Cat And Mouse 2 - Pink Persuasions - Chapters V And VI free porn video

V: If You Love Someone, (Technically)Set Them Free A wave of dizziness seized the mind of Prototype B the moment he opened his eyes. So many thoughts jumbled around in his head as B regained consciousness. Blatz...love...bitch...school...Pierson...Prototype...cook...clean... gum...sexy... The thoughts alternated in a torturous swirl as B put his hands to his head, hoping the maelstrom would ease up. Unfortunately, the feel of his fingers at his own forehead did not do much to remedy the perpetual disorientation poisoning the mind of Prototype B. The worst part was that this disorientation was accompanied by a migraine headache. The throbbing in his head worsened within the next few minutes, and even his thoughts turned incoherent. Schooch...Blook...bitool...clype...loxy...cletch...guatz...proum... bixy... His eyes squeezed shut as B rose from the seat he had apparently nodded off in and staggered about. A chill ran through his body, provoked by a brief draft of cold air, as he realized...in that moment...that he was in the buff. A blurry square of pink against the gray stone floor beneath his bare feet caught his eye, and he bent down to get a closer look. B picked up on a faint, but evident floral scent as he picked up the soft pink object, which he discovered was a set of undergarments. They were a visibly feminine combination of lace and pink mesh, which made him feel a little confused as he looked down at his hairless chest. The nipples on his chest looked oddly pronounced and perky, and the slightly larger areolae around them appeared a bit swollen. He didn't feel any kind of soreness, nor did he feel any redness around them. They did feel a touch warm, however. He let out a slight gasp over his reaction to their sensitivity when he curiously brought his fingers up to rub at them. His curiosity, however, was eclipsed by his far more evident migraine, and the chilly air around him, in the white-walled 10'x10' room with the single chair that he had been placed in, with the tube fixtures embedded in the ceiling bathing the room...and Prototype B...in strong, bright, yellowish light. It took a moment for him to realize that he was biting the tip of one of his fingers as he contemplated what to do next. His body was clearly shivering from the cold draft in the room and while he was certain that the pink undergarments would not completely protect him from the chilly climate, it would have to do until he could find a more adequate outfit. He slipped on the pink panties first, and an oddly warm shudder ran through him when he felt the soft, smooth material slide up his hairless legs. Once they had settled over his hips, B figured that the panties would in no way be able to cover the male member between his legs, which seemed to harden with unexpected excitement as the panties were drawn up. But rather than expose a bit of his phallic organ, the crotch area of the pink panties was able to cover the now smaller organ completely, although a bulge was definitely evident. Settling the cups of the pink bra over his nipples also sent a shudder of excitement through him. Five minutes had passed, however, in Prototype B's humiliating efforts to apply the bra's small clasp behind him. His initial feelings were irritation over his first few failures...but he quickly began to feel a bit more inclined to cry in his frustration as he stamped a foot angrily. It then occurred to him that the intensity of his migraine had weakened. Now, it was just a mild throbbing in his head. The single door to the room, which had a one-way window on it, suddenly opened in that moment, and a round-bodied woman with a head of permed, silvery gray hair and a very sweet and pudgy face stepped into the room holding a bundle of pink garments under one arm. She was dressed in a gray and white uniform clearly betraying her status as a maid. Sitting upon her nose was a pair of round-rimmed glasses. The woman's face looked entirely concerned as she set the garments under her right arm down upon the seat B had risen from. With a pleasant smile, she then stepped over to the troubled young man, who noticed that the woman was emitting an equally pleasant body scent. "Are you having trouble with your bra, dear?" she asked out of genuine concern as she stepped behind him. "You must not have done this before. It's nothing to be ashamed of! Don't worry! I'll show you how it's done." "Who..." B noticed his voice sounded a little higher in register than he remembered his voice being. "...who are you?" "My name is Ethel, dearie," The woman's pudgy hands slid the bra to the front so she could visibly show her curious charge how to apply the bra clasp. "This is a much easier way of doing it. Then you just slip the bra back around so the clasp is at your back. See? Niiiice, snuuuug fit. Feel better?" "Uhhh, y...yes..." B's migraine was now completely gone. "...I...I do feel b-better." "Oh, come now, sweetie," Ethel's voice sounded perpetually maternal and reassuring in its sweetness. "Don't sound so nervous! Ooh, must be this room, so drafty! Good thing I brought in something for you to wear! Go on, then," The old woman gestured to the garments on the seat as she patted his head of soft, shoulder-length brown hair. "That outfit there should make you feel soooo much better once you have it on. I'll be right outside if you need me." Still grinning sweetly, Ethel stepped back outside the room as Prototype B moved to examine the clothing the silver-haired old maid had brought in. The pair of pantyhose he first picked up were a solid pink nylon, with a white lace decoration at the upper edges. They were long, too, and he figured they would go past his knee and end up daringly close to his crotch. He confirmed this when he slid the silky soft material up and along his legs. He felt another rush of excitement at his gut as he ran his hands along the fabric that was now wrapped tightly against his legs. A skirt was the next garment to be slid up and over his nylon-covered legs. This, too, was long, reaching down past his knees, stopping midway down his lower thighs. Another white-lace edge decorated the hem of this skirt, which he was able to clasp tightly against his waist. Upon lifting the skirt from the pile, he saw that there was a single, folded white piece of fabric above one last pink garment, which B figured would cover his chest. Out of pure curiosity, he picked up the white garment... ...and saw that it was an apron, which would be tied around his waist. Looking down at the garments he was already wearing, and then confirming the other pink garment that awaited him, confirmed what his apparent host...which he recalled was the tall, blond amazon called Miss Pierson...had in mind for Prototype B. He was to become a maid. Just like Ethel. In his hesitation, the room suddenly began to feel a lot colder, and he uncontrollably shivered. Desperate now to regain a measure of warmth, B grabbed the upper blouse portion of the maid outfit and slipped it on. The cold climate within the room suddenly became less frigid as B reached behind him to zipper up the blouse, which had puffed shoulder pieces. Hesitantly, he reached for the frilly-edged apron, slipped his head through the stretchy collarpiece, and tied the apron around his waist. A part of him wanted to dive beneath a rock and hide from the world...perhaps stay in this admittedly scary room for the rest of his life... ...but there was a part of him that could not deny the odd excitement he felt. Mmmm... He found himself thinking. ...it feels so soft...smells so nice... A more sensible side suddenly manifested. ...what the fuck am I saying? I look...I mean, I look like a MAID. I'm not a maid! His expression softened with the rationale that followed in his mind. Well, it...kinda...doesn't look TOO silly...if I were alone in...in my room...no one around... He then remembered that a certain sweet, silver-haired woman was waiting outside. "Ethel..." he called out. "...I'm done." But when the door opened, it was not Ethel that stepped into the room. It was Evangeline Pierson. The distinct sound of her high heels practically preceded her as she stepped in with an inquisitive stare. She began to circle around him slowly as he blushed under the taller woman's gaze. "Ethel is in the kitchen, setting up for your first cooking lesson," Evangeline remarked. "I expect you to be very receptive to her instructions. If you are not, I will take over for all of your lessons, and believe me...you do NOT want that, B. Just ask Prototype A." B tilted his head to the side curiously. "Who is Prototype A?" "He's the only other maid trainee aside from yourself," Evangeline responded. "He was brought in by my husband. Stubborn little shit, but I'm starting to crack him. You'll probably run into him during your training." As Evangeline spoke, B's eyelids began lowering with the onset of another dizzy spell. The world seemed to start spinning, and it seemed like the young man's stability on the very seat he was sitting in was wavering. The tall blond woman giggled when she noticed this. "Ahh. You must be going into stage two." Her right hand burrowed into one of the pockets of the black bolero-style jacket she was wearing. Producing a multicolored packet the size of a dry board marker, she ripped one end open and pulled a small, wax paper-wrapped cube as the pink-clad maid trainee attempted...fruitlessly...to shake off his sudden, unexplained dizzy spell. Even as the world was spinning, and pressure was building up in his ears, he could hear the sound of high-heeled shoes walking up close to him. Evangeline's lips could be seen speaking words, but B could not hear them. As she spoke, however, she positioned a soft pink cube in front of his lips, tapping on them with it, indicating that she wanted to put this cube in his mouth. Evangeline seemed to be mouthing the words open up. She kept repeating the words until he finally relented, allowing the tall blonde to place the soft cube into his mouth with a sense of urgency. The cube had a sugary sweet strawberry taste, and it was soft enough for B to bite down on. As he continued to chew upon it, it quickly became clear that this was some kind of chewing gum. A very sweet-tasting chewing gum. As B continued to chew, the haze in his mind gradually cleared, and the pressure in his ears dissolved. His eyes were wide open now, and his brows raised up high with a somewhat empty expression as he looked up, curiously, at Evangeline Pierson. Although he was no longer dizzy, his hearing was fully restored, and there was now no trace of the migraine he was suffering from moments before, he still felt something weird going on with his head, perhaps triggered by the sugary sweetness of the chewing gum, the wad of which was big enough for him to blow bubbles with. The taller woman continued to smile with amusement. "You like that gum?" She then handed him the multicolored gum package. "Here. Take the rest. If you run out, you can always buy more at any of the stationery stores in Bullchester. They always restock." Looking down at the package, B was able to make out the brand name: Bimblo Bubble Gum. "Keep the bubbles to a minimum." She gestured for B to follow her as she opened the door to the room. "I wouldn't want you to become an airhead." As he followed the woman out, the gum seemed to fill B's mouth with an explosion of flavor which kept him chewing the wad repeatedly, and he occasionally let out little moans of approval as he walked. I don't think. He caught himself idly humming the melody without singing the words as he entered a kitchen to begin his first lessons. I love it. * * * The sounds of honking horns to the left and to the right of him. Jeers from lecherous male voices driving by him. Curious stares from Bullchester residents going about their lives. Howard Venis ignored all of it as he walked the route to Ron Bailey's house, his slightly wider hips swaying as he walked. His body trembled nervously the entire way. He feared he would be grabbed at any moment for a bit of abuse, just as all of those bullies at school had done every so often. He remembered what his mother had recently told him, however. Don't give them a connection. Ignore them! If you give them even a moment of your attention, they'll never stop bothering you. The jeers and insults still ate away at him, however. He tried not to burst into tears, but he had to wipe his eye when he was finally within sight of Ron's place. Now, it would be a matter of weathering comments from Ron's mother, assuming she was going to be the one to open the front door. Howard expected to hear a volley of complaints about Ron's appearance. The effeminate young man figured he'd get an earful of his own from Ron's mom. When the front door opened, however, the smell of cherries filled Howard's nose upon his next inward breath. The woman opening the door certainly wasn't Ron, but was in fact his mom. Or was it? Howard could certainly see traces of Ron's mom in the woman's face, but the hair was in a bright blond updo. Practically a bouffant. Unblinking eyes gazed at her nervous young visitor as she flashed a creepy smile upon spotting Howard. Her voice even sounded uncharacteristically chipper. "Hell-LOOO, Howard dear! Come! Come right in!" Reaching out, she pulled Howard into the house's foyer, closing the door behind her. Maintaining her grip on the effeminate visitor's skinny arm, she pulled him towards the familiar staircase. "Go right on upstairs! Ron's waiiii- tiiiiinnng!" As the unnaturally chipper woman spoke, Howard was already hurrying up the stairs. He just wanted to be with Ron again. Everything he had gone through since he last saw his best friend was a torture he did not wish to endure any longer. A limp-wristed knock on the door was all it took for the room's occupant, Ron Bailey, to open the door... ...only while there was a mild facial resemblance to Howard's athlete friend and protector, the person opening the door looked far too feminine to be the same Ron Bailey Howard knew! His lighter brown hair cascaded in waves over his shoulders, and his eyes had an alluringly smoky appearance to them. His much more effeminately-shaped body was covered only in a gray and light blue spandex workout outfit which tightly hugged his unnaturally feminine curves. The moment Ron confirmed that it was Howard, he wrapped the effeminate young man in his arms and affectionately pressed him against the large, soft swells of flesh at his chest. One of Ron's feet kicked the wooden door to his room shut. "You can stop trembling, Howard," Ron's more feminine voice sounded a bit more husky now as he alluringly purred his words. "You're safe with me now." Now that he was in Ron's arms, Howard did indeed feel much more at ease. It was as if his fears and his anxieties began to evaporate upon seeing Ron's radically different-looking face, and even moreso when the formerly masculine athlete flashed a full smile. "What's...what's happening to me?" Howard whined. "I feel so...s-so weird..." Ron tilted his head to the side. "Are you sick? Feverish?" Howard shook his head as Ron placed a much softer hand against his quivering friend's forehead, which had a light coat of sweat upon it. Ron felt benign warmth, but he didn't feel anything that would betray a fever of any kind. Ron slowly slipped his thinner fingers into and through Howard's own head of softer hair, speaking consolingly. "We must be going through the same thing, you and I. I don't know what it is that's causing it, but...I feel wonderful. Better than I've ever felt in a long time." "But...you..." Howard was obviously hesitant to come out and admit it. "...we're girls. We're not...supposed t' be..." "Yeah, but I don't look half bad, do I?" Ron angled Howard's head down to look at the swells of the cleavage the top part of his spandex outfit was displaying. "Look at these babies. Big. Round. Soft. Firm." Seeing Howard stare upon them now as Ron stuck his chest out, he couldn't help but bite his lower lip enticingly. "You wanna touch them?" Howard blushed deeply now. "Oh, I...I shouldn't..." But Ron had already grabbed his friend's wrists, and he brought those cold, nervous hands up, placing them upon the bare, fleshy upper swells. Hesitantly, Howard's hands began to softly rub against them. They definitely felt as real as real gets, although this was admittedly the first time he had ever placed his hands against anything remotely feminine since he was breast-fed as an infant child. Ron let out an approving moan as his friend continued caressing the well-grown mammaries. 'Wow..." Howard hissed as he kept rubbing. "Mmmmm, that feels so gooood," Ron purred. "You have a nice touch. I can't wait to feel yours when they grow out." Howard blinked, frowning in confusion. "Mmm...mmine? But I...I..." "It's happening to both of us, Howard," Ron alluringly hissed. "I can see it in your face. Your body. Even your chest. You think I don't know that you have your own pair of cute, fleshy little lumps under that button-down dress shirt?" Ron's fingers were already fiddling with the buttons of the shirt as he spoke, working their way down a button at a time until they were all undone. Unsurprisingly, Howard wore a white cotton mens undershirt beneath the long-sleeved dress shirt, and the mostly female athlete did indeed notice two lumps at the breast portion of Howard's shirt. Lifting the undershirt up to expose them, the sparsely-haired chest seemed to be sporting perfect A-cups. Howard just angled his head down, somewhat ashamed. A devious smile formed on Ron's lips as his own hands began rubbing around the small, fleshy mounds. The fingernail on Ron's thumb then gave Howard's slightly erect nipple a flick. Sure enough, the blushing young man let out a gasp. Giggling, Ron flicked the other one, and a similar reaction emerged from Howard's lips. "Ooooh, so sensitive!" Ron cooed. "I hope they grow out a little more. Maybe they'll get as big as mine." Howard raised his head to meet Ron's curiously. "Really?" Ron raised his right eyebrow upon hearing this. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He teased, grinning lasciviously. "You never told me you like big tits, Howie." "W-well, I...I..." But Ron gently placed an index finger over Howard's lips. "Shhhh. It's just us girls here. You can say whatever you want here. We won't keep any secrets from each other, either. I'm still your friend after all, aren't I?" Howard slowly nodded, his mouth agape over how beautifully alluring Ron now looked in his eyes. "Good. Come join me on the bed." Ron already slid himself up on the bed, grabbing the nearby remote for the flatscreen TV that was on his dresser. "Wild Passions is coming on. We'll watch it together." "Wild Passions?" Howard looked very confused now. He knew enough about Ron to realize that he never watched soap operas of any kind, and while he heard the name of this show many times, he also knew it was popular, primarily, among the girls of Bullchester. "I never knew you liked that show." "I know! I was just channel-surfing yesterday and...I dunno. I just found it...interesting," Ron explained. He then patted the space next to him as he turned the TV on with the remote with his other hand. "C'mon over here, Howie. Let's see if today's episode is any better than yesterday." As the TV station announcer began speaking over the opening credits, Howard relented in his hesitation and crawled onto the bed, settling next to Ron, who put an arm around his visiting friend. Following an ad for Bimblo Bubble Gum, and a look at what was to come on tomorrow's episode of The Merry Weather Show, the soap opera's dramatic situations began to unfold with a hunky guy and a very attractive teenage girl sharing a living room set. "Three times in one week, Flo!" the hunky guy complained as they briskly walked into the living room. "Aren't there better places for you to go?" The girl turned to the guy, shrugging and smiling. "I like it here. I've always liked it here. Val was right. I should stick around." "While an entire world passes you by," the guy challenged. As the two actors spoke, there was an undercurrent to the sound track that was so subtle as to be left unnoticed given the distraction of the onscreen drama. It was a low tone that gave every line the actors spoke a hypnotic undercurrent. It was one of the devious things about the consequentially popular soap opera, which was naturally produced by the in-house TV and movie studios wing of Loris International. "The entire world is in their happy place, Trev," the girl shot back. "I'm in my entire world." "But, Lainey...what more is there to one place?" Trev asked, visibly perplexed. "More than you might know." The shot of Trev then cut to a close-up shot of Lainey, who seemed to be speaking directly to the viewers as she slowly and alluringly spoke her lines. "In a world like mine, you can go to the mall anytime you want. The mall is my happy place. It can be yours. It is yours. Before school, after school...I've seen you there a lot, Trev. Don't deny it. You don't want to leave a good thing, and being here is as good as it gets. Right?" Trev's head lowered a bit in his apparent indecision. He seemed to be reacting to the apparent truth in Lainey's words. The image then cut back to Lainey, speaking as before. "Reshape your hair. You've got plenty of it. Tell them I sent you. Tell them Lainey sent you." Both Ron and Howard, both of whom now looked like they were in a trance, unconsciously repeated the words from their lips quietly. Tell them Lainey sent you. Lainey kept speaking, practically, to the viewers as Ron and Howard continued to stare and listen. "This is all you've ever wanted, isn't it? Life in the mall is not much different from life in the world, so why should I leave this one? Why should you leave this one?" Trev's head lowered, looking a bit ashamed now as Lainey stepped over to him, lifting his head back up. The shot went back to Lainey speaking to the viewers. "Don't leave. Not now, not ever." Ron's and Howard's lips seemed to silently repeat the words as the actress spoke them. "Life in the mall is everything. To me, to you, to everybody." The sentiment lingered in the minds of both Ron and Howard as Trev and Lainey's lips pressed against each other, ending the scene. Before the next commercial break, the minds of Ron Bailey and Howard Venis were already filled...programmed...with enough of a desire to visit the mall... ...and make it a world of their own. * * * Irma felt a sense of strong vindication as she drove her son away from the Barber they had visited at the effeminate boy's fervent request, this being firm evidence of Jeremy's desire to change. To turn away from that insane 'girl thing' he was obviously suffering from. While he was at the Barber, Jeremy had a significant length of his long hair chopped off, forming a somewhat masculine mullet with a part running along the middle of his head. Now, it was just a matter of paying potentially high amounts of money to a doctor to correct the obvious hormonal imbalance that was changing the body of Jeremy Poulson. She knew that would potentially cripple her finances, but Irma didn't want to give her son any opportunity to regress, no matter how effeminate he looked. The trip was almost over, too, now that Irma's mission was accomplished. It was just a matter of getting onto the morning flight back to Bullchester. She hoped, too, that she would not see that horrible woman who had caused her a bit of grief and shame during their trip again. It was clear that Irma had very nearly lost her son to that woman's apparent siren's call. She had feared that Jeremy would never get to see the inside of Dr. Vanautu's office. Once Irma had parked the rent-a-car, she and Jeremy crossed the street to get to the Hotel... ...and Jeremy's drifting eyes fell upon a very well-built man wearing the uniform of a soldier. Apparently, he was showing off to a group of his friends, flexing his biceps and his triceps as if he were at a bodybuilding show. The words between them were entirely italian. Jeremy's eyes, however, lingered as he stepped back onto the sidewalk. Irma had paused a moment to make a quick cell phone call, leaving her son's eyes to stare in fascination at the flexing italian soldier. He could feel the diminished maleness between his legs stir up. His mouth practically went slack-jawed as he continued to gaze upon the soldier. One of the soldier's friends then pointed over to Jeremy, compelling the soldier to divert his eyes to the effeminate boy, who blushed deeply as he bashfully looked away. When he peeked back over, he saw that the soldier was now right in front of him, smirking. Jeremy had to gasp. The short-haired soldier then flexed a pose which stretched the fabric of his tight T-Shirt significantly. He was channeling a lot of pressure into the rock-hard bumps of his visible musculature as he stared at Jeremy with a wide-eyed and somewhat intimidating gaze. Jeremy began panting, despite himself. He wanted so desperately, in that moment, to be held in those arms. To feel that hard body against his own. He could practically feel his insides melting with undeniable desire... ...and then, in the next moment, he was roughly pulled away. Irma angrily spoke italian words, which translated to 'mind your own business', to the soldier as they both walked up to the hotel with hastened steps. Both the soldier and his friends laughed over what they had seen as the soldier walked back over to his friends. "What, you forgot everything you learned in Kindergarten about talking to strangers??" Irma snapped as they went past the lobby, and into an elevator. Jeremy himself looked considerably spooked as the doors slid shut. "I...I'm sorry, I...I don't know...what came over me, he was...I..." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, still feeling very flustered over his unexpected reaction. "Well, we're not done getting you fixed up, young man," Irma remarked. "When we get home, I'll get you to a plastic surgeon if I have to to have you looking less like an 'Adelaide', and more like an 'Adonis'! I want a son, not a friggin' daughter!" Jeremy couldn't help but to feel a bit of a sting in his mind. His subconscious asked the question his mouth wouldn't dare to repeat in front of his own mother. What's so wrong with having a daughter? Once they reached their floor, they walked the long hallway route to the room they had at the end of the hall's right bend. Jeremy seemed to be in a fit of confusion in that moment over his own thinking as he followed Irma. "I will not raise my son to be a daughter!" she spoke aloud, to herself, as she continued walking. When they reached that bend, they noticed someone standing in the middle of the hallway. A feminine figure with short, wildly-teased hair. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest. She looked vaguely familiar to Irma. She looked very familiar to Jeremy. "What's so wrong with having a daughter?" The person, shrouded by a dark area within the hallway, calmly inquired. Once Irma and Jeremy stopped in their tracks, the woman took a step forward to let a bit of light reveal her face. It was Maggie Katzhoff. "What my son does with his life is none of your business," Irma challenged, defiantly standing her ground as Jeremy practically hid behind her. "It should be none of yours, Irma," Maggie shot back. "Bullshit," Irma growled. "He's my son. My blood. I know what's best for him!" "I wonder what Jeremy has to say about that?" Maggie took another step towards them as she spoke. "Yy...you leave me alone!" Jeremy nervously stepped out from behind his mother. "I'm what I was born to be! A boy! Because...bec..." "Because you can?" Maggie calmly finished the familiar words. "I had a feeling your mom would take you to Yves Vanautu. She must have drained half her life's savings just to have him mess with your head. Ericksonian hypnosis from Yves doesn't come cheap." Irma's eyes flashed with anger as she continued to glare at Maggie. "Get the fuck away from us, bitch. Go back to your...your 'Preferred Gender Movement' thing, or wherever the hell you came from!" "Why can't you just accept that this is a natural progression for your son?" Maggie reasoned, stopping her advance. "Irma...I saw how he reacted to that muscleman downstairs. I know you saw it, and that was no setup, either! Your son is attracted to big, strong men!" Irma looked even more furious now. It looked as if she would snap at any moment as her hands balled into fists. "My son is not gay!! HE WAS NEVER GAY!!" "And what the fuck is wrong with being gay, Irma?" Maggie asked as curious tenants, male and female, young and old, began to step out of their rooms to see...and listen to...the hallway confrontation. Jeremy looked even more nervous as he tugged on his mother's arm. "Mom...c-can we continue this in..." "SHUT UP!!" Irma snapped, angrily pulling her arm out of her son's weak grip. She turned back to Maggie. "Let's make one thing perfectly clear, little miss whoever-you-are. I will be the judge of what is right or wrong with my son. Me! ME! ONLY ME!! I have my reasons, and I don't have share them with you, or anyone else!" Among the quiet murmurings from the observers, both Irma and Maggie picked up on the word 'fascista' more than once. Unbeknownst to Irma, unpleasant gazes were now directed at her. Maggie had to giggle. She turned her head to one of the spectators, speaking in italian. "I didn't think women like her still existed." The spectator seemed to agree, responding with words Irma was surprised to hear, "She is crazy!" Spectators spoke out in accented english to openly voice their sentiments. "Why can't you just let him live his life?" "You're his mom. You should trust him," "You should respect the decisions he makes." Irma's response was through gritted teeth as she glared at the onlookers. "Stay out of this. Go back into your goddamn rooms!" It was too late, though. Others were joining in the rising murmurs that were mostly condemning Irma. They all looked like average, everyday civilians, too. None of them looked out of the ordinary. None of them corresponded to Irma's apparently narrow-minded view of the world. "The world's changing, Irma," Maggie called out. "Don't you think it's time you changed with it?" "For the last time, I know what's best for my Jeremy!!" Irma screamed. "And he doesn't get a say?" Maggie countered, raising an eyebrow. "He always has to get your permission before he buys a soda? Or plays a video game? Or even talks to a girl? Or anyone else, for that matter?" "Oh, don't be so fucking ridiculous!" Irma shot back. "She's not that severe, Maggie!" Jeremy added, still standing behind his mother. "Then why are you cowering in fear, Jeremy?" The effeminate-looking boy frowned. "I...I'm not afraid. I-I'm just..." "You're just standing behind your mom, which is the same thing," Maggie interjected. "You're old enough to make your own decisions, Jeremy. No matter what your mother thinks." "She's-a right!" It was the room service attendant...the cleaning lady...who had provided Jeremy with a job application at Maggie's bidding, speaking her accented English. "You look-a like a bright young girl! You go! You no need dis..." She gestured distastefully to Irma. "...dis fascista!" Loud murmurs of agreement spread throughout the surrounding tenants as Irma's reserves of self defense began to visibly crumble under the weight of her evident self-doubt. All Jeremy could do was to glance up at his mother curiously. But a new voice...a strong male one...interrupted the cacophony, speaking Italian words. His loud, harsh words compelled everyone to get back inside their rooms. It was the uniformed strongman Jeremy had seen outside. The effeminate young man let out a slight gasp despite himself. Still frowning, he stepped towards the trio. Maggie looked slightly amused by this sudden interruption of her fun. He then looked down at Jeremy, his expression softening a little. He then began to speak perfect English. "What do you want to do, Jeremy?" he then calmly asked. Maggie was tempted to interject, but she kept quiet instead, keeping curious eyes on Jeremy. She was prepared to accept whatever decision he was about to make, since she knew it would be his. Even if Yves Vanautu had influenced it. Irma also wanted to interject. Once again, a complete stranger had quite literally muscled in on what was supposed to be damage control for her son, but the words of people other than Maggie had eroded her resolve. Particularly with people she didn't know declaring her to be 'fascista'. She had let her son go before, and the clearly visible results compelled her to re-assert the ironclad influence she had on Jeremy's life when he was younger. Here, however, she was now in a bind. Especially if what Maggie had said about Doctor Vanautu was true. She wanted to be seen by her son as a good mother, and she had imagined that if she had continued to guide her son they way she herself had been brought up, he would be happy. But now, her son was being called upon to make an independent decision. She chose to keep quiet, although there was clearly fear in her eyes. Maggie was right, too, much as she was loath to admit it. The world was not the same as the one she herself had grown up in. If she could not accept some of the radical social changes that were now all but globally accepted... Jeremy was now in the worst position of them all in that moment. He felt like a thousand ears were waiting on his decision. He knew he was man enough to make that decision, seeing as how he was, in fact, a man. The man he was born to be. The man he clearly was, because he could. Because it was right. Because he could be all he wanted to... His eyes fell upon those arms. Those biceps. The scars he could now clearly see on the man's bare arms. How he wished he could wrap himself up in those arms, like a blanket to keep him warm at night. To feel the squeeze of those hardened, battle-worn limbs squeezing affectionately upon him. It was the one thing he never dared to admit in his love of videogames. To see the arms of his strong protagonists on either side of the monitor, and Jeremy envisioned that he could be wrapped in those arms even as he was killing the enemies around him. Was this...truly...who he was? He had no answers. He could make no decision. But he wanted the freedom to find them on his own. He needed to be alone. On his own. To find his own answers. Perhaps even find a middle ground, if such a thing existed. Turning his head to his mother with a fearful gaze, he saw her smile. It was one of her less genuine smiles, though. Jeremy's eyes fell upon the soldier next. Both of his eyebrows raised curiously. He looked like he was ready to intercept his own mother if she tried anything. Hesitantly, Jeremy's eyes went to Maggie. She had her arms crossed in front of her. The expression on her face didn't seem to indicate an eagerness to await the effeminate-looking young man's decision, but a kind of mild curiosity lingered. She would have been long gone, otherwise, by now. For all the grief he had proclaimed Maggie to represent, however, he had to admit to himself that being with her was...intriguing. Perhaps even stimulating. He even had to admit that she had empowered him to stand up to that lying, two-timing bastard that kept calling him 'Peaches'. Revealed the truth of his deception. Jeremy's eyes then returned to his mother. The fake smile was still on her face. She even had the gall to extend her arms towards him. But when she did that, Jeremy took a step away from her, much to Maggie's surprise. Even moreso that he was moving towards the raven- haired hellraiser, taking backward steps as Irma's fake smile melted to one of disbelief. When he turned to Maggie, the frown was back on his face. "Get me out of here," he bitterly remarked to the wild-haired woman. Maggie shrugged, looking disinterested. "Your call, kiddo," She began walking away from Irma and the soldier. "Follow me, if you really mean that." Jeremy's steps were slow at first. Unsure. But then, his pace quickened until he was right beside her. Irma's wide eyes began to water as her shocked gaze watched her son leave her. Perhaps for the last time. At least, as a young man. She wanted to be able to race down and grab him and force him back in her life, but she also knew that she'd hate herself for it afterwards for going against her son's independence. Irma squinted her eyes shut, trying to keep from sobbing, but the grief was far too strong. The tears had to flow freely for the sake of all of her self-regret. She felt the hand of the soldier next to her settle on her shoulder. "Miss..." Irma immediately recoiled from the hand and hurried away from him. "Leave me alone," She wailed as she continued retreating. "Just...everybody leave me the fuck alone." The sound of her sobbing lingered in the hall until it disappeared behind the door to Irma's room. It was only then that the lone soldier who had tried to help the situation decided to move away and rejoin his friends. He was in disbelief, as he had thought Jeremy would ultimately choose to be with his mother. The cleaning lady just shook her head and resumed her duties, muttering italian words to herself. * * * Walda Pickering adjusted his glasses as he continued working on the formulas and the serums Celeste Richards had tasked him to work on... ...although the instructions came by way of messages written on paper. No explanations were given, and the necessary chemicals were provided. Although Walda did see Celeste around the late afternoons, she was nowhere to be seen during the day. Cameras, however, were on Walda as he worked. He knew they were recording his every move as he carried out Celeste's instructions. He couldn't just escape, and try to get back to his former life. Although his mind still acknowledged that he had once been a man, the reality of his current appearance clearly suggested otherwise. Walda had to keep pushing strands of his long hair out of his eyes as he worked. Moving around was odd, as well, as his hips were wider now. Pairs of pants had become tight around his waist, and at times, they felt like he was wearing a tight corset. There was also the obstacle in the mere act of being able to look down, as he needed to be able to look over the larger swells at his chest to observe the ever-cautious process of dropping volatile chemicals into test tubes. The bouncy mounds, frequently covered by a gray turtleneck sweater so he could hide the cleavage that formed upon fastening his bra, were now at an approximate double D size, according to Celeste's last assessment. By his own assessment, they looked a little larger than that, though. Walda was a bit more nervous today, though, as he had decided to pull off his attempt at accomplishing the mission Leonard Hardcastle had challenged him with. He needed to acquire a sensitive formula from Celeste's lab, and then escape from her home without being detected. The plan was to pull the formula sample, and then head out to Gourmandizer's for his daily shopping trip, where Leonard's car would be waiting for him. He would shop for the usual things he needed to get as per Celeste's provided routine, but he would get into Leonard's vehicle. Walda didn't need to get too much, either, as Celeste's stores were already well-stocked. The shopping trip would be a short one. He had no reservations...no concerns...in betraying Celeste Richards. Falling under the spell of a man like Leonard Hardcastle was preferable to aiding Celeste in whatever conspiracy she was planning against humanity. If his own transformation was any indication, it was for the best. By Walda's thinking, it was scientifically ridiculous to contemplate a society that was completely female. Unless Celeste was contemplating a means for females to generate and develop a fetus in the absence of male sperm... He didn't want to know. He just wanted to leave, and take refuge with Leonard. Knowing full well that the cameras were on him, Walda continued working. Six vials. Three drops each. One, two, three. He wiped away sweat beads forming on his forehead. More strands fell into his vision. He pushed the soft brown strands back. Vial two now. One, two, three. The expected hiss that went with the chemical reaction followed. The bubbles settled within the amber fluid. What would this do? He thought to himself. An itchy feeling could be felt at his left breast. Much as he wanted to ignore it and go on, Walda needed to be able to concentrate without distractions. Giving the area a brisk rubbing, his knees went weak with the intensely pleasurable sensation that followed. He heaved out a soft pant as he went slack-jawed. Rub it some more. He told himself. It feels so goooood... The itch lingered. He had to rub it some more. This time, his moan was louder. More distinct. The feel of Leonard's fingers inside him compelled Walda to keep rubbing at his left breast, digging his hand beneath the sweater, and then the bra. He knew Celeste would be enjoying the sight of this when she reviewed the camera footage. Walda didn't care, though. In fact, he put on quite a show for Celeste as he continued to rub at his left breast, knowing full well it would be the last. He had dropped to his knees now, moaning and panting as the itch compelled him to continue rubbing at not only his breast, but his nipple as well. His other hand ran though his hair passionately. When the itchy sensation abated, Walda's upper body dropped forward, and he panted in relaxation as he began to recover. Still half-lidded, he rose back up from the ground to resume applying drops to the remaining vials. His hands were a little more shaky as he worked. Vial three. One, two, three. Vial four. One, two, three. Vial five. One, two, three. Four. Fuck. It was one drop more than there should be. These were very important formula vials, too. No more than three in each one. Still, the formula did not look any different. There was no dramatic chemical reaction. Nothing negative manifested. At least, not at this moment. So Walda let it go. He was fairly certain that Celeste would never know the difference. Fortunately, he did not repeat the same mistake with the final vial. One, two, three. Done. He heaved out a relaxing breath. Now it was a matter of acquiring the formula Leonard requested. As Walda had explained how difficult such an attempt would be on his own given the security measures, the tall, black, bald man offered a window of opportunity. But this opportunity needed to be exploited at a specific time, and Walda would only have a mere five minutes to go into Celeste's secure chemicals vault and grab a vial. Fortunately, this time was right before he needed to go shopping at Gourmandizer's. He couldn't make it look like he was preparing for something big, so he busied himself by seeing to some cleaning and straightening-up in and around Celeste's home. Three minutes before the moment arrived, Walda conveniently went back downstairs, making it look like he was returning to the workshop. When the moment arrived, the overhead lights flickered. That's when Walda knew that the security cameras...along with any and all surveillance of the house...were down. Having been told the code by Celeste, Walda rushed to the keypad and punched in the code that opened the door to the secure chemicals vault. He went right to where the vial prototypes were, and grabbed one of the eight sealed glass tubes placed there. Rushing back out, and re-securing the vault door, he went back to the workshop, concealing the stolen vial in a pocket, and resumed his chemicals work. When the security cameras came back online, they saw Walda putting yet another chemical mixture together as per Celeste's instructions. Walda realized Celeste would discover, at some point, that one of her prototype formulas was missing, but he would be long gone by then, and hopefully enjoying time spent with his new master. When the time came for Walda to begin his shopping trip, and his subsequent rendezvous with Leonard Hardcastle, he wondered what life would be like living under him. * * * "Mmmmmmhh..." Mara's head rested on the Lady Rosemary's shoulder as she continued to draw milk right from her busty maid's right breast. "...ooooooohhhhh..." The noblewoman's lips were fastened to the fat nipple, and she savored the great-tasting whole milk that was streaming into her mouth as she continued sucking. Tamara's body was lost to a euphoric sensation that was circulating through every part of her own plus-sized body. Her arms hung at her sides as she knelt upon the bed next to Rosemary, who was sitting right next to her. She could feel the warmth...the heat...upon Mara's bare skin as she continued to drink. When she had drunk her fill, Rosemary gently brought Mara back against the mattress beneath her, resting her dazed head upon the pillow. Mara just stared upward through half-lidded eyes as she gently panted in relaxation. Rosemary smiled down at her, stroking Mara's soft blond hair. "Relax, sweet Mara," she cooed. "You've done more than enough for me this week." The noblewoman brought a hand to her maid's cheek, rubbing gently at it. Mara gently moaned in her appreciation. "I wonder if young Timothy Portnoy ever once dreamed that this would happen to him," Rosemary mused. "That he would grow big, milky breasts. That he would have a head full of long, silky soft blond hair," One of the noblewoman's hands reached down to rub at Mara's crotch. "That he would become a lusciously curvy, and a very sexy- looking woman with a big, plushy ass." Mara, still staring up, slowly shook her head. "What about a sweet-smelling, obedient maid?" Rosemary asked. "Did you ever think you would become that, Timothy?" Mara once again shook her head. "No, Milady Rosemary." "Mmmm. Sit up and hold me, dear," Mara complied, her upper body slowly rising up. She then wrapped her arms gently around Rosemary's, resting the side of her head against the noblewoman's shoulder. She wrapped her own arms around Mara and squeezed her affectionately. "You've been one of the most obedient maids I've ever had, Mara. Were it not for your situation, I would keep you here with me for the rest of your life." "You've still got me for the next couple of days, don't you, Milady Rosemary?" Mara softly asked. Rosemary smiled. "That was the original plan, wasn't it?" She gently positioned Mara's now confused face in front of her own. "I'm afraid that plan has changed, dear." Mara frowned. "Wh-what do you mean, Milady Rosemary?" "I have to let you go, Tamara. I'm sorry," the noblewoman hesitantly admitted. "It's not because of anything you did. It's...a personal choice. My home here is ready for me to show off, thanks to you, and I need to find someone permanent to serve me here. I did tell you that your stay here was temporary, yes?" Mara looked a bit crestfallen as she nodded. "I know." "It's also because I received a dinner invitation meant for you," Rosemary added. "Tonight at 8:00. No name was mentioned. Top floor at Upscale, which means it's someone pretty important." Mara pouted. "I thought you were pretty important." Rosemary giggled to herself, and planted a quick kiss on Mara's lips. "I am, dear...but this is obviously someone else. I just hope, for your sake, that it isn't Rita." "And if it is?" "Then you stand firm," The noblewoman gave her a more serious look, emphasizing those three words with the tip of an index finger tapped against Mara's chest. "Don't you ever let her win, Tamara Portnoy. You may be an obedient maid to me, but you're a strong woman otherwise. Don't let anyone rob you of the kind of person you've become. Understand?" Mara nodded. "Yes, Milady Rosemary." "And remember what I said, Mara," Rosemary added. "If you feel that the whole of Bullchester is turning against you, and you have nowhere else to go...then, and ONLY then, you will come to me. From that day forward, you will be mine for the rest of your life, forsaking everything else you once knew, including your own mother, and your sisters. Tamara Portnoy will die, and you will be my Maid Mara, to do with as I wish. Never forget this." Mara lowered her head. "Yes, Milady Rosemary." A devious smile was now on the noblewoman's lips. "I may even have you restored to some semblance of what you looked like as a male, so that you'll always remember what you used to look like," She giggled with another more crafty thought. "Maybe even have you look like a boy with breasts as large and as milky as yours." A nervous smile was now on Mara's lips. "That should make Rita happy." "All the more reason why you should think of that as the worst possible thing to consider," Rosemary cautiously noted. "I usually don't give former boys advance warning of what I'm going to do to them, but since you've been one of my best maids, you've earned yourself the privilege." Mara nodded, lifting her head back up. "Thank you, Milady Rosemary." The noblewoman then slipped her feet out of the knee-high boots she was wearing. "Although since we have a bit of time to kill...you satisfied my hunger..." Her thigh-high stockings were the next to come off of her legs, exposing them both, and sending a certain scent to Mara's nose that immediately excited her. "...now, I should satisfy yours." The strong odor of the noblewoman's feet brought Mara to the floor. Her eyes were locked on the feet as one came up to rub against the plus-sized woman's face. Inhaling deeply, Mara felt a rush of pleasure as she moaned out in satisfaction. She then felt Rosemary's other foot press and rub against the other side of her face. When the toes of the right foot came near Mara's lips, the kneeling maid allowed the noblewoman to slip her big toe into Mara's mouth, and she began to suck yearningly on the large digit. Rosemary moaned in satisfaction as her maid continued to pleasure her feet. Goddess... The noblewoman thought to herself. ...she's such a slut! * * * ~ S P E A K A B O U T ~ © Loris International 2 Online - LovlyRita '< : Hello, Shelley. Are you all settled in yet? - ShelleyP '< : Oh hi. Yeah...everything except a personal Coffee Machine. - LovlyRita '< : Good, good. Don't get too comfy though. I need you to get to work on your first client. - ShelleyP '< : But...I don't have any prospects. - LovlyRita '< : Very perceptive, dear. I am giving you one. It's an important one, too...unless, you would rather take a less demanding job? Lower pay? If so, I could relocate you to a cubicle downstairs within general population. - ShelleyP '< : No, no...if you want to trust me with an important client, I'll do what I can to sell...him? Her? - LovlyRita '< : She. Her name is Vije Nastassje. She arrives at Bullchester International Airport at half past 12 noon. You need to be there for the intercept. Win her interest, and I will consider saving you a place on the Loris Executive Board as a provisional. - LovlyRita '< : And if the words going through your mind is something along the nes of "this is my foot in the door", you'd be right. - ShelleyP '< : I'm guessing she's European, judging by the name alone. Russian? - LovlyRita '< : Truthfully? Your guess is as good as mine. I honestly don't know WHERE she comes from, and I want that kind of a mystery working with us. - ShelleyP '< : Can you send me a photo, so I'll know what she looks like? - LovlyRita '< : She despises publicity of any kind, so no. I am told, however, that he looks VERY exotic. Like a fashion model sent from a fantasy land. Slim, narrow eyes. That's all I know. - ShelleyP '< : So a Tolkien elf without the pointy ears. Gotcha. - LovlyRita '< : Assure her that we'll keep her out of the public eye, and you should win points with her. - ShelleyP '< : Naturally. - LovlyRita '< : I am counting on the kind of charisma I saw in you when I hired you, Shelley. Don't fuck this up. - ShelleyP '< : Understood. Can I ask what kind of a job you gave my sister? - LovlyRita '< : For now? I gave her a cubicle...but the work she is getting is coming from my personal secretary, Brianne. I am also considering modeling work for her, but...I don't know, for sure, if I can trust her with such a lucrative career. How do you think her fortunes could change, Shelley? - ShelleyP '< : Oh. I get it. I do well for you, Sandra gets kicked upstairs. - LovlyRita '< : By whom? - ShelleyP '< : You, I would think. - LovlyRita '< : Really? I thought you wanted to be an executive. - ShelleyP '< : ... - ShelleyP '< : OH. I get the promotion, I get to raise Sandra's profile. - LovlyRita '< : Now you're getting it. Incentive in manifest. - ShelleyP '< : Am I doing anything before then? - LovlyRita '< : Yes. Get me an assessment of fashion trends for the past five years. Place emphasis on the 'rockabilly' and '50s Pinup Girl' trends. - ShelleyP '< : I'm on it. ----===*CHAT TERMINATED*===---- * * * Rita Noble smirked as she closed the Speakabout chatroom. Spunk. She mused to herself. She's got potential. A buzz emanated from her nearby intercom, and the crafty debutante pushed a firm, cherry red-painted fingernail down upon a large gray button on the black device. "Yes, Brianne?" "Doctor Walsh is out here, Madame Noble," Brianne's husky, formerly male voice responded. Rita's eyes lit up. "Send her right in." Although she was still going through school, the scientifically-gifted daughter of the huge-breasted midwife, Barbara Walsh, had quickly advanced from her solid foundations in the field of genetics and DNA to a level which she could exploit for the sake of being able to create the kind of frighteningly effective formulas and serums that the Sisterhood coveted and exploited within Bullchester. The debutante's office door opened just as Rita gave her full, curled volumes of platinum blond hair a fluff with her hands. She grinned as her visitor walked in. The last time she had seen Leanne Walsh, she had certainly become much slimmer than the pudgy, plain-looking girl she used to be. In fact, she had become more or less an average teenager with girl-next-door kind of looks. She even had a pleasant attitude to match. The Leanne Walsh that now entered Rita's office was clad in a tight, dark gray business suit, and she now had more defined curves that gave her developing frame an hourglass appearance. Rita wondered if she had a corset beneath the buttoned jacket she was wearing. She had her black hair up in a tight sock bun on top of her head. Leanne also seemed to have switched from contact lenses back to the pair of glasses that sat upon her nose, although these glasses definitely added to the somewhat wicked appearance Barbara's daughter was clearly displaying here. The skirt ended at her knees, and a sheen of light brown betraying the appearance of pantyhose led to high- heeled black shoes, the firm heels of which clacked loudly upon the floor as she walked. In her right hand was a small glass vial, containing a velvet-colored liquid, as she stepped up to the desk with a neutral, but nevertheless intimidating expression. "I have tested and refined this six ways from Sunday, Rita, and according to your exact specifications," Leanne emotionlessly explained as she held up the vial. "It will not fail you. There should be no side effects, either." Rita grinned wide, her eyes narrowing. "Wonderful." "Although I must admit, salivary cultivation proved to be a bit of a challenging nut to crack," Leanne added. "I would have preferred a more...dramatic effect." Rita giggled. "Baby steps, dear. I am developing my finest creation." Leanne looked a little confused, but she nevertheless handed over the vial to the extended right hand of an anxious Rita Noble. "I won't ask," The young scientist coldly remarked. "And you applied the DNA sample I provided?" Rita asked, for confirmation's sake. Leanne shrugged. "Of course. Just make sure you only use it on...whoever this is," She gestured to the vial Rita now held up to her eyes with both hands. "If it's applied to anyone else, there is a 96.725% chance of the subject developing a life-threatening gum disease. As per your specifications, it's tasteless, and can be applied to a full glass of any beverage. Even carbonated ones. Although that serum is colored, it will quickly adapt to the color of the liquid without losing its properties." Rita's eyes went from the vial to Leanne, maintaining her perfect, yet malevolent white grin. "You're a genius, Doctor Walsh." "Negative," Leanne curtly corrected, maintaining her emotionless mask. "This accomplishment was insignificant compared to the DNA-related pursuits I truly wish to perfect. Radical skin pigmentation, for example. Emotions are often connected to colors. Red, for example, usually implies anger. Ferociousness. Green is commonly associated with envy." Rita's right eyebrow raised up with some interest. "And...I suppose pink would imply...?" Leanne smirked. "Submissiveness, yes. Meekness." "You should suggest something like that to the Farm," Rita mused, referring to the secret locale where particularly stubborn troublemakers were sent to be...re-educated. "They might find that concept stimulating. Failing that, it would certainly make Halloween a little more interesting." The young science aspirant blinked once as she processed Rita's words for a quiet moment. "Noted," she then replied. VI: Marching Orders The Lady Rosemary had explained that she would have Daphne deliver Tamara's belongings to her house once she had dropped the plus-sized former boy at Upscale for her mysterious date. It was a surprisingly voluntary gesture on the noblewoman's part. A kindness, she had said, for being such a perfect and obedient maid. Still, Tamara's heart sank as they pulled away. The first time she had been given an enema was logically a discomfort, but she had since grown so accustomed to the uniquely bloated feeling that she actually looked forward to repeating such a procedure on the daily basis Rosemary had ordained. A part of her had worried that she would remain at this Victorian- influenced home for the rest of her life when she went in, but ironically, as she was leaving, and earlier than either of them expected, she already had an urge to jump out of the car and submit herself fully to the crafty and alluring noblewoman. With a long sigh, she dispensed with such an urge...since they were by now out on a Bullchester highway and making considerable distance from the Dolan-owned home...and she now began to wonder who her blind date was. It also occurred to Tamara that she also needed to honor that appointment at the infamous Butterfly Salon alongside Lois Fryer. She had to wonder, in that moment, if her surrogate protector...Grace Lees...would honor her word. The fatalist side of her surmised that she would never be the same Tamara Portnoy upon leaving the Salon. That she would fall in with the dreaded conspiracy that might one day swallow any and all masculinity whole. I'm just glad you weren't around to see me for the past few days, Maggie. Tamara mused to herself. I hope you're okay. "You want to go back, don't you?" Daphne's voice interrupted the plus-sized girl's chain of thought. "Sorry?" "You want to go back and become the Lady Rosemary's full-time maid, don't you, Mara?" she asked again. Her invoked maid name blurred her thinking for a bit, but she recovered in the next moment, shaking her head. "No...I...I need to move on. I mean, it was nice, but..." "More than nice, from what I heard," Daphne interjected, keeping her eyes on the road. "The Lady Rosemary was very pleased with your services, including those which were, well, unusual when it comes to domestic service." Tamara blushed deeply as she voiced the thought. "I was surprised I had enough to fill a whole jug." "I tasted that milk, too," Daphne mused. "Best I've ever tasted. I'm envious that the Lady Rosemary got to drink it right from the tap, so to speak. How did it feel when she drank from you?" "I felt, well...languid," Tamara admitted. "Lazy. Blissed." Daphne nodded. "Someone could use that against you, you know. You should be careful." The plus-sized former maid nodded as the car finally pulled up in front of the building where Upscale was located. "I know." Pushing her fetchingly-teased head of golden blond hair back with both hands, and smoothing out the creases of her one-piece gray dress, which was the same one she wore when she confronted Hank Fryer at the Bottom of the 9th Sports Bar, Tamara Portnoy stepped out of the antique vehicle, which earned a great many stares of awe and amazement as Tamara stepped over to the driver side. "Thanks, Daphne," Tamara smiled as the manly woman turned her head towards her plus-sized passenger. "I guess I'll see you around." "Only if the Lady Rosemary is on the road," Daphne replied. "I'd say 'be careful', but at this point, judging by the way you look now, it wouldn't make sense to remind you. Just remember what the Lady Rosemary taught you about staying strong," She pointed to her head. "In here." "Absolutely." Tamara moved her head in to kiss Daphne on the cheek, but the driver's right hand quickly went behind Tamara's head and locked lips with her, kissing with surprising passion. Startled, Tamara slowly stepped away when Daphne let her go. "You will be missed, Maid Mara." These were Daphne's last words before she pulled the car away from the curb. With a deep breath, and a quick check at the time displayed on her smartphone, Tamara clacked her way over to the scenic express elevator running up and down along the side of the building, which brought patrons to the top-floor restaurant, and back down to street level. The building also had a convenient parking garage in the same building which was reserved solely for Upscale patrons. Once Tamara arrived at the top floor, a girl...who may very well have once been a male, judging by her somewhat nervous appearance...checked against her name on the reservations list, and then had a waitress seat Tamara at a table overlooking the Bullchester city skyline. She looked over to the table that she shared with Maggie Katzhoff and Lawrence Hanel the last time she was here. She also recalled seeing Gemma Schultz as well during her stay. As the clock on her smartphone indicated that Tamara had arrived a few minutes early, she waited, and relaxed, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces. Tamara had to do a doubletake when she spotted Judith Newlington, the debutante woman who gave her a ride to Larry's office when Timmy Portnoy first started working for him. She could still remember the calming music that played during that car trip. She wondered if Judith would even see so much as a trace of the nervous young man Tamara used to be at a glance. As her gaze lingered on Judith, their eyes finally found each other. After a moment, Judith picked up a half-full champagne glass and raised it up towards her in acknowledgement, taking a sip from the beverage before returning her attention to the debutantes she was sitting at the table with. Fortunately, none of them were Rita Noble. Three minutes later, Tamara idly glanced towards the elevator area...and her eyes widened with shock. A well-dressed Larry Hanel was making an inquiry with the reservations area. The former man at the desk gestured over to Tamara's table, where the plus-sized secretary waved, smiling, to the well-liked attorney. Larry returned a pleasant smile, and waved back, as he approached the table. Tamara's grin was ear to ear. She had to rise up and wrap her arms around the man who was not only her boss, but one of her close friends as well. Larry giggled as his secretary gently squeezed him. "Nice t' see you too, sport! Y' lookin' mighty fine t'night." A part of Tamara wanted to kiss him on the lips, but...given the gravity of the tragedy he was forced to bear, she refrained as they settled into their seats. "How was the ceremony, Larry?" Tamara soberly asked. Larry sighed lamentedly, his head angling down. "Part o' me still can't let go, darlin'...Shel was so full o' life. Hell, you r'memb'r what she was like. Always there t' be a shoulder t' cry on, always got th' right things t' say...I may nev'r meet anoth'r woman like 'er. When I started cryin' durin' th' service, I cried for two whole days. Non-stop. I was a wreck, sport." "Well...you're back now," Tamara remarked as Larry looked over the provided menu. "I'm sure she would want you to stay happy. Put this behind you. Move on. You need to be happy for her sake, Larry. It might help if, well, we just got back to work at the office." Larry's eyes closed with a kind of regret. It almost looked as if he was about to cry right then and there, but he let out another long sigh instead. As if he were about to do something he might judge to be a mistake later in life. "That's...kinda why I wanted t' talk to ya t'night," Larry raised his head up to look upon Tamara's now curious eyes. "B'fore I say anythin', I wanna let y' know that you've been th' best secr'tary I've ev'r had thus far. I've nev'r ev'n had a reason t' give ya one o' them strikes I mentioned on y' first day. You've ev'n helped me win a case...although I still wond'r where y' got that evidence." Tamara's heart now sank as her eyes widened once again, this time in astonishment. "Are you...letting me go?" "I have to, sport. I'm sorry." Larry pulled an envelope from within his jacket and slid it over to her. "That's for a full pay period. I insist that y' take it." "But...I don't understand, Larry. Was it..." "No, no, no. You didn't do anythin'," Larry assured. "This don't have nothin' t' do with that evidence I mentioned, either." Tamara ventured a different possibility. "It's about the Sisterhood, isn't it?" "Well...yes, and...no," Larry replied. "No one called me t' suggest that I let you go. No one. Not Celeste, not Rita, th' Mayoress, nobody. They're not forcin' me out o' Bullchest'r, neither. This de- cision is 100 per-cent my own." The former boy nodded, venturing another thought. "Because of what they did to me." A waitress finally arrived at their table. "Good evening. My name is Billie, I'll be your server tonight. Are you ready to order?" Although both of them were now in crestfallen states, they managed to share their meal choices with Billie, who collected the menus and stepped away, looking a bit nervous for whatever Sisterhood influence within Upscale was obviously compelling what might very well have once been a bright young man to adapt to the duties and the responsibilities of a charming young waitress following his own transformation. Larry turned his attention back to Tamara. "If we lived anywhere oth'r than Bullchest'r, I'd keep you with me in an Abilene minute. I was...kinda hopin' that you'd take my off'r t' become a paralegal, but...might not have mattered. By now, I'm sure y' know how th' Sisterhood works. Very, very sneaky. They'd find a way t' get people like y'self t' do some, well, outrageous things in th' name o' their lil' anti-man crusade. Now that my wife's gone, well...I have t' be brutally honest here, sport. You an' I, well...we been lookin' at each oth'r from time t' time since y' got changed, an' while we have been able t' keep control in the end, I don't wanna tempt th' possibility o' you losin' it. I mean...let's say I had t' have Rita as a client again, which is a very real possibility. I need t' have someone workin' for me who..." "I understand, sir," Tamara interjected. "And no, I won't hold this against you. I don't want to see you ruined because of your association with me either. It wouldn't surprise me if they had wanted me to take our relationship to the next level, and given the way I've been developing, I..." The plus-sized young woman lowered her head. "...I couldn't trust myself around you either." Larry reached a hand over, and placed it over one of Tamara's. The feel of the heat on Larry's hand made Tamara feel a little excited, despite herself. The heat was comforting. "I hope we can still be friends, at least, d'spite this? I'll understand othr'wise." Tamara's head raised back up, and her hand tenderly gripped Larry's. A smile then formed on her face. "I'd like that, sir. After all...you, me, and Maggie make one hell of a team, don't we?" Larry smiled back, relieved at Tamara's response. He nodded as he spoke. "That we do, sport." When the meals were served, the two of them were a bit more upbeat as they shared the experiences they had being away from each other. Obviously, Tamara had a lot more to share compared to Larry, who made a mental note of Rosemary Dolan's apparent interest in Tamara. An eyebrow went up when Tamara mentioned Rita's visit. "Is that right?" Larry remarked after swallowing some of his meal. "I would've expected that woman t' give you right up t' Rita! I heard she's a radical feminizer, sport. Good thing y' don't have yer manhood anymore." "She was surprisingly supportive, actually," Tamara admitted. "Told me later that she was testing me." "An' y' passed. Not s'prised." Larry sipped at the wine he ordered before continuing. "Oh...an' don't you worry 'bout ref'rences. You'll get a guaranteed gold mark from me, sport. Highest recommendation I can give." Tamara giggled. "For such a short period of time as an employee." "Y' got th' perfect workin' attitude. I'd stake my attorney's license on it," Larry assured. "Jus' you tell me who y' gon' be workin' for next. I'll bust down their door...an', well, pay for th' damages..." Tamara giggled at this. "...but I will de-mand that you be given th' best possible job, with th' best salary t' boot!" Tamara's eyes drifted thoughtfully to the view of the Bullchester skyline. She began to wonder what the next chapter of her life would be like. Who would take an interest in her. What kind of job she would get. The fallback, of course, would be the Lady Rosemary, and given her experiences in a little over half a week as her maid, that didn't sound like it would be so bad. The next question from Larry, however, seemed inevitable. "Where do y' think you'll go from here, sport? Secretary job? New line o' work?" Tamara let out a long sigh, keeping her eyes on the skyline. "I don't know, Larry." She took a sip of her beverage. "I guess I'll go wherever the Bullchester winds of change take me." Larry nodded. "Well...whatev'r it turns out t' be, you stay in touch, y' hear?" Tamara's gaze idly stopped on the Loris International building. "Yes, sir." * * * Shelley Portnoy couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed to be in the area of the airport where cab and limo drivers stood holding signs displaying the last names of the individuals they had been sent to pick up. Rita's secretary...a very shapely, and a very busty brunette named Brianne...had even provided Shelley with a card bearing the Loris International logo, and the large-lettered name "NASSTASSJE", which was written within the box space below it with a black marker. She began to sway from side to side impatiently as she waited. Five minutes before the plane would arrive... ...but then, the status of the woman's plane went from "ON TIME" to "DELAYED". Shelley sighed out loudly in her frustration. She quietly cursed herself for arriving early. With angry steps, she walked over to the young attendant sitting behind the nearby desk as murmurs of frustration could be heard from the small crowd that was obviously waiting for the plane's arrival. "Excuse me...what's going on with the plane?" "I'm being told it's because of air traffic congestion," the attendant replied. "Should only be about, oh, ten to fifteen minutes, give or take." Shelley sighed out in her clear irritation as she stepped away from the desk. As the airport had a coffee place near the waiting area, she decided to drift over to purchase a fresh cup of joe. As her smartphone was capable of playing video, she idly went through the offerings provided by the phone's TV App, and came upon an episode of Wild Passions. The teenagers of the cast were involved in a cheesy nightclub moment, and as hokey as it initially looked, Shelley found herself engrossed in the onscreen drama. The latino man, in particular, looked like a real hunk, although she never openly admitted it. One cup of coffee became two, and by the time she was done with that one, she needed to rush over to the nearby toilet. Her bladder felt like it was about to burst open. When she re-emerged from the lavatory, there was a bit of a commotion at the passenger area of the plane she had been waiting for. Surrounding a bunch of burly, bald men was a slim female with a head of wispy, platinum blond hair sitting above a bronze-colored body...or was it makeup? Shelley couldn't tell, but the narrow-eyed figure certainly looked alien enough to be Vije Nasstassje. Racing over to her, she was within a foot of the crowd of black- dressed bodyguards before she realized that she forgot the name card! Sliding to a halt, and hissing out a curse, Shelley dashed back to the table where she had left the name card and then began running back to the woman. One of the bodyguards, however, turned around and immediately brought up a pudgy hand. He looked fat, but Shelley had a feeling the mass was all muscle. "Whoa, back off, lady. Miss Nasstassje don't do autographs." "No, no, I'm not here for an autograph! I..." She dropped her name card. "...shit!!" As Shelley went to the floor to retrieve the card, Nasstassje and her entourage bunched into an elevator. Her burly entourage actually cleared out anyone that was in the elevator, curtly advising them to take the next one. When Shelley was back on her feet, the doors slid shut. Frantically, Shelley rapidly tapped the call buttons...both of them...to stop the elevator, but it was too late. Undaunted, the executive aspirant frantically raced downstairs to the ground floor. Fortunately, the elevator door had not opened yet, so she got her card out, ready to flash it to the group as they came out... ...only to find that it was one of three elevators, and it was elevator #3 that the doors opened for. Shelley was in front of elevator #1. Upon spotting one of the black-suited bodyguards, Shelley quickly got in front of them and flashed the name card, panting in her exhaustion. The same bodyguard smirked upon seeing Shelley, and began to step forward. "Shit, you don't give up, do ya?" "Wait," a female voice firmly announced from within the circle of bodyguards. This stopped the large, bald man, who turned to the thin figure now making her way through her own guardforce. Now that Shelley had a closer look at Vije Nasstassje, she could clearly see why she was perceived to be alien in appearance. She had apparently done something to her skin to give it a glossy sheen that made it look like living plastic. The narrow eyes...almost oriental in nature, despite the Nordic-looking head of short, wispy, platinum blond hair above them...stayed on Shelley as she approached the awed executive aspirant. Her slim, but tall waif-like body subtly writhed like a worm as she walked. A spicy, pleasing scent that resembled citrus filled Shelley's nose as Vije stepped right in front of her with a neutral expression. "Are you my ride?" Vije's breathy, lightly-accented voice then asked. Shelley looked down at her own card, which she was apparently holding upside down. Blushing deeply, she looked up and, with a silly grin, nodded rapidly. "You car...it have tinted windows?" she next asked. Shelley nodded again, easing down a bit. "Yes, it does." Vije nodded. "You have mall?" "Mall? Oh, yeah," Shelley confirmed. "I haven't been there yet myself, but..." "Take me to Mall." "Uhh...maybe after?" Shelley tried not to look nervous, but Vije's alien appearance was oddly intimidating. "I was told to get you to the Loris International building the moment you arrived so you could meet Rita Noble." "Rita wait," Vije remarked as she shook her head. "We go to car. Take me to Mall. You wait in car while I go to Mall. Then I go Rita." A few minutes later, the car Shelley had Vije in was on the road, with her entourage of bodyguards in close vicinity, driving a small group of fortified black cars. As Shelley was still relatively new to Bullchester, she was forced to rely on the car's GPS to get her to Rubie's Mall. As Shelley drove, her unusual passenger gazed out the window of the passenger side of the car. When the cars drove along a highway exit, and they began rolling through the city streets, a slight smile crept onto the face of Vije Nasstassje. "Buuuuullllllchesssssssssssssssssssterrrrrrr," the waifish woman suddenly hissed. Shelley made every attempt to try and mind her own business as she drove, not saying one single word. Vije, in the meantime, seemed to writhe and undulate to music that must have been playing in her head. At one point, she leaned against Shelley's right side, bringing her lips close to Shelley's right ear. "Do you shave you ssssssslit?" Flustered, Shelley stayed quiet as she continued driving through the city streets. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Vije was reaching down to the bottom hem of her latex tube dress, pulling it up until her hairless crotch was fully exposed. She then turned her head to Shelley as a finger, which had a long and French-cut nail, hovered over her bare vagina. "Innnn-serrrrt coinnnnnnnnnn," Vije mused aloud. She followed this up with a weird giggle. All Shelley did was to smile nervously. As the car finally pulled into the Mall parking lot, Vije released her seatbelt buckle and then shot an arm out over Shelley's body, pinning her to the seat. "Wait." From an alien-looking pocketbook made of rubber latex, with a velvet satin interior, the slim woman pulled out something pink, which Vije...who had a peppermint scent to her breath...fastened to the side of Shelley's hair. Grinning, Vije tapped a finger on Shelley's right cheek. "I buy you ice creeeeeam," Another weird-sounding giggle, and Vije was out of the car. She was quickly surrounded by her black-suited entourage once more. The bald-headed man who initially denied her access to the woman stayed outside of Shelley's car, presumably as a watchdog for Vije's ride. He quickly engrossed himself in a newspaper that looked Russian. Once Vije had distanced herself from the car enough, Shelley pulled off the pink object that the unusual woman had placed in her hair... ...and saw that it was a pink sissy bow with a gold hairclip. Shelley was quick to open a window and toss the bow out in disgust, but the bald bodyguard lingering outside caught sight of the disposal, and hurried over to grab the bow as Shelley rolled the window back up. The bald man's heavy knocking on the window, however, forced an irritated Shelley to roll it back down. "Put this back on your hair." Shelley shook her head. "Fat chance." "Don't fuck with me on this, lady. Put the goddamn bow back on. It's got a tracking chip in there. You get lost or kidnapped, we know where you are," the bald man curtly remarked. "Now put the fucking thing back on. Now." With a heavy and a clearly irritated sigh, Shelley snatched the bow out of the man's outstretched hand and slipped it back into her hair. As she rolled the window back up, he heard the burly man growl one last threat. "Don't take that shit off," He then went back to reading his paper. Spasibo, you brick-brained shitbag. Shelley griped to herself as she resumed her quiet vigil over the car. A perpetual frown was on her face now. Us Portnoys never get a fucking break. She idly mused to herself, feeling the weight of the silly hairbow on her head. We must be cursed. * * * Ron Bailey and Howard Venis wandered around Rubie's Mall for whole hours since their arrival. They were mostly window shopping, seeing as how the price tags on various items of clothing...mostly racy in their design...were prohibitively expensive. Time passed quickly, given the available diversions, and the entire time, their bodies swayed as they moved, with many in the mall giving them both a doubletake given their androgynous frames, and their now soft-looking faces. Neither of them cared. They just continued chatting with each other on a variety of trivial topics. When they reached the Mall's resident nightclub, which was called Luck Be A.... they had to stop and linger at the currently closed establishment. Some neon lights were on inside, and they even saw a bit of activity. The club was apparently in preparations mode for a Singles Night event. Checking the time, they saw that the closing of most of the stores in the mall...and the opening of the nightclub...coincided in two hours. Ron smiled to his effeminate friend. "You wanna go in?" he asked, in a soft and somewhat breathy voice. Howard turned to Ron, maintaining a look of mild delirium as he continued to feel funny over what was happening with his body. His own voice was light-pitched as he spoke. "Yeah. I...I think we can afford it, too." "Mm-hmm. And look. No dress code." Ron gestured to the nearby sign pitching the Singles party to mall patrons. "We can go in looking just the way we do right now." Howard grinned, and giggled girlishly, in response. Spare funds allowed them to pass the time with a pair of strawberry milkshakes from a hallway food store, and they noticed that the crowds were thickening outside of the club. Fifteen minutes before the club was to open, the thumping beat of house music could be clearly heard bleeding out from within. As club staff had noticed Ron and Howard waiting outside for the longest time, they were given the benefit of being placed at the front of the line that the staff had asked for. Paying their admission fee, and then getting a handstamp on the backs of their right hands, they finally made it into the nightclub area. A fruity scent lingered around the main dancing area as neon lights illuminated the mostly black interiors, although the cushions on the seats gave off a neon glow of their own. A young black man wearing a red baseball cap with a baseball team insignia on it, dressed in loose denim clothes, was at the DJ Booth bouncing up and down to his own tunes high above the dance floor. The dance floor area quickly filled up. Some scattered along the sidelines, some went right to the bar to fill up with their first few drinks of the evening, while others stepped upon the various morphing images of the club's dance floor to strut their stuff. The Singles Night motif also brought out a few randy-looking young guys. Teenage girls...some of whom looked as androgynous as Howard and Ron...were also in the mix, wearing daringly tight lycra outfits in various colors, many of them neon. The two effeminate young men chose to position themselves by the bar, which earned them the attention of the tough-looking bartender. "Either of you want anything?" "How much is a soda?" Howard asked. The bartender, who looked like a burly latino guy with a five o' clock shadow look to his face, held up five fingers. "Damn." Howard looked to Ron. "That's too much for my blood. I spent most of my money on the admission price. I'm down to peanuts now." Ron giggled. "I've got this," Ordering Howard's drink and asking for a banana daiquiri for himself, the two patiently waited until the bartender came back with their drinks. Howard's heart sank, however, when he saw a well-built teenager with cropped red hair enter the club. This athlete was among those who routinely bulled him at school. Howard hoped that they would not spot each other...but once his eyes finally found the effeminate young man, the caucasian-skinned bully...Darren...did a doubletake, and then stalked over to Howard with a predatory smile on his face. "Howard Penis!" Darren's obnoxious tone could be heard over the music as the effeminate young man tried to ignore him. "How'd you get here? By tricycle?" Although Darren literally got into his face, Howard still tried to ignore him. He could smell the beer in his tormentor's breath. "Hey..." Darren grabbed a handful of Howard's shirt, causing him to gasp effeminately. "...I'm talkin' to you, ya sissy faggot. Get me a fuckin' drink!" Darren next felt a tight squeeze at the back of his neck as Ron's right hand held it in a painfully tight grip. The bullying athlete winced, letting go of Howard... ...but he also found it extremely difficult to think as Ron held him. His thoughts were a jumbled mess in need of guidance. "You want a drink? Go to the bathroom and pee in a glass, you jerk- off," Ron growled into Darren's ear as his eyes uncontrollably blinked. "And stay the hell away from my friend here while you're at it." Once Ron shoved him away, Darren shook his head in an effort to achieve clear thought. After staring confusedly at Ron, who glared back at him as Howard cowered behind his friend, Darren got the attention of the bartender, asking for a large glass of water. Once the bartender stepped away, the athlete hurried over to the nearby lavatories, going into the men's room as per Ron's instructions. Once Darren was gone, the music transitioned to a tune that got Ron's attention. "Oooh! I gotta dance to this one," He looked to Howard. "Wanna join?" He bashfully shook his head. "Noooo, you go ahead. I'll wait here." Ron nodded, smiling, and then lost himself in the dancing crowds that now loaded up the floor. Sighing out relaxedly, Howard turned away from the dance floor and idly glanced around. A strong smell of citrus diverted him from his idling, and he turned to his right to see that a tall, slim woman with unusually moist skin, and a head of short, soft, Nordic-looking platinum blond hair was standing right next to him. Howard's gaze locked on, and traveled up and down her waifish frame. Inevitably, the woman...Vije Nasstassje...angled her eyes curiously toward Howard. As she turned her head towards the effeminate young man, however, Howard quickly looked away. A kind of glancing game followed. Howard's eyes went back to Vije, and when the slim woman tried to catch him gazing, Howard's eyes quickly redirected. Vije, however, turned Howard's chin back towards her with a pair of slender fingers. "Is rude to stare," she cooed. His body shook from how nervous he was in that moment. "I-I'm sorry." She moved in closer to him, and he could feel her warm body against the left side of his own. "Buy me drink." "Huh? Drink? Oh...I...I'm sorry." Howard blushed deeply. "I...don't have a lot of money tonight." All Vije did was stare for a long moment at Howard, who blushed deeply as he bashfully looked away. There was no evidence of emotion in her expression. The woman then craned her head forward to whisper right into Howard's ear. "You cute," she then purred. Howard couldn't help but giggle girlishly when he heard this. Vije then turned Howard to face her, and then draped her arms around the back of his neck. She then pressed her forehead to his as he looked up at her, still terribly nervous. "I buy drink," the woman cooed. Her next words were punctuated by a long, firm, French-cut fingernail poking into Howard's chest. "You pay back." "Ummm...o-ok. Fff-fair," Howard swallowed hard, still finding it hard to believe that he could have ever attracted the attention of such an incredibly gorgeous creature. His eyes went to the gloss on one of her arms as she collected her drink. "Nice, eh?" She raised her arm up so that Howard could get a closer look. "Is called 'Doll'. Skin care. Make me look plastic," She paused a moment to let out an infectious giggle of her own. "You live Bullchester?" Howard nodded rapidly. "Mmmm." Once again, her sweet-smelling body closed the distance to speak into Howard's ear, the rest of her slim body pressing against his. "You like me?" The stirring between his legs was unavoidable. He feared he would prematurely ejaculate at any moment. "Yes...!" he finally hissed out. The alien-looking woman nodded. "I am Vije." She then announced, remaining within touching distance of the nervous, androgynous young man. "Everybody like Vije." Her hands then went to either side of Howard's head as she flashed a menacing grin, showing off rows of perfect white teeth. "Vije take you." "But I...I'm waiting for my friend..." The foreign woman once again laughed aloud, keeping her hands on Howard's head.. "Vije you friend now." She then looked to the bartender, who was within range of her voice. "Is private room?" The bartender produced a key, which he handed over to Vije. "In the back, to the far right of the bathrooms." "Kiitos," She quite easily pulled Howard out of his seat and guided the nervous young man to the back areas. As he moved, he was able to see Ron flirting with a small group of guys. He looked engrossed in the socializing, too. Once Vije had Howard inside the 20' x 20' red-padded room, which contained a very comfortable-looking light gray sofa and a small refrigerator, the slim, moist-skinned woman closed the door behind her and locked it. Howard did not see where the mysterious woman stashed the key she used. Light air conditioning activated, making the room comfortably cool as Vije stepped back over to Howard, smiling in a somewhat wicked manner as she began to play with his hair. "You cute," Vije purred as she pulled him into her, pressing her moist body against his. "You hold me." As Howard had never, ever been this close to a woman before, the warmth of Vije's soft, smooth body...especially with the side of his bare face pressed against the flat bumps of Vije's womanly chest...rooted him where he was. His nervous arms wrapped around the slim woman's body at Vije's bidding. His entire body trembled nervously as Vije let out another of her amused giggles. The alien-looking woman then angled Howard's head up to her as she smiled, insidiously, down at him. "Is just us," she cooed. "Take off clothes. All clothes. I want you bare." The effeminate young man was enthralled enough just by being up against Vije's soft, warm body. He pulled off his sneakers, his pants, his shirt, and the white underwear he wore beneath it all to expose his hairless body, which had perky, puffy breasts that were well on their way to an A-cup. "Oooooh." Vije brought a hand up to rub around one of the nipples with a slender hand. "You breasts? You girly boy? No. You not," She then grabbed him and pulled him in, gripping at his hair to pull it back and force him to look up at her. "You my girly boy." "But..." Howard whispered, nervous and excited at the same time. "...m-my friend..." Another giggle emerged from Vije's perfect grin. "Told you. I you friend now," She rubbed gently at Howard's hair, as if comforting a dog. "I you only friend." The alluringly alien-looking siren then fished through her pocketbook to extract two items. One was a comb, and the other was a pair of elastic hairbands which she wrapped around her right wrist. "On you knees," she then cooed. Feeling a slight chill that made him shiver a bit, Howard nevertheless complied with the slim woman's request. As he did, Vije briefly opened the door to make a request to one of the black-suited bodyguards standing outside. Closing the door, she walked back over to the kneeling, naked, and very nervous young man. "You name?" she then asked. "Hhh...How-Howard," his softened voice replied. "Howard Venis." The name compelled her to flash a grin, but she also shook her head. "No you not," Vije amusedly remarked. She then shot an index finger out towards him. "You Fifi." A knock at the door followed, and Vije briefly opened the door to retrieve what she had asked the bodyguard to get for her: a tall glass of water. Placing the glass on a ledge, Vije dipped the whole comb into the water glass and then walked back over to Howard to run it through his mullet of shoulder-length hair, splitting it into two portions. She made sure Howard's hair was wet enough for her to proceed with her intentions... ...which was to gather the hair up into two little pigtails, and wrap the hairbands around them until they were tight. All Howard did, the entire time, was to stare up at her. Transfixed. Practically hypnotized by the whole experience. It was quite literally like nothing he had ever experienced before in his life. He wanted more of it. Vije then began pulling makeup items out of her pocketbook, and then turned back to her kneeling subject. She figured that she would start the impromptu makeover with Howard's eyes, which she instructed him to close. Once his eyes were shut, Vije began applying a layer of feminine foundation to his face, rubbing the liquid cosmetics all over it until it was ready for the work she wanted to do. Howard then felt moistness brushed and painted upon and around his eyes, and his eyelids. He occasionally opened them at Vije's request, following the instructions she gently, alluringly spoke in her accented English. Once she was finished with her eye makeup work, she instructed him to close his eyes once again. His lips was the next to be painted. He felt thick, sticky moistness run across them. She had him blot the excess with one of the stacked white napkins that was in the private room, and then had him press his lips together. Following a few finishing touches, she gazed admirably upon her own work thus far. The next thing Howard felt was the touch of a leather strap, which was wrapping itself around his neck, and then tightening to a snug fit. The submissive young man was then pulled to his feet, although he was told to keep his eyes closed as Vije led him to one of the mirrored walls of the private lounge. Howard fiddled with his own fingers nervously as he moved. "Open you eyes, Fifi," she then purred, right into his ear. When he did, the image he found himself staring at was hardly the strangely effeminate face he had seen in the morning before he went to see Ron, but a much more amazingly female visage. It was as if Vije had brought out more of the woman Howard was visibly becoming. His eyes were the first thing he noticed. They now had a kind of feline look to them, given the angles of the applied eyeliner. His eyelids had been given a sexy purple color. Vije had also applied her feminine touch to Howard's eyebrows as well, as they had been given a dark, alluring shape. Howard's pigtails looked very cute as well. He could feel some of the hairs pulling from the roots, but it was a negligible discomfort. The leather around his neck turned out to be a studded pink collar, which had a D-ring beneath the chin. Howard's mouth was agape as he continued to stare at his own entirely effeminate image. The breast bumps at his chest definitely added to the appearance as he brought a hand up to touch at the makeup he was wearing. His grinning hostess stepped over to speak into his ear again. "You like?" Howard nodded, grinning cutely. "Vije know, Fifi." She wrapped her long, thin arms around him from behind, and Howard rested himself against her ecstatically, still grinning wide over his mirror image. "You want...come with me? We play dress you up." The effeminate boy turned to face Vije with a pleading expression. "Can Ron come with us? Pleeeeease?" The slim, moist-skinned woman frowned. "Who Ron? You friend?" Howard nodded. "He...he protects me. I like...I like being with him." "You with me now, Fifi," Vije reminded, lightly tracing a finger around Howard's face as she spoke. "Vije you best friend." "But I...but I just..." Vije now rubbed a warm hand over one of the young man's chest bumps. "...met you..." The slim-bodied woman thought on this for a moment. She already had ideas for 'Fifi', and another one began to percolate for his friend as she stared into Howard's eyes. Naturally, however, there would be a catch, and one that placed emphasis on getting her latest toy away from Ron. "Hmmm," Vije rubbed gently at Howard's hair. "Back down on knees." And down he went, slowly descending until his knees touched the ground. He looked up at Vije like a puppy. "Stay, Fifi," the slim woman commanded. "Vije be right back." * * * When Vije stepped out of the private room, she tapped the shoulder of one of the bodyguards, speaking in the Finnish language. "Look for someone named Ron. He was with my new pet when they came in." The bodyguard nodded, similarly replying in Finnish. "I know what he looks like," He then stepped away and began to scan around the patrons. He had arrived hours before the club opened, and had watched the early patrons gather. When the burly, bald man finally spotted Ron, he saw that the effeminate young man was carousing with a bunch of rowdy teenage boys. The former athlete looked inebriated, and a drink was near where he was sitting. As Vije waited, she felt her smartphone vibrate. Hurrying out of the club and walking a short distance away so she could hear her caller, she put the call through. "Who this?" "How long are you going to make my junior executive wait?" Vije recognized the voice to be Rita Noble, who was essentially the reason why she came out here in the first place. "Have you forgotten that she's still in the parking lot?" The sly, alien-looking woman giggled. "Vije know." She heard Rita let out a heavy sigh. "I guess I'll have to reschedule then, won't I?" The platinum blond-haired woman shrugged, smirking. "If you want Vije. I give goon Hotel number. He give to junior executive driver girl. You call, we make new date. Everybody happy, yes?" Rita's voice sounded a little irritated, but compliant. "Yes." "Good. I play with toys now. Bye bye." After immediately ending the call, she pocketed her smartphone and went back into the club. Once she was back inside, she saw that an unconscious person had been picked up by one of her bodyguards, and brought towards the door to the private room. Vije hurried over to open the door, since she had the key. Some of the other 'goons' in her entourage were curtly talking down the horny young teens that took issue with Ron being taken away from them. The bodyguard carrying Ron laid him down across the couch. He looked up to the curious Vije, speaking Finnish. "I slipped a sedative into his drink...although he doesn't look too much like a 'he'. It's weird." The slim woman raised a slender hand in restraint. "Get the cars ready. We're leaving," She also confided in another bodyguard the instructions regarding the driver Rita sent. As the bodyguards left the private room, she walked over to Howard, who was already angling his head over towards where Ron was sleeping. When she hovered over him, Howard once again stared up at Vije, who smiled down at him consolingly. "He fine," she purred. "He sleeping." "But...he's coming with us, right?" Howard worriedly asked. Vije nodded, still smiling. "He mine now," she remarked. "Just like Fifi." * * * Memories of the maid service she performed under the Lady Rosemary ran through the mind of Tamara Portnoy as she put herself through the enema procedure she learned during her time with the crafty noblewoman. Subtle moans emerged from her lips as she felt the scented water slosh around in her bloated gut. The plus-sized former maid settled down in her kitchen in front of a fresh cup of her morning coffee as she recovered from the enema procedure. Her mind then began to contemplate how she was going to be earning her income from now on. What manner of job she would take. As she always believed that the Sisterhood was keeping tabs on 'their ladies', she figured that any business in Bullchester interested in hiring her would be part of some kind of a plan. Some elaborate and convincing setup that would inevitably place Tamara on a road that would ultimately end with the former boy on her knees in front of Rita Noble. Going back to Rosemary was not an option, either, despite that side of her that was always ready to surrender to the noblewoman. That option obviously carried a stiff price tag. One that Rosemary herself had proclaimed a last resort. When all other options failed Tamara, and she had nowhere to turn to. On the possibility that she would see Maggie back in Bullchester following her trip abroad, Tamara resolved to refrain from such a surrender. A compromised and defeated Maggie was more of a sign that she needed to become Maid Mara for the rest of her life. Forsaking everything and everyone she knew. Past, and present. Larry. Maggie. Mayoress Stroud. Rita. They would all disappear in favor of the wants and the desires of the Lady Rosemary Dolan. Tamara even expected that Rosemary would legally change her name to Mara Dolan, and brainwash her into believing that this was the absolute truth of her life. That everything before that moment was an elaborate fabrication. No. Tamara told herself as she sipped at her coffee. This is not an immediate option. As her soft blond hair...another reminder of her time spent with Rosemary, for the oil-based hair treatment she was given...hung down around her, the fingers of her right hand ran through it. She then rose up and went to a large mirror in the living room of her house, leaving her coffee half-finished. Tamara could still see evidence of the young man she used to be as she stared at her own reflection. The evidence was more in the face than the body. She began to wonder how different she would look following her visit to the dreaded Butterfly Salon, which was only a day or so away. Would the idea of completely eliminating what few traces remained of Timothy Portnoy truly be a good thing? Conceptually, it seemed like murder. Cold, hard evidence of the warning she had once given a scared teenager named Charlene, who had paid her a visit at Larry Hanel's Bullchester office. You go in as you, you come out as someone else. It was too late to turn back. Grace could only make one intervention. If she missed this appointment, she'd have to spend the rest of her life resisting no end of temptations from others to go into the Salon. The thought of Agatha herself forcing Tamara into the place was far too terrifying to comprehend. Or even the Mayoress, for that matter. What's to become of you, Tamara Portnoy, in the long run? She asked herself, as she continued to stare at her own face. How long will you fight before Rita claims you as her slut at long last? Who will she send to plant the seed that ends with your complete subjugation? The next question she asked herself was a bit more thoughtful. Look at what your rotten behavior did to me, Dad. Removing her nightgown in the next moment, Tamara then unclasped her bra, and removed it. Her large, warm breasts stood firmly in front of her, lightly bouncing when they were freed. The plus-sized former boy's eyes narrowed. Mmmmm. She lasciviously thought to herself. Big enough to wrap around a thick, warm cock. She began to rub her hands around the large, fleshy mammaries. I can't believe these are actually mine. Her fingers began to play with her own bare nipples. You used to lust for hot, horny sluts like me, didn't you, Timmy? She began to pant, losing herself in a rising tide of carnal urges as an unexpectedly sinful side of her mind continued to dominate her own thoughts. Now you ARE one, and you owe it all to your sick, perverted, misogynist father. Why couldn't you have treated women better, daddy? Why couldn't you have treated MOM better? Tamara's fingers twisted and rubbed a little more at the nipples, becoming highly aroused as she remained in front of the mirror. Her mouth hung open as she panted and moaned. Is this how you would like me, daddy? Your own little slut to play with? Would it matter to you if I used to be your only son? Would you have wanted to suck on your son's big, fat titties? Her hands then went to her head as she tried to get a hold of herself, squinting her eyes shut. "Goddess..." she whispered to herself. "...get a hold of yourself! Shit!" Slowly going back to the kitchen, she settled back in her seat and resumed drinking her coffee. Her gaze drifted back down to the bare breasts beneath her. If I ever wanted cream in my coffee... Her sinful thoughts mused. Tamara caught herself giggling at this as she finished the last of her coffee. * * * - DivineFem '< : I realize this meeting is...impromptu, but Madame Noble was insistent, and I find myself...intrigued by her suggestion, so we will be making this proposal an important one. First, I need each of you to check in so I know you're not AFK. - BarbWire '< : I'm here, Miss Agatha. - LovlyRita '< : Well! Seeing as how it IS my idea, I HAVE to be here, yes? - RosyPetal '< : I am here as well, Miss Agatha. - MrsMoore '< : I am online, Miss Agatha. - TheDivineMissN '< : So is Judy Newlington. :) - PiersonPlace '< : Test...test... - DivineFem '< : Welcome, Evangeline. - PiersonPlace '< : Ah, good. I thought I'd fuck this up. Hello...Miss Agatha, is it? - DivineFem '< : Ladies, I have taken the liberty of having my latest find join us this afternoon. Her name is Evangeline Pierson. She and her husband are...discipline experts. She is henceforth to be considered a part of our Sisterhood. - PiersonPlace '< : Good afternoon, ladies. - MrsMoore '< : I hear one of your training specialties is domestic servitude? - PiersonPlace '< : I do train maids, yes. I have two trainees at the moment, and we'll be picking up a third in a couple of days. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Hi! Hayley here! Sorry...I was in the toilet. - RosyPetal '< : Celeste? - DivineFem '< : No. - RosyPetal '< : Why? - DivineFem '< : Because I said so. And that is not negotiable. - DivineFem '< : Explain your idea to us, Rita. - LovlyRita '< : Barring the obvious controversies, you all remember how well our Halloween party went, right? Well...Brianne and I came up with a way for us to show off our ever-rising dominance in Bullchester. Give ourselves an excuse to show off our conquests, so to speak. - MrsMoore '< : I'm intrigued already. - BarbWire '< : As am I. ----===*HOSTCHECK: MagDKat is not online, DivineFem *===---- - DivineFem '< : Apologies. Continue, Rita. - LovlyRita '< : The concept is called the Pink Party. Such is the color motif for all guests. They all come in with their hair dyed pink, and they must wear modes of dresses and outfits befitting their social standing. These should also be pink. - PiersonPlace '< : So...if we wanted to come dressed as Victorian Schoolmistresses, the clothes need to be pink? - LovlyRita '< : From head to toe. - DivineFem '< : Seamstresses at each and every one of the clothing stores at the Mall are working on pink-aspected outfits as we speak, so if you do not have anything personal that would fit the motif, you can pick out something that they created. You can contact them about unique designs as well, but you only have until tomorrow at 5pm to put your outfit commissions in. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Wait a minute...you said 'show off our conquests'. Are you referring to the, uh, sweet little ladies and she-boys that used to be male? - LovlyRita '< : You got it, Hayley. They will be dressing up in a more...revealing and vulnerable manner. Skimpy. They will all be barefoot as well. - PiersonPlace '< : Kinkyyyyyy. I like it. - TheDivineMissN '< : So do I! - Hayl2McKinley '< : Fucking AWESOME. I suppose bondage is optional? - LovlyRita '< : Of course. - BarbWire '< : What about...skin? - DivineFem '< : Skin? - TheDivineMissN '< : As in...pink skin? - PiersonPlace '< : That doesn't sound too odd. I've seen plenty of cosplayers cover themselves in body paint. - BarbWire '< : I'm...not really referring to body paint, though. It's something my daughter has been working on. Something about...skin pigmentation. - LovlyRita '< : Optional. - BarbWire '< : GREAT. Leanne is looking for test subjects. - MrsMoore '< : When will this party happen? - LovlyRita '< : Not this coming weekend, but the next. On Saturday. Doors open at 6pm. - Hayl2McKinley '< : You should have plenty of time to break in your new maid, before then, Ev. - PiersonPlace '< : I've no concerns. Between me and my husband, the most time we have ever needed is two to three days at the most. - MrsMoore '< : Nice. I look forward to meeting you. And your husband. - TheDivineMissN '< : What's your husband's name, Evangeline? - PiersonPlace '< : Leonard Hardcastle. My ideological equal in every way. - PiersonPlace '< : I had to have that tall, bald, black piece of sexual chocolate. We are quite the tag team. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Big Black Cock, eh? Sounds delish. - LovlyRita '< : Any other disciplinary fetishes are also optional, and quite frankly, encouraged. - Hayl2McKinley '< : What about fresh faces? Let's assume I met someone in the hours before the party starts. - LovlyRita '< : Hmmm. - LovlyRita '< : I suppose I can have Maggie set aside some space upstairs for impromptu makeovers. Perhaps even hire Florian's people. - DivineFem '< : There is another matter I need to bring up...and quite frankly, it would not trouble me in the least if some of you used this place as a hunting ground, so to speak. - DivineFem '< : Ladies...type one word which generalizes how you feel about a place called...the 'Bottom of the 9th'. - MrsMoore '< : Shithole. - TheDivineMissN '< : Cave. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Cesspool. - BarbWire '< : Trap. - RosyPetal '< : Dive. - LovlyRita '< : Target. - PiersonPlace '< : Uh...bad? Sorry...I've never been there. - DivineFem '< : The place we speak of is a Sports Bar, Evangeline. Perhaps the last lingering nucleus of misogynism that is left in Bullchester. - RosyPetal '< : So? Let's shut it down. Raise the cost of a liquor license on them. - DivineFem '< : I don't want it to be as easy as that, Petal. We need to send our, well, usual message. - TheDivineMissN '< : Who runs the place? - DivineFem '< : An Irishman named Seamus Rafferty. Retired bare knuckle brawler. Moved out of Belfast, Ireland when his girlfriend convinced him to quit. Came out to Bullchester after giving birth to two kids. A male named Riley, and a female named Shannon. Both of them are of adolescent age. - MrsMoore '< : Aaaaand...what's stopping us from going after Seamus? He sounds like a muscle-headed prick. - DivineFem '< : His father is a retired Police Detective. Crippled by a gunshot wound. Making Seamus disappear might get his father's attention. I don't want that to happen. - BarbWire '< : So what's the plan? - DivineFem '< : According to his records, he's been homesick for Belfast. I'm going to see about making arrangements through Joan Finnegan's husband to find Seamus a pub for him and his wife to take control of. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Assuming he takes the bait, I'm guessing he'll relinquish control of the Bottom of the 9th to Riley? Or Shannon? - DivineFem '< : He'll give it to Riley. There's a natural schism in the family dynamic, too. Seamus wants to go back to Ireland, his kids want to stay in Bullchester. His wife, Aibreann, is on the fence. Can't decide whether to stay, or to go. - BarbWire '< : Where does the family live now? - DivineFem '< : As a matter of fact, their home is in the Barford suburbs. - BarbWire '< : Can you send me everything you have on the Rafferty family, Miss Agatha? I really don't want a repeat of the potential problems I had with Charlene Merrywether. - DivineFem '< : This one should be less stressful, Barbara. - Hayl2McKinley '< : May I deal with Riley? I'm hungry for another awkward softie after seeing the way Prentice Braithwaite turned out. - BarbWire '< : Jealous over the way I got my newest midwife, Hayley? - Hayl2McKinley '< : Guilty as charged. - LovlyRita '< : I need to play Devil's Advocate here, ladies. Is there a reason why our Mayoress is not in on all of this? - DivineFem '< : The same reason I did not want Grace Lees here. At some point, I need to test their loyalty to the Sisterhood. I've been wary of the both of them ever since Maggie Katzhoff became a recurring problem. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Rita knows Maggie's weakness though, doesn't she? - LovlyRita '< : Mmmm...more or less. - DivineFem '< : I'm told that Maggie is currently in Venice, Rita. I don't know how long she will be there. If you're going to make another attempt to acquire Miss Portnoy, I must insist that you be cautious about it. - LovlyRita '< : Noted. - DivineFem '< : So...in summation, no one makes a move on the Raffertys until Seamus is back in Belfast. If you want to position yourself as a friend, Hayley, I suggest that you be cautious about it as well. Remember...you're dealing with the son of a well- respected Police Detective. - Hayl2McKinley '< : I should brush up on my gaelic lessons. ;) - TheDivineMissN '< : Curious. What do we do with the Bottom of the 9th once we've feminized Riley? - PiersonPlace '< : Coffee Place? - PiersonPlace '< : Or...a Maid Caf?? They're VERY popular in Japan's Akihabara district. - LovlyRita '< : Hmmm. Maid Caf?. I like it. - MrsMoore '< : As do I. - TheDivineMissN '< : Do we have enough otakus in Bullchester to guarantee a profit with that? - RosyPetal '< : Otaku?? - TheDivineMissN '< : Japanese term for people who have an obsession with Japanese animated features and "manga" comics. - Hayl2McKinley '< : So, like...Pokemon fans? Speed Racer shit? - TheDivineMissN '< : Bingo. - LovlyRita '< : I remember seeing one of those. Something called "Rei Rei". A lovesick boy wants to date a girl, but she's a lesbian that's in love with a woman who wants to kill her. The title character turns the young man into a female so she can save her life. - LovlyRita '< : The fairy even tempts the young man to remain a woman afterwards. Would anyone like a copy? - PiersonPlace '< : Me. - BarbWire '< : Me - TheDivineMissN '< : Ditto. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Get me a copy of that shit, bitch. - RosyPetal '< : Me. - MrsMoore '< : Send me a copy as well. - DivineFem '< : We can certainly consider the Maid Caf? idea, although I don't think we will need this 'otaku' motif. Step one is always going to be Seamus Rafferty anyway. - Hayl2McKinley '< : Riley Rafferty sounds kind of girlish anyway. I'll make this one slooooow. - BarbWire '< : Heifer Duct, or not? - Hayl2McKinley '< : Dunno yet. I'll get back to you. - DivineFem '< : Put that Pink Party on your calendars as well, ladies. I will expect to see you all there. Thank you all for your time. - RosyPetal '< : Until the Pink Party, then. - MrsMoore '< : I'll be there, Agatha. - TheDivineMissN '< : Likewise. - Hayl2McKinley '< : I am sooooo there. - BarbWire '< : I get to show off Annie! I can't wait. - PiersonPlace '< : Neither can I. Thanks for the chat, Agatha. - LovlyRita '< : See you all there, ladies! I'll bring a little surprise with me, too! Ciao! ----===*CHAT TERMINATED*===----