rubbed her face against it like a cat, moaning softly. She could hear her maid breathe in through her nose, taking in the foot's scent. "Tend to my feet now, my sweet maid," Rosemary cooed. "When I tell you to stop, go and get yourself some sleep. Don't forget your morning enema." Mara's mind achieved a bit of lucidity once she began licking and sucking upon the soft, bulbous, and well-manicured digits of the noblewoman's offered foot. Rosemary smiled as her maid came to life, relishing in the reawakening of her once-suppressed desire. Although Rosemary was also worried for the test she had thought about subjecting Mara to during her stay. * * * It was the warmest and the safest night Jemima had ever experienced as he remained in the arms of the carabineri he slept with that night. His arms wrapped around the effeminate young man's slim body as they both drifted off to sleep, and Jem still felt the man's strong, hairy arms around him when the she-male came out of his dreamless slumber. The older man's name, which Jem managed to find out before they both fell asleep, was still fresh on the mind of the effeminate american: Enrico Ventimiglia. He remembered amusingly rolling the 'r' as best he could when he spoke the name aloud. Enr-r-r-r-r-r-rico. Both of them had a bit of a laugh over the sound of it, after which they had continued to passionately lock their lips together. Jem had more or less relied on body language in the time he spent with Enrico thus far. He was at least thankful that Enrico was not the sort of person...or so it seemed...that did not force himself upon his guests. Surprisingly, there was no trace of liquor in his mouth, so Jemima knew that Enrico was sober the entire time. The carabineri, however, was still asleep when Jemima opened his eyes, and his arms had a relaxed grip around his body. He wanted that grip to be a little tighter as he lingered beneath the covers. In the time that he waited for Enrico to come to life, Jemima began to wonder about this curious new situation he had chosen to remain with. He was now with a total stranger, carabineri or not, whose language was completely alien to him save for any more commonly-known italian words. The young american man had apparently convinced Enrico that he was the reincarnation of the older man's dead wife, and it was clear that Jem was very attracted to this man. There was still the very real possibility that this man could have a darker side, or something terribly wrong could happen. Enrico could have even been the reason why his own wife was dead. He dismissed that rationale, however, for if that were true in any way, he would have killed Jem by now. The effeminate young man, however, was still very much alive. Perplexed, but alive. Jem had been mulling over the notion of having someone teach him the italian language when he felt the well-toned arms of the carabineri begin to move, and a breath of warm air cascaded against the back of his neck as Enrico let out a yawn. Jem turned to face the older man, who smiled upon seeing his effeminate guest's face. "Buongiorno, mio caro," His deep voice gently intoned. "Bongiorno, Enr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-rico," Jemima amusedly cooed back. Enrico shook his head, and then raised a finger as he smiled. "Buon...gior...no..." He carefully phrased each syllable, as if teaching his american guest. He then gestured to himself. "...tesoro," He gestured to his own mouth. "Buongiorno, mio caro," Enrico then gestured to Jemima's mouth. "Buongiorno, tesoro." Jem's first attempt, despite his somewhat nervous tone, was surprisingly passable. "B-buongiorno...tesoro." This earned him a kiss on his lips from the satisfied carabineri. "Bene, mio caro. Molto bene." As the carabineri's hand rubbed affectionately at the back of his head, Jem nodded. "M-molto...grazie...?" "Si, mio caro," Enrico nodded. "Molto bene. Impari velocemente." Jemima just nodded, smiling meekly. He then gestured to his hair, miming the act of washing his head with shampoo as he spoke. "I...I go...er...shower-r-r-rio. Clean." Enrico frowned in his evident confusion. "Vuoi...fare una doccia?" "Uhh...si. Benny. What...what you said. Right." Jemima hurried into the bathroom and took a moment to figure things out. There was a soap bar on a porcelain platform within the tiled shower stall, so that was easy enough to work out. It was just a matter of wondering which was the shampoo and which was the conditioner. Stepping into the warmed-up stream of water that shot forth upon turning the faucet knobs was very refreshing, particularly after the events of the previous day. He wanted to linger under the comfortable stream for a good long moment, but he also wanted to finish up quickly. A part of him worried that Enrico would burst in and join him in the steaming stall, but that never happened. The effeminate-bodied boy stared down at himself as the shower stream continued to press upon his bare back. Every time he had stripped down naked in the days after he had been transformed, a part of him still found it hard to believe that he actually had a pair of female breasts that functioned exactly as they should on a female body, and that he had such an effeminate figure. It wasn't exactly an hourglass, but there was still a bit of a curvature to clearly betray what the Mayoress had done to him. He sighed out distressfully. Still more girl than boy. He lamented to himself. Just give the boy stuff up, Jem. Learn some italian while you're at it. He's worth it, after all...well, so far... Trial and error made it possible for him to figure out which was which with the shampoo-conditioner conundrum. The plastic bottles available within the stall seemed to visibly indicate which was male in nature, and which was effeminate. Jem obviously took the latter, but at the same time wondered why Enrico kept what must have been his dead wife's shampoo in the first place. How long ago did she die, he wondered? His hair had a cherry scent to it when he stepped out to towel himself off. When the towel rubbed at his effeminate nipples, he rubbed at it a little more just to feel that pleasurable sensation again and again. His eyes narrowed as he panted from the nipple rubbing he gave himself. Wrapping the long towel around himself, just beneath his clear armpits, Jem pulled another towel and began drying off his hair in the manner he had been conditioned to do so. He had the idea of having his hair styled to Enrico's satisfaction at a salon, so he left his damp hair as-is as he came out of the bathroom. He expected to see the carabineri at the door to the bathroom, waiting to wrap his big arms around him once again, but he was not there. He wasn't in the bedroom, either. It was then that Jemima heard what sounded like Enrico speaking in a somewhat distressed manner downstairs. Other voices could be heard as well, and one of them was a familiar-sounding female. All the words they exchanged, however, were italian. Quickly grabbing articles of female clothing from the dresser which he knew belonged to Enrico's wife, he slipped on a tan-colored camisole and a plaid-patterned skirt. Still barefoot, he hurried downstairs to find out what was going on. Upon entering the living room, he found five men, and a woman. One of those men was Enrico. He was seated and speaking to a middle-aged man in plainclothes and a hat who was glaring down at him. One other man, barely out of his adolescence, was next to the man in the hat. He also glared down at Enrico, who was in his underwear as he poured out some manner of lament using his native language. The three other men were in uniforms similar to the one Enrico wore last night. They simply idled and listened to the apparent interrogation. The woman, on the other hand, quickly turned her gaze to Jemima the moment he entered, and then tried to suppress a giggle. Her well- toned, raven-haired appearance was unmistakable. Maggie quickly composed herself, but kept smiling as she gestured for the now wide-eyed she-male to step out of the living room and into the kitchen. She spoke words to the uniformed men which produced nods of understanding as they walked out of the living room. Maggie shook her head in amusement as they went in. "Ohhhhh, brother. Mama-miiia! Of all the places I could possibly look for you, you wind up here. In the home of a certified looney!" Now it was Jemima's turn to frown in utter confusion. "What the hell are you talking about? Enrico was nice to me! I...I like being with him." "Oh, no doubt! Seeing as how you just happened to look like his dead wife," Maggie replied. "Still...least you got the poor bastard out of his funk. He's been lost in the past since his wife died." "Um...y-you wouldn't...happen to know how she died?" Jemima nervously asked. Maggie had to giggle at this. "That's what the good detectives in there are trying to find out. But hey...at least you look good in her clothes, si?" Jem sighed as he looked down at the clothes that were on him. "I just...pulled stuff. Just came out of a shower, too." Maggie's tone now became inquisitive. "You're lucky he didn't hurt you, Jemmy-Jems. Needless to say, you had your mom worried sick about you. Stuck-up bitch wouldn't leave me alone unless I promised to find you. You should also count yourself lucky I have contacts in federal circles to help me trace where you could be." "Maggie...um..." Jemima fidgeted a bit as he spoke, knowing full well how ludicrous his request would be perceived. "...I...I really do, uh...ummmm...y'know, like that guy in there, who was so nice to me even though I remind him of his dead wife...but...I don't... suppose...you and those cops could, well, scram? Y'know...leave me with him? I mean...I reeeeeally like him...he's...he's a better guy than, uh...y'know, Xavier..." The raven-haired woman listened with a very amused expression on her face, feigning concern as she crossed her arms in front of her. "Uhhhhhh...no?" Jemima sighed out loudly, closing his eyes in evident despair as he hung his head down. "Oh, come on, kiddo. Don't get all pouty." Maggie stepped in a little closer to the effeminate-bodied young man. "Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe you've been conditioned to accept big, strong soldier-types? They probably put that in given all those first-person shooter videogames you used to play," Maggie teasingly stepped behind him, speaking into Jem's ear alluringly. "All those sweaty, scarred, tattooed, strapping men popping off all those big guns. Talking so tough. Being sooooo manly. All that testosterone. Must be getting you all so horny, even as I speak of it, isn't it?" Jemima blinked. It was getting him all hot and bothered inside. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his eyes narrowed as Maggie spoke. Guys like Enrico and Xavier definitely fit the profile. "Or maybe...you always secretly had a thing for that type?" Maggie amusedly surmised. "You know, growing up? Had to have been something there for you to react the way you did towards your new boytoy in there." Jemima just shook his head. "No...no comment." Maggie's response was a giggle as one of the detectives...the one in the hat...joined them in the kitchen. He spoke a bit of italian to Maggie, who nodded as he spoke. He then turned to Jemima, speaking...much to the young man's relief...in heavily-accented english. "Did that man hurt you in any way?" the detective asked. "Did he force himself on you?" Jemima shook his head. "Not at all. He was...nice to me." "Well, your meeting Enrico turned out to be a fluke," the detective explained. "Ever since he was kicked out of his official duties, Enrico has been wandering all over the local parks convinced that he would find the spirit of his wife." "How did she die?" Jemima quickly inquired. "She was murdered." Jemima went pale as he comprehended the detective's response. "Her death remains unsolved, but...we know it was not Enrico who killed her." "Could I...um...stay with him?" the effeminate boy smiled meekly. "I mean...maybe I can, y'know...help him and stuff. Y'know...make him less...screwy?" Maggie was about to interject, but the detective's words beat her to it. "That would not be advisable for many reasons. Besides...there is a missing report out on someone fitting your description." "Right. Made by dear ol' mom," Maggie added, smirking to a now crestfallen Jemima. "Can't let you do that, Jems. Sorry, but...y'know. Can't always have nice things. Especially if they're complete strangers." Jemima's voice was a bit weaker now as he made his next inquiry out of concern for Enrico. "Wh...what are you gonna do with...?" He gestured towards the living room. "They will probably recommend counseling," the detective answered. "Seeing as how he did not hurt you." Jemima nodded, looking a little satisfied. "As long as he doesn't go to jail." "Probably not," the detective assured. "But you? You should get back to your own life. If only to get your mother off our backs." "You can say that again," Maggie amusedly added as she placed a hand on Jemima's shoulder. "Let's go, Jem." Jemima was understandably hesitant, but he relented in the next moment, and followed Maggie to the front door. His head hung down as he walked outside, and over to the raven-haired woman's car. Once Maggie was in the driver's seat, she turned her head to her backseat passenger, grinning. "Soooo...did you two, y'know, do it? Seeing as how Enrico obviously makes you all hot and gooey inside." Jem's glum expression did not change. "Leave me alone." Maggie turned a little more towards the effeminate boy. "Don't get all grumpy, Jeremima. Was he aware that you had a micro-pecker?" Jemima nodded. "I told him." "And he still took interest in you?" Maggie looked visibly surprised now as she turned back towards the wheel and started up her car, still speaking as she rolled her vehicle out of its curbside spot. "Wow...he must have been desperate. Or tolerant. But still a stranger that you know next to nothing about. Didn't your mama ever tell you to stay away from strangers, little she-boy?" This earned the raven-haired woman a loud sigh of irritation from her backseat passenger. "Maggie..." "Hey! I'm just saying! You can't just throw yourself at every single soldier-type in Venice!" Maggie amusedly interjected. "I'd never hear the end of it from your mom!" "Fuck my mother," Jemima viciously shot back. "I'm my own goddamn person, no matter what she thinks! She can't live my life for me!" "She's certainly getting an 'A' for effort, Jemmy-Jems," Maggie countered. "All I can do is give an opinion. You wanna make a difference? Show that you want to continue to be a changed person? Then you need to confront her. Personally, I think you should lose the pecker first, but...like you said, it's your life. I'm just watching you make a mockery of yourself here." "You don't think I could stand up to my own mom?" Jemima remarked, leaning towards the driver seat. "When I got my first job, she came to me and reminded me that if I was gonna stay with her, I needed to pay 'board'. I stood up to her then! I reminded her that I was her son, and that she should love me, not charge me!" Maggie nodded, feigning an impressed expression. "How much did you start paying her?" A sigh was heard from the back seat. "$100 every pay period." Maggie giggled. "Good she-boy." "I only stayed with her for sixteen months!" The effeminate boy rationalized. "When I got out of there and planted my feet firmly in Barford, I never once looked back!" "Uh-huh," Maggie skeptically replied. "How often did she visit?" Another heavy sigh. "Too often. She got the hint after her third visit, though. Man, I was glad to be rid of her." "Right. Way to stand your ground," Maggie responded. "Never imagined that a mere three visits could qualify as 'too often'." "With my mom, it sure as hell is," Jem shot back. A wave of dread washed over Jemima as Maggie settled her car in the parking lot of the Venetian hotel. The feminized young man already wanted to be back with Enrico in that moment, surrendering a ruined old life in favor of a new one, whether the strong, deep-voiced ex- carabineri was a stranger or not. For Jem, walking to the front door felt like walking to the gallows as he and Maggie got out of the car, with Maggie amusedly walking behind the condemned young she-male as if she were a police escort. Maggie, however, couldn't help but feel bad for Jemima. She made a mental note to confront Irma...again...in yet another attempt to empower the secretary of the Mayoress of Bullchester to the point where he would become not only a she, but also just as fiercely independent as Tamara so impressively became through Maggie's influence. If Irma followed through on her threat to put Jemima in the hands of a venetian shrink, however, the effeminate boy might effectively become a lost cause. IV: Old Faces, New Beginnings "Good afternoon, ladies." The shapely, grinning blond debutante extended a hand to Shelley Portnoy. "I am Rita Noble." Sandra stared in awe of Rita's appearance, while Shelley kept her expression neutral as she firmly grasped the woman's hand. "Nice to meet you. My name is..." "Shelley Portnoy, yes," Rita interjected. "And your sister is Sandra, right?" Sandra's eyebrows raised up. "You know who we are?" Rita giggled. "Word travels fast in a city like ours. Have a seat, ladies," The debutante's assets jiggled fetchingly as she went to her seat behind the desk, while the Portnoy sisters settled into theirs. "I've gone over your respective resumes. I must admit that neither of you don't have much to speak of in the way of actual job experience," She turned her gaze to Sandra. "Having job experience is particularly important when it comes to modeling, in particular." While Sandra looked crestfallen, Shelley was all too willing to challenge. "Well, we did just graduate, Mrs. Noble..." The debutante raised a hand in restraint. "Please. Call me Rita." "We did just graduate, Rita," Shelley continued. "I might also remind you that you called us, not vice versa." Rita was already seeing Sisterhood potential in Shelley as the older sister spoke. She could become a full Madame very quickly. She thought to herself. "We're totally willing to take any positions you have available, Rita!" Sandra chirped. "If it means we have to climb a ladder so we can prove ourselves to you..." Rita leaned forward as she interjected. "Relax, dear. I was testing the both of you." Sandra's right eyebrow raised up. "Did we pass?" "With flying colors." Although Sandra beamed in her relief, Shelley looked wary now. "Why?" Rita flashed a devious grin. "The eyes are windows to the soul, Sandra dear. I see the kind of look in your eyes that tells me you both have a sense of ambition. A need. A want to be successful. To go as far as you possibly can go. I can easily help you both get there, and I may even have a surprise or two which should make your tenure with Loris International very, very worthwhile for the both of you." While Sandra seemed to readily accept what Shelley regarded to be some kind of a selling point, it was clear by the expression on her face that she wanted elaboration on why Rita seemed willing to take them both in. Before Shelley could say anything, however, Rita crossed her arms upon her desk and leaned forward towards her two guests, maintaining her flirtatious grin. "So what were your lives like before you went to College? I know about your father's passing, but I understand you have a brother as well? What's he like?" The expressions on the faces of both young women went serious upon hearing this inquiry. "As far as I'm concerned, we don't have a brother anymore," Shelley then remarked. "Really?" Rita's right eyebrow raised up. "Did something happen to him? Maybe...he shared his father's fate?" "No, he's alive," Sandra replied. "He just...disappeared. We don't know where he is." "Nor do we care," Shelley curtly added. "He's got his life, we've got ours." Rita couldn't help but giggle a bit in her amusement. "Sounds awfully dramatic. Did he do anything to you to warrant these cold shoulders of yours?" "Timmy was just a pain-in-the-ass mama's boy," Shelley griped. "Well, now they've got each other, and they can stay that way for all I care. Dad meant..." She paused a minute to swallow a mournful lump that formed in her throat. "...Dad meant the world to us. We are the way we are because of him. His death won?t change that." "We had a nickname for Timmy, too." Sandra smirked as she spoke. "We called him ?Oedipus?." "Ahh, the ol? Oedipus Complex, eh?" Rita mused. "But how do you feel about your mom?" "Pfft. She must have forgotten we even exist," Shelley huffed. "When she moved away with Timmy, she never thought to contact us. Never thought to let us know where she was going. Dad always told us she only wanted a boy in the family. I mean, what...is she allergic to having daughters or something? Snippy bitch. We?re better off on our own." "I understand your mom is missing as well?" Ruth amusedly asked. Sandra nodded. "Yeah." "Like I give a fuck," Shelley added. "As far as I?m concerned, she?s responsible for his death." Rita nodded, still smiling. "Sounds like you?ve really got an axe to grind there." "Don?t get us wrong. It?s not like we wanna kill them or anything," Sandra noted. "Like Shel said. They have their lives, we have ours. Live and let live, y?know?" Rita nodded again. "Of course," She then rose up from her chair after a thoughtful moment. "Well...I?ll just need you both to fill out some forms, after which I?ll take you both on a tour of the building, and then give you both a rundown on your new tasks and responsibilities as employees of Loris International." As she spoke these words, Rita was practically giddy over the possibilities, knowing full well what had happened to their brother. She could hardly wait to see the look on the former Timothy Portnoy?s face when she discovered Rita?s newest acquisitions. * * * "UP!! GET THE FUCK UP!!" A vicious, bare-handed slap finally stirred a seated and handcuffed Donnie Blatz out of his enforced rest. He didn?t expect the man who had put him back in the vehicle to produce the gun that shot the tranquilizer dart which put him back into a forced slumber. When his eyes finally opened, his blurred vision quickly sharpened, and Donnie found himself looking up at a statuesque blond woman who was staring back down at him with a harsh gaze. She wore a mostly rubber semblance of a schoolteacher?s outfit, and her blond hair was parted to one side, flat against her head, with the remainder of her hair hanging down in a bundle of hair gel-treated curls behind her. From the knee down, her lower legs and feet were covered in a pair of black, stiletto-heeled boots. In her right hand, she held a black riding crop, which she wagged at Donnie as she scolded him. "Oversleeping will earn you punishments," the woman sternly remarked, lowering the crop as she continued. "Now...you will refer to me as Miss Pierson from now on. Calling me anything else will earn you punishm..." "Where the fuck am I??" Donnie angrily growled, also noticing that he was covered in a large, thick brown cloth. It looked as if he was about to get a haircut. His curt inquiry, however, earned him another bare-handed slap to his face, which had Donnie struggling in his restraints. He discovered that not only was his wrists chained together by steel, his ankles were similarly bound. Strands of ginger-colored hair now hung down near his eyes, as well. This puzzled him, as he knew his hair color to be a darker shade. It occurred to him that he had things on his body...and on his hands and arms...that felt peculiar to him. Clacking her heels slowly as she walked behind Donnie, the woman called Miss Pierson brought her hands to the cuffs on the angry young man?s wrists after pulling up the thick cloth behind him, and she tightened the restraints on both of his wrists by one click, making them feel a bit more painful as they pressed against the bones. Donnie couldn?t help but wince over the pain the cuffs were now causing him. "You fucking BITCH!!" Donnie screamed. "GET THESE THINGS OFF OF ME!! THEY?RE HURTING ME!!" He winced once again as the steel rubbed tightly and painfully against his wristbones. "OWWW!!" Miss Pierson...Cassandra Pierson...stepped back in front of her struggling subject. "Not until you start behaving yourself. This is just a mere sampling of the punishments I can have you suffer from. Keeping you from your meals is another. Or, I could just...hurt you in ways you never imagined possible. Trust me...you don?t want that." "You expect me to behave myself when I?m in pain??" Donnie growled. "Obey, and I won?t have to hurt you," Cassandra calmly replied. "That means no shouting, no struggling against your restraints, and doing as you?re told without questions." The stinging at his wrists was getting to him now as a slightly more fearful face gazed up at Cassandra. "Look...just loosen these up a..." "From now on, your new name is ?Prototype B?, or simply ?B?," Cassandra interjected. "That will remain your identity until you earn yourself a better one. You will also acknowledge me at all times by saying ?Yes, Miss Pierson?. Is this fully understood, Prototype?" Unfortunately, Donnie still looked very resistant. The anger on his face lingered. "Fuck. You." This earned him an amused giggle from his captor, who calmly stepped behind him so that she could undo a knot she had tied which kept the cloth wrapped around his neck. Holding a bit of the cloth in one hand, Cassandra?s other hand pulled out a smartphone from a pocket of her latex outfit. "Don?t say you weren?t warned..." the blond amazon mused as she turned to face Donnie. "...sissy." With one good tug, the cloth came off of the confused, frowning young man...and when Donnie looked down at himself, his reaction was immediately captured by Cassandra?s smartphone, which began snapping pictures in his moment of shock. Donnie?s sparsely-haired body...including his arms and hands, which now had elbow-length gloves covering them...was now clad in hyperfeminine white lace lingerie. His eyes boggled over how ridiculous he looked in it, especially since he had none of the feminine curves necessary to make this look acceptable. Donnie hated the drag queen culture. He hated wearing this outfit even more. Cassandra lifted up the smartphone, which Donnie recognized to be his. "I can just imagine what your friends and family will say once they see these photos." "Wh...hey! That?s MY phone!! OWWW!" Again, the tight cuffs stung his wrists as he struggled as Cassandra?s index finger began playing with the photo app portion of his smartphone. "Y-you better not send any of those pictures!!" "Or what? You?ll ?beat me up when you set yourself free??" Cassandra giggled once again as she finished sending out the pictures. "Don?t make me laugh. By now, I?m sure these photos are generating a lot of gossip among your classmates." "What?? You SENT them??" Donnie was entirely aghast. Practically speechless. "Don?t be so cranky." Cassandra tapped her finger on the surface of Donnie?s smartphone a little more, and then turned the device?s face to its owner, having engaged the phone?s front camera lens. This allowed Donnie to see what his head now looked like, which also clued him in on why his face also felt a little peculiar. His center-parted hair now looked wispy, feminine-styled, and ginger in color. His face was also revealed to be covered in female makeup. His lips had been painted a bright cherry red, his face had a layer of foundation upon it, his upper eyelids were covered in purple eyeshadow, the edges of his eyes were given thick black eyeliner, his eyelashes looked to have been brushed out, and there was a small black dot just above the right side of his lips. Cassandra grinned at his reaction. "So much for being a manly man, sissy boy. May I be the first to say that you look like shit...but don?t worry. When I?m done with you, you?ll look...and behave...a whole lot better." "Wh...who...w-what are you..." Donnie was so aghast, he could hardly think straight. He was supposed to be the one forcing students he deemed pathetic to wear feminine things, not the other way around! "...why are you DOING this to me?? Is this about Venis?? You Ron?s Aunt or something??" Cassandra just stared quietly at Donnie as he protested. When he went quiet, the statuesque blonde sighed. "The real question you should be asking yourself, Prototype...is ?Am I going to send these pictures to your parents?? Because that?s exactly what?s going to happen if the next words out of your mouth are not ?Yes, Miss Pierson?. I don?t want to hear any contempt in your voice when you say it. No anger. No shouting. Just those three words. As bad as your situation is among your schoolmates now, I could make this a whole lot worse, and by that, I don?t just mean sending these very revealing images to your parents. It?s up to you. You piss me off, I hurt you. You do what I say, I reward you. Is that understood?" Donnie finally hung his head down, seeing more strands of his now softer ginger hair. If his masochistic and abusive father ever got a hold of the photos Pierson had just taken... The anger had now vanished from Donnie?s voice as he answered in a much more civil tone. "Yes, Miss Pierce." "PIERSON!!" Cassandra angrily barked. Donnie actually gasped at this sudden correction. "Sorry! Sorry...y- yes, Miss Pierson," He began to say a little more, but seeing the expression on Cassandra?s face, he hung his head back down. "Well, I suppose that?s a start," Cassandra calmly remarked, stepping behind him once more. He felt one of her hands rub through his hair. "Keep it up, Prototype B, and you may earn yourself a more proper name." Donnie then felt a sharp sting at the area Cassandra?s hand rubbed. He surmised that she was tugging tightly at a lock of his hair. "OWWW!! What the fff...?" Tossing a small, empty plastic injector shaped like a human tear aside, Cassandra quickly stepped back in front of Donnie and grasped his chin angrily. "What did I tell you? No anger! The next time you say something in anger to me, I send these photos to the inboxes of your parents. You don?t want that, do you, B?" "No!" he whined fearfully. "No, no, nononononono, I...I don?t...Miss Pierson. Please..." Cassandra released his chin and then rubbed her hand along her cheek, her glare becoming half-lidded. "I thought not." The warm feeling that had manifested where the Tear Duct had penetrated his head, spreading one of the nefarious Cresswell formulas unto his brain, slowly became a dull throbbing similar to a mild migraine headache. Donnie?s eyes began to flutter a bit as this condition took hold. It kept him quiet as Cassandra stepped out of the room for a moment, and then returned with a pair of girly pink headphones in her hands. "Now I know your mind?s a little stressed over your current situation," The tall blonde explained. She then brought the over-the- ear headphones over to Donnie and covered his ears with the foam- cushioned cans. "This should help." By now, the pressure upon Donnie?s wristbones and anklebones was not as unbearable as it was moments before, although he could still feel a bit of a sting from those areas. Once the cans were on him, the silence of a void followed. As he continued to stare up at Cassandra, he could see her lips mouthing the words ?good girl?. The throbbing at his head was starting to make him feel a little dizzy as his statuesque captor turned and stepped out of the room. Once she was gone, a bouncy pop melody began transmitting to the cans, startling Donnie. The voices of teenage females began singing an oddly familiar tune which had far more suggestive lyrics to go with a hypnotic undercurrent of noise that was in sync with the song. You don?t think...you love it! You don?t think...you love it! Head full of bubble gum, it?s such a sexy way Get your head off the earth, and put yourself in space You always yearn to please, you never want to switch The biggest tits and ass makes you an easy bitch You love it! The lyrics remained suggestive as the bouncy tune continued to play. The throbbing in Donnie?s head eased some, although he felt a little more dizzy as the song continued to play on a seemingly endless loop. It got to the point where he unconsciously began to bounce along with the beat. An hour passed, and the song still played unto his now pliant mind. There was, however, a subtle change to the main lyrics. The hypnotic undercurrent was stronger here. ?I don?t think...? Donnie?s lips soundlessly repeated. ?...I love it...? * * * Three days had passed since Tamara had become Maid Mara, performing her tasks for the Lady Rosemary Dolan. By now, the rooms of her house that needed coats of paint were not only finished, but dry. Mara had also seen to putting the required furniture in place as per the Lady Rosemary?s instructions. The floors of the house were similarly spotless. It had become part of Mara?s daily routine to make sure they remained that way. Every morning, Mara put herself through the enema procedure. Whereas the first time, she found the procedure very uncomfortable, she now found the crampy feel of having scented water in her bowels strangely stimulating. Particularly when she walked around, feeling the water slosh about inside her. Rosemary had also instructed her maid on how to properly prepare her daily meals. Breakfast, lunch, dinner...these were among Maid Mara?s responsibilities. Contrarily, a well-prepared meal, created by Rosemary herself, was Mara?s regular reward, sparing Mara the additional effort of creating food for herself. The noblewoman felt that for all of Mara?s diligence since she helped to get her new home in order, her maid deserved such a reward. With all the rooms looking exactly the way Rosemary wanted it to look, and with all the furniture placed appropriately, it was only fair that Mara?s reward be a consistent one for being so loyal not only to her, but to her tasks. The previous evening, however, Mara went about an hour over the time she was to go to bed just to finish up a maintenance job. Although Rosemary appreciated the dedication, she had to remind Mara the following morning to refrain from such liberties, lest her energy be less than optimal for the days she had remaining before Mara?s time as Rosemary?s maid was finished. The smile returned to Rosemary?s lips following the reminder. "Kneel next to me now, Mara." When the plus-sized maid complied, Rosemary rose up from her seat to acquire the plate of warm Belgian waffles the noblewoman had made for Mara. Returning to her seat, she covered the spongy meal with maple syrup and sliced it into sizes big enough to fit in her maid?s wide open mouth. Impaling the first piece with a silver fork of Victorian design, she brought the piece, which shed thick drools of syrup, to Mara?s open mouth. Once the piece was in, Mara?s mouth closed over it. Rosemary slowly slid the fork back out and went to impale another piece. "We?re going to have a houseguest today, my sweet maid," Rosemary noted as she inserted the waffle piece into Mara?s waiting mouth. "Sometime in the early afternoon. I will need you on hand to see to our guest?s comfort during lunch. I?ll be showing her around the house, too. Let her see what a beautiful job you?ve done. Thanks to you, I have no doubt that this place will become a consistent haven for me." Mara swallowed the waffle piece she had been fed so she could speak. "Will you need me to remain here, Milady Rosemary?" The noblewoman slowly and thoughtfully shook her head. "There are...reasons why you can?t remain here, Mara. I?m sorry. However...if you should find yourself on your own, with no place to go, you need only show up at my front doorstep, and if I should open the door to allow you inside, I will expect you to devote yourself to me for the rest of your life." Although it stung to see Rosemary shake her head, a part of her wondered why. She also had an idea as to what the noblewoman meant by having no place to go. Perhaps she was referring to the highly unlikely possibility that, for whatever reason, Larry Hanel wanted to let his loyal secretary go. This was a refreshing thought, but a wary one at the same time. Was the Sisterhood about to sabotage her secretary job? "Yes, Milady Rosemary," Mara gently replied. The former Robert McKinley fed another syrup-drenched waffle piece to her maid. As Mara chewed on the thick slice, Rosemary picked up her half-full glass of milk and filled her mouth with some of it, letting it remain in her closed mouth when she put the glass back down. Rosemary then leaned towards the kneeling maid and pressed her lips to Mara?s, transferring the lingering milk puffing her cheeks to the plus-sized servant?s surprised mouth as they kissed. The noblewoman?s lips then went to Mara?s right ear, where she gave the lobe a teasing nibble. "Don?t surrender too much of yourself," Rosemary then whispered, "You may never come back out of the pit." Mara nodded, knowing what the noblewoman meant. "I know," She gently whispered back, nodding in recognition. The final waffle piece Rosemary fed to Mara was so drenched with syrup, that a thick drop of the sugary sweet condiment slowly ran down the right corner of Mara?s lips. Still staring up at the noblewoman, the plus-sized maid?s tongue emerged from between Mara?s lips and rubbed up to the descending drop, easily catching it. Finally rising up from her seat with a satisfied smile, Rosemary kept her eyes on the kneeling servant. "Time to clean up, my sweet maid. Then you can resume polishing the furniture." "Yes, Milady Rosemary," Mara dutifully responded. "Don?t forget about our houseguest this afternoon," the noblewoman reminded. "Make sure the Dining and Sitting Rooms are prepared in advance of 12 noon." "Yes, Milady Rosemary," Mara repeated as Rosemary stepped away. The dutiful maid could never get over the fact that merely being in the house she herself had helped to establish as per the noblewoman?s instructions felt like she was traveling through time. Going back to the Victorian era. She herself was dressed as a domestic servant from those times. It was an intoxicating feeling. She was clearly enjoying the interiors of the household, and she got to wondering what the interiors of the castle Rosemary mentioned looked like. Such were Mara?s thoughts as she continued polishing furniture pieces. As she had finished up by 11 a.m., Mara relocated herself to the house?s Sitting Room, which before its redesign looked more like a modern Living Room. Now, there were antique chairs and a lavish divan to go with the other Victorian furniture items that had been placed here. The carpet was thoroughly cleaned, the furniture in the room polished, a plate full of fresh snacks placed, and pots of coffee and tea prepared in advance. Once the room was ready, she went to the Dining Room, which by comparison did not require a great deal of attention. As she finished setting things up there, Rosemary instructed Mara to remain in the kitchen about 15 minutes before the guest arrived. Rosemary herself would answer the door, which was odd, considering that among a maid?s many traditional tasks was to attend to incoming visitors. Rosemary also reminded that the ringing of a small bell near her place at the Dining Room table meant that her presence was required. The noblewoman then had her maid get busy preparing food, and the sounds of sizzling and rushing water masked those of the low-volume chattering that betrayed the presence of Rosemary?s guest, who had arrived. All Mara could confirm was that the guest was female. Mara was in the process of preparing Quiche Lorraine when she heard the sound of the bell tinkling. Quickly patting at her hair, making sure her soft blond hair was in place, and then mopping at a bit of sweat on her forehead with a paper towel that was quickly discarded, the noblewoman?s maid stepped out of the kitchen and headed towards the Dining Room. Rosemary?s guest...a shapely blond woman...faced away from her as the Lady Dolan flashed a sweet smile upon spotting her servant. "Pour me a cup of coffee, Mara dear. You know how I like it." She then gestured to the blond woman. "I believe my houseguest here requested a warm cup of tea." The blond woman then turned her head to look...and grin...upon the attentive maid once Rosemary was done speaking. Mara?s blood ran cold the moment she saw the woman?s face. It was Rita Noble. "Myyy, my my, my my my," Rita cooed. "You look awfully subservient, slut." A part of Mara wanted to cry out defiantly...but, given her current status, that would make her day a whole lot worse. She instead replied with the curtsey her mother had taught Mara. Rosemary?s eyes were on Mara the entire time. She absolutely caught her maid?s moment of subtle shock when Rita turned to speak to Mara. The noblewoman was all too curious to see how this confrontation would play out. "Would you...like any sugar in your tea, Madame Noble?" Mara managed to ask, keeping her composure. Rita giggled at this. "Oh, I want sugar, all right..." The crafty debutante rose up, still grinning as she took a step towards Mara. "...but not in my tea." Rosemary loudly cleared her throat. "Rita...I believe my maid is in the process of cooking lunch. She needs to keep her mind on her work for the moment, unless you have a preference for overcooked Quiche?" Rita?s smile melted a bit as she turned her head to Rosemary, glancing at the noblewoman from over her shoulder. "How long is she going to be with you? Larry Hanel never said anything about letting her go." Rosemary giggled. "With all respect, Madame Noble, that is not your business. We need to finish the particulars of the charity arrangements, and your past dalliances with Mara do not constitute a part of those arrangements." Rita turned her head back to Mara, gazing in her eyes hungrily. "True," she cooed. "Perhaps another time then. Now get me my tea, maid." Mara?s response was a curtsey. "Yes, Madame Noble," After picking up the teapot and filling Rita?s waiting cup, Rita pressed her cherry red-painted lips against Mara?s cheek. Despite the rush of warmth Mara suddenly felt inside her, the maid made her way back to the kitchen with hurried steps. The maid?s heart was pounding with an unexpected desire. Rita even wore a perfume which reminded the former Timothy Portnoy of those first few times the debutante tried to bewitch him out of his masculinity. Her hands shook as she continued preparing the Quiche Lorraine. She hoped her hot and bothered mind would not sabotage her developed cooking talent. As the Quiche was baking, Mara stepped over to a reflective surface in the kitchen to look upon the lip mark Rita had left on the blond maid?s cheek. This excited Mara even more. She felt like she had been branded. A possible assurance that there was no hard feelings despite the rocky association she had with Rita Noble, the woman who was supposed to be Mara?s enemy. Her antithesis. The hungry, sultry spider that was always tempting the fly to step into her parlor when the opportunity presented itself. It had even excited her to hear Rita call her ?slut? again. Pull yourself together, Tamara. The plus-sized former boy reminded herself. Pull yourself together. You are a maid. You serve the Lady Rosemary. You?ve got to focus! When the time came for her to extract the Quiche Lorraine, Mara pulled the meal out of the oven wearing a pair of cooking mitts, and after giving it about a minute to cool down, she brought it out to the Dining Room and placed it on a large plate Mara had brought out when she had initially set the Dining Room table. Rita glanced to Mara, tapping her teacup. Realizing what this meant, Mara picked up the teapot and filled the cup with fresh tea. Looking curiously to Rosemary, the noblewoman gestured to the Quiche, which Mara immediately began slicing into pieces. One plate went in front of Rosemary, while the other was given to Rita. The debutante grinned as she gazed up at Mara. "Thank you, maid." Mara offered a smile and a curtsey, keeping her composure. With nothing more to do for the moment, she stepped back over behind Rosemary and held her hands together behind her back, letting out a soft, relaxed sigh as Rosemary and Rita resumed their conversation. "So...about this Angela Carmichael..." Rosemary paused to finish her coffee, after which she tapped the cup, compelling Mara to refill it as she spoke. "...I assume we are intervening on the possible fraud charges?" Rita nodded as she swallowed her first mouthful of Quiche. "She?s to become another cog in our machine, yes. We?ll need you to get on her good side while convincing her to resign, and make you the chairwoman. She?ll likely be resistant, but I fancy you?ll have enough on her to keep her from making a hasty retreat. Just hold her until I come into the picture. I?ll do the rest." Rosemary nodded. "Once I?ve brought her to...Cinchers?" Rita smirked. "That can be arranged." Her eyes moved to Mara. "Seems that place is becoming my favorite mousetrap. I?ll never forget the time I brought a certain young man into that place," A grin once again began to form on Rita?s mouth as she spoke. "Brought him upstairs... had him tend to my worn, smelly feet...mmm, you should have seen the look on that boy?s face as he filled his mouth with my big toe...he sucked on it like a big, fat dildo as he got soooo horny on the scents." Rosemary?s eyes narrowed, although she smiled too. "I know what you mean. My Mara seems to have the same...hunger. As if that boy...and my sweet maid...were the same person." Mara swallowed hard, keeping her composure as best she could as she stood there, waiting for a request she needed to honor. She could feel herself begin to perspire. The curvy maid, however, appreciated Rosemary?s unexpected jab at the shapely temptress. Mara knew it stung. "I bet you wish you could take her back." Now it was Rita?s eyes narrowing, only her expression looked a little more contemptuous. "I still could, you know." The noblewoman let out an amused giggle at this. "Maybe...but don?t you have this Flamingo business that we need to finish arranging? I still have more questions, and Mara has more polishing to do once we?re done eating. You also told me that you?re on a tight schedule today." "Yes, I am aware of all that, thank you," Rita shot back, clearly annoyed by the reminders. "Now let?s see if you can remember some of the details we?ve discussed. You just told me that Angela?s surname is Carmichael, but what was..." "Redmond," Rosemary quickly interjected. Rita sighed, but nodded. "And the mother?s name?" "Philomena," the noblewoman responded. "You?re not doubting my ability to pay attention, are you?" Rita smirked. "No, no." "Now...will you be needing anything else from my maid, or can she be dismissed?" Rosemary calmly asked. Rita leaned forward towards the noblewoman. "Honestly? I want to kiss her more properly. I miss the touch of her lips against my own." "Denied." Ignoring Rita?s reaction, she turned to Mara, smiling pleasantly. "That will be all, maid. Thank you." Mara curtseyed. "Yes, Milady Rosemary." Turning away from the table, the curvy maid found it difficult to suppress her smile as she relocated to the Sitting Room, where she waited by the Lady Rosemary?s divan. Seeing as how she had already finished all of her polishing work, she simply stood there quietly. The words of the ladies, who remained in the Dining Room, were too indistinct for Mara to understand. Looking idly down at the divan, Mara pictured her mother, Ruth, laying across it. She had briefly dressed in a latex version of a maid?s outfit...which Rita had picked up for her...so she could attend to Ruth?s service requests. A part of her missed wearing that outfit. Mara hoped Ruth was doing okay, wherever she was. The muffled sounds of a conversation continued until Mara heard a door open, and then close a minute later. Silence followed, save for the sounds of footsteps approaching the door to the Sitting Room. The curvy maid expected that Rita was going to come in to secretly bewitch her some more. But it was Rosemary who stepped into the Sitting Room, smiling when she spotted her maid standing there, ready to serve with her hands behind her back. "Well," the noblewoman began, stepping slowly towards Mara. "Rita seemed awfully frisky there. She obviously hasn?t forgotten you." Mara?s head tilted downward a bit. "I...didn?t expect that she would, Milady Rosemary." The head then rose back up. "I actually finished all the necessary polishing, Milady Rosemary." The slim-bodied, dark-haired woman stepped up closer to Mara, slipping her hands around the plus-sized maid?s waist. "I know. You?ve gone above and beyond my expectations, Maid Mara. You continue to tempt me into keeping you, and judging by the look in your eyes, you wouldn?t mind that very much, would you?" Mara had to blush as she responded, "No, Milady Rosemary." "Mmmmm." Rosemary?s hand slipped behind Mara?s head, stroking the fingertips over the soft, tight blond bun gently. "So sweet," She purred. "So obedient. So clean, and so sweet-smelling, too. You think you could get used to a regular enema regimen outside of here, my precious maid?" "Yes, Milady Rosemary." "Then, as a noblewoman of Bullchester, I have a command for you." Rosemary?s eyes locked with Mara?s as she spoke, and her hands were on the maid?s shoulders in emphasis of her conviction. "And no matter who you are...as my maid, as Tamara Portnoy, or even if by some twist of outrageous fate you should be Timothy Portnoy once again...I will expect you to obey this command." Mara tilted her head to the side curiously. "Yes?" "I want you to use the same scented water you used here during your daily enema," the noblewoman remarked. "I will instruct you in how I prepare the formula. You will cleanse your bowels with it from now on, every morning, because I want people to know that a part of you will always belong to me. Is that understood, my dear Mara?" The curvy maid nodded, smiling. "Yes, Milady Rosemary." A slight smile was on Rosemary?s face now. "Does it bother you that I now own a piece of you, maid?" Mara lowered her head a bit. "No, Milady Rosemary." Rosemary gently lifted the maid?s head back up. "You will never be a slut to me, maid Mara." The plus-sized maid blushed, and Rosemary?s lips affectionately pressed against hers, moaning softly as she lingered the kiss. She then pulled away, maintaining her smile. "Go on, now, maid. Clean up the Dining Room." Mara responded with her customary curtsey. "Yes, Milady Rosemary." The noblewoman watched her temporary maid step out of the Sitting Room, leaving Rosemary to collapse along the length of the divan to relax. In that moment, she began to wonder what kind of life Timothy Portnoy had before he had come to Bullchester. * * * Jemima could feel the warmth of the afternoon sun on what seemed like the most perfect day of his life as he sat at an outdoor table, enjoying the comfortable breezes of what was turning out to be a wonderful afternoon at a restaurant in Venice. Even moreso today, for sitting on the other side of the table was the carabineri he became unexpectedly infatuated with: Enrico Ventimiglia. Jemima was quite frankly amazed to see him again. He still had his well-built frame, and his bushy mustache. Today, he was out of his uniform, but he was sublimely well-dressed. All the better for the impromptu lunch date Jemima was currently enjoying. Enrico returned Jemima?s smile the entire time. He gripped the hand of the effeminate boy tightly, and he felt like melting in his seat upon feeling the man?s calloused hand cover his own, thinner and effeminate as it was. It was to Jemima?s complete surprise that when Enrico finally spoke, his words were in full English. "There has been something I have been meaning to ask you." The feel of his hand over hers had the effect of making Jemima all the more agreeable. "You can ask me anything you want, tesoro." Enrico leaned in a little more. "Why do you feel you must do this? Are you not a young man?" The question obviously surprised Jemima, and he shifted his position a little in his chair. "That...that?s...kind of a...personal question, Enrico. Do I have to answer it?" Enrico?s hand squeezed the thin, effeminate hand affectionately as he answered. "Please. If you feel the way you do for me, there should be no secrets between us, yes?" Jemima sighed out fretfully. "Yeah, but..." "Trust." The word lowered the effeminate boy?s resistance significantly. He spoke the word again, and Jemima?s resistance diminished even more. "Go on, sweetheart," Enrico gently compelled. "Tell me." A long, quiet moment followed, the silence of which Jemima eventually broke. "I...I guess I feel...that I was never like any of those big, strong guys." "And you felt that you were less of a man unless you could be?" The carabineri openly surmised. "That you could not just, say, begin a workout regimen tomorrow, and work towards becoming a strong, hunky guy, like me?" Jemima bit his lower lip nervously. "Um...I-I guess. Wait...when was it that you..." "It?s never too late, Jeremy," Enrico interjected. "You could be any kind of man that you want to be. No matter how young you are, no matter how old you are. It?s just a matter of personal choice, and personal resolve. There are ways to condition yourself to achieve these goals, too. It?s never too late to give up on such resolutions." "But...b-but...look at me," Jem reasoned, gesturing to himself, and his slim, effeminate frame. "I mean...I?ve got breasts. My face, my hair..." "It is not impossible to reduce your breast size," Enrico assured. "Whatever hormonal imbalance you have inside you can be corrected. You can do anything that you set your mind to, Jeremy. Tell yourself that. In fact, say it right now. Say ?I can do anything that I set my mind to?." Jemima had to giggle. "With the kind of bad luck I?ve been having, I..." "Trust, Jeremy," Enrico again interjected, effectively stopping Jemima?s attempt at levity cold. "Go on, now. Say it. ?I can do anything that I set my mind to?." Jemima?s smile dissolved a bit. After an awkward moment of silence, he began speaking the words. "I can do anything...that I set my mind to." "Again," Enrico commanded. Jemima blinked. "I can do anything that I set my mind to." "That?s right. Again." "I can do anything that I set my mind to," Jeremy repeated. "You can be Jeremy Poulson again," Enrico asserted. "You are Jeremy Poulson. You are what you were born to be. You can do anything that you set your mind to. You are Jeremy Poulson. Trust...that you are Jeremy Poulson, and that you could never be anything other than Jeremy Poulson." At that moment, it seemed entirely obvious now, given the assertions of the carabineri. The male part of his id, long suppressed through the infusions of the scientific Cresswell witchcraft, now began to re- assert itself at long last. "O-Of course I?m Jeremy Poulson!" Jeremy confirmed. He then looked down at himself. "Ugh! What the...why am I in these girly clothes?? What the fuck is going on here??" Jeremy let out a troubled sigh, and then buried his face in his hands. After a moment, his head came back up. "Know what? I don?t wanna know. I don?t wanna know why my hair is so damn long...I need a fucking haircut. Because I can. Because I can do anything I set my damn mind to!" "You can be a manly man, Jeremy Poulson," Enrico firmly proclaimed. "You will be a manly man. Condition yourself. Because you can." "Yes I can," Jeremy nodded in emphasis of his own words. "Yes I can!" The next sound he heard was that of a loud snap, which seemed to come from Enrico?s direction... * * * ...only it wasn?t Enrico Ventimiglia the effeminate young man was seeing. It was Doctor Vanautu, and the distance between them was the same as the distance between Jeremy and Enrico. Only they weren?t at an outdoor restaurant in Venice. They were at the Psychiatrist?s Office in Milan that Jeremy?s mother had compelled her son to go to, on the promise that Irma would never again interfere in her son?s personal affairs. She sounded sincere enough on this that Jeremy just wanted to get it over with. As the Doctor had a proven talent with Ericksonian Hypnosis, however, he was able to get past whatever resistances might get in the way of affecting Jeremy?s subconscious mind, and perhaps repair the very thorough inclinations towards femininity that Irma felt her son was suffering from. She wanted them completely gone. Slowly, Doctor Vanautu brought Jeremy out of the trance he had put the slim-bodied, small-breasted boy under. As he did, he asserted that all the mental developments he had accepted during his trance would be stronger than ever when he came out of it. Jeremy Poulson felt refreshed and awake when he was released from the Doctor?s mental hold. He quickly went to the bathroom to wash off as much of the female makeup that was on his face as possible. Jeremy sighed. "I feel like such an idiot." "Don?t be," Doctor Vanautu guided him back to the couch in his office, settling his patient into it as he spoke. "Think of it as a phase in your life that you want to put behind you. A phase you never want to regress back into. Tomorrow is a brand new day, right?" Jeremy nodded. "Right." "Good." The Doctor smiled. "Now...refresh my memory. Who are you?" "Duh! I?m Jeremy Poulson!" the effeminate-figured boy replied. Doctor Vanautu chuckled. "Of course. Forgive my short-term memory. We?re just in time, too. Our time is up." Jeremy rose and went to slip on his embarrassingly effeminate jacket. "I need that damn haircut. I must look really fucking silly." "I?m sure your mother can accommodate you, Jeremy," the Doctor assured. "Just remind her. Because you can." "Yeah!" Jeremy asserted. "Because I can! And I will!" Doctor Vanautu chuckled again as they stepped over to the entrance door in the lobby outside of the Doctor?s office. "Yes, you will."