Cat And Mouse 2 - Pink Persuasions - Chapters VII And VIII free porn video

VII: Wrap-ture When Ron Bailey's eyelids began to open, he was treated to a bright blur as his limbs slowly began to move. With every bit of movement he made, he heard the creaking sound of shifting, stretching rubber. He knew he wasn't naked, however, or he would have felt a cold breeze against his bare body. His slim, effeminate body was definitely covered in something, however. From head to toe. Once his eyesight sharpened a bit, he looked down at himself. His body was, apparently, covered in a black, skin-tight bodysuit. Every bit of movement he made was accompanied by the creaking sound of stretching rubber. His head was apparently covered in the same material as well, save for his eyes and his mouth...and although there were holes for him to breathe through, his nose had also been covered by this black rubber material. His attempt to move his arms revealed that they were wrapped behind him. Moving his legs proved to be just as restricting. It was as if his knees were bound together. "Hhh-h'lo..." Ron weakly blurted out, his vision now at full clarity, even if his limbs were still a bit groggy. He at least had the strength to wriggle around a bit. His voice was a little louder with his second attempt. "...H'lloooo??" Ron also noticed that he was on a wooden floor in an empty, plain- looking room. He was laying on one side in an almost fetal position. A single door was the only way in or out...and it was padded. He now wrestled against the bonds at his arms. The material creaked and stretched soundly as he moved, but the durable latex held. Looking down at his legs again, he saw that a second layer of latex...in the form of a one-piece black latex dress...had been placed over the bodysuit, and it was the skirt portion of this dress that was holding his latex-covered knees together tightly. "I...can't...MOOOOVE!!" Ron cried out in his higher female voice. "HEEEELLP!! Get...mee...OUT OF THIS SHIT!!" The former athlete continued to struggle in his bonds, continuing to hear the creaking of the latex material as he jerked and groaned. Ultimately, he remained bound, and he had to stop and pant in his exhaustion. Inevitably, Ron heard the sound of latches being pulled open at the door, which subsequently swung open. He recognized the slim, waifish woman with the exotic appearance to be the same thin woman he had noticed was talking to Howard. She wore a single, one-piece, form-fitting blue latex dress, and her skin looked perpetually moist as she clacked over to Ron wearing a pair of shoes with stiletto heels. The woman smiled as she lowered herself to a knee, looking down at her guest. "Hej," the woman began, speaking softly in her accented English. "I am Vije." Ron's gaze lingered on the woman's face. It was particularly alluring to him. The word 'Goddess' came to mind as he continued to stare upon it. The short, silvery white hair was in such a wildly unusual style, and her eyes were the color of a clear blue ocean. Rows of perfect white teeth flashed an amused smile upon the latex-wrapped former athlete as his mouth hung open in his awe over how unique this woman looked. "You Ron?" she next asked. After a moment of enraptured silence, he finally blurted out a, "Yes." The limber, and highly unusual-looking woman bent down further to plant a gentle kiss upon Ron's latex-covered forehead with her freshly-painted lips. "There," she quietly cooed. "I mark you." "Where..." Ron nervously began. "...where's Howard?" Vije looked puzzled for a moment, but then smiled in recognition once again, shaking her head. "Is no Howard," she then replied. "Is Fifi. She here! You want...see her? She worry about you." Ron nodded vigorously. "Yes, please." Vije rolled Ron onto his back, and then settled the weight of her thin posterior upon his groin, flexing her long legs to either side as she bent her upper body down towards his face. The grin remained on the alien-looking woman's face. Ron could see that the eyebrows she had looked more like they were drawn on. There wasn't a trace of natural hair above Vije's eyes at all. As she spoke the words, she tapped a long, French-cut fingernail upon Ron's left cheek, which was covered in latex. She tapped the nail in time with every word she spoke. "I...save...you...from...bad...boys." Vije remarked. She then leveled the index finger at him. "You owe Vije." "But..." Ron's eyes seemed to reflect the confusion in his face. "...why am I...why do I...?" The slim woman then let out a highly infectious giggle. "You toy for Vije and Fifi." Ron's eyes widened. "T-Toy??" Vije rubbed her hands against the smooth, shiny-looking latex surface. "Is not so bad, is it? You like. I see in your eyes." His captor didn't lie. Ron did find this strangely appealing, although he wasn't very appreciative of being bound as he was. He wanted to at least be on his feet, and preferably in front of a mirror to see what his latex-covered body looked like. "C-Could you...um...get me...on my feet?" Ron nervously asked. "Please?" After a thoughtful moment, Vije nodded. "Okay." She rose up to her feet. "You ask nice. Vije bring you up." Going back down to one knee, Vije held the former athlete's latex- encased body with a firm grip, and lifted him up to his feet with a surprisingly strong heft. It took Ron a moment to stabilize himself and keep from staggering, but he was able to stand straight up despite the continuing restraints on his arms and his knees. "Stay still," Vije warned. "Or you fall. Vije no pick you up." "Who...who are you?" Ron asked, still concentrating on keeping himself on his feet. "Told you," the slim woman responded. "I am Vije." "No, no...I mean, wh...what do you do?" Vije shrugged, smirking. "I do what Vije do." She began to slowly walk around him, the clack of her heels resounding with every step. "I make pose for pictures...I do film play...I do rubber dress-make...I race cars...I make business talk...I make lots and lots of money..." She stopped behind him, speaking right at one of the two small holes that was opened up at his ears. "...and I play with pretty boys and toys." She stepped back in front of him, leveling a slender, moist-looking finger to him. "You turn. What you do?" The woman's ocean blue eyes stared right into his own as Ron hesitated to answer Vije's counter-inquiry. "Uhh...Qu-Quarterback. Y-yeah. Quarterback. Football." "Oh. You sports? Malsa." An expression of disinterest was on Vije's face as she spoke the finnish word for 'stupid'. "You toy now. Is better." Before Ron could utter a word of protest, Vije turned to walk towards the door. "I get Fifi now. She play with you." As Vije stepped away, he could not help but have some concern over what had happened to him. One minute, he was flirting with a bunch of guys...and even controlling him with his mysterious super-touch, which apparently made them do whatever she wanted them to do...and the next, she had passed out after drinking a single Sex On The Beach. And now, here he was. Covered, from head to toe, in latex...something that had never been done to him before, and which by now oddly intrigued him...and at the mercy of a very beautiful, and attractively quirky, female captor. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he was bound, and precariously balancing himself to keep from falling to the ground. With his legs practically strapped together at the knees by the hobble skirt, the best he could manage in the high-heeled latex platform boots that had been placed on his feet was mincing steps. He managed a succession of short steps to a nearby mirrored wall so that he could finally see what he looked like as he waited for Vije to return with 'Fifi' in tow. Ron started to wobble at one point, but he kept his balance as he short-stepped in front of the mirror, which only showed his appearance from the waist up. The first thing he noticed was that the bulges at his chest were a little bigger than he had remembered them being. They looked to be about a C-cup now in size. The head also got Ron's attention. It was as if he were looking at a bald, black rubber head with eyehole cut- outs, and an opening for his entire mouth. Aside from the holes at his nose, the head looked like it had no nose at all. Or ears, for that matter. He did see, however, that his lips had a layer of lipstick on it. The deep black latex that covered his body was shiny, and every move he made emitted a creaking noise. The feel of the latex against his smooth, hairless body was enticing in and of itself. The top half of the matching black latex dress was barely outlined against the latex bodysuit, but he could see the outline of the dress upon it. He could breathe, he could see, he could hear. An unexpected grace from an apparent kidnapper whose exotic beauty lingered upon Ron's mind. If Howard turned out to be OK, his only other concern would be assuaged. As it was, he was expecting to see Vije walk in with a traumatized boy behind him, which would seriously set Ron off. No matter how beautiful she was, Vije would regret harming Howard Venis. He would make that bitch pay. When she came back in, however, Howard was indeed behind her. Or was he? The face certainly resembled his friend from school, but it had been radically made over. Dressed in a one-piece pink latex dress, Ron could see that Howard's bare skin now had the moist, shiny, rubber-like appearance Vije's exposed skin had. His face was thoroughly re-decorated too. Given the visible bumps on Howard's chest, his friend now resembled a hot-looking young girl. His hair had also been completely re-done. Formerly a head of curly brown hair, Howard's hair had been re-coiffed. The hair that remained had been straightened out and oil-treated. It now had the same platinum blond appearance that Vije sported. It had been styled to look just as unusual as Vije's, as well. Ron also noticed, as the transformed Howard Venis came closer to him, that his natural eyebrows had been removed, too. The brows that Ron did see were practically a pair of pencil-thin lines which were visible enough to be seen. Slowly stepping over to the latex-clad guest, 'Fifi' gently placed a hand between the bumps on the former athlete's chest. "Ron?" Although the voice sounded a little more feminine, Ron was certain now that this 'Fifi' and Howard Venis were one and the same. "Are you okay, Howard?" Ron quietly asked. After a quiet moment, 'Fifi' raised a hand, which now had long, polished, and French-cut fingernails upon each digit... ...and slapped Ron right against one of his latex-covered cheeks, causing him to wobble in place in his effort to remain on his feet. "I'm Fifi!" Howard huffed, his pink-painted lips forming an annoyed pout as Ron stumbled towards the nearby wall. A latex-covered hand slapped against the wall in his effort to stay upright. Vije placed a slender arm across Fifi's shoulders. "Be nice, Fifi," she purred. "We need train you new toy yet. She learn." * * * Tamara Portnoy sat at an outdoor table at the very first eatery she and Larry Hanel shared during their first lunch together. A part of her hoped that Larry himself would come by, so they could reminisce over their short time together. She even made sure to get a table meant for two. When the meal she ordered arrived at her table, however, Larry never showed. He never walked by. She surmised that he perhaps wanted to deliberately avoid the eatery, for fear of resurfacing memories that he apparently wanted to suppress, which was understandable. With a lamenting sigh, she began to pick around at the food on her plate. As she did so, however, she saw a long black limousine pull up in front of the restaurant. Tamara immediately began to wonder if she was the reason for someone who was likely with the Sisterhood emerging from one of the passenger doors of the vehicle. Her first guess proved correct when Julia Stroud emerged from the door that had been opened by the dark-skinned female that was her driver. Julia wore her hair in an updo today, and she was in a more casual mode of dress. A pair of dark sunglasses veiled her eyes as she stepped over to the restaurant's entrance. Inevitably, Julia approached Tamara's table and settled herself in the empty seat. She then removed her sunglasses as a pleasant smile formed on her lips. The smile Tamara returned was a little less spirited by comparison. "Hello, Tamara," Julia began. "It's been awhile." The plus-sized former boy waited until she swallowed a mouthful of food before answering. "Good afternoon, Mayoress Stroud," she flatly replied. The Mayoress sighed. "Still think I'm one of the bad gals, eh?" "Seeing as how you don't let me think for myself..." She paused to take a sip of her Ginger Ale. "...yes, I do." "Tamara...what I asked you to do was important." "To you, or to the Sisterhood?" Tamara shot back. "To Lois Fryer, Tammy," Julia responded. "We both know how much of a jerk her husband was. Thanks to you, he's getting just what he deserves." Even as Tamara continued eating, she thought on Julia's words. The part that Tamara found difficult to accept was the apparent need for the Mayoress to use her mind-warping gift. However, she was right about Hank. Still, Tamara would have appreciated a more natural line of reasoning in Julia's efforts to have the former boy agree to the augmented woman's favor. Tamara's eyes finally met Julia's. "Define 'getting just what he deserves'." "Hank's life is ruined," Julia replied. "Apparently, a relationship is brewing between him and a local drag queen. I should send you pictures of what he looks like when he starts crossdressing." "Ah...and, pray tell, what happens when Bullchester's newest drag queen acts on a need to get back at me for what I did to him outside a certain sports bar?" Tamara challenged. "He won't," Julia assured. "If I have to, I'll personally make sure of that. I'll make sure you never, ever have to deal with that disgusting little shit ever again, Tamara." "You could have just explained it all to me," The plus-sized woman chided. "I might have agreed." "Tamara, I didn't have the time to explain. I deemed it necessary," Julia reasoned. "Would you rather he had continued to come back to the office to make more comments about your cleavage? Or your...quite frankly incredible posterior?" Tamara couldn't come up with a feasible comeback to this. It was sound wisdom. Even with Julia forcing her gift upon Larry Hanel's former secretary, it was to an arguably noble end. "Mmm. Burger and mashed potatoes," Julia observed, looking down at Tamara's plate of food. "Gave up the salads, eh?" "No," Tamara quietly answered. "I...I still have salads from time to time." "And you're still working out?" Julia wondered aloud. Tamara nodded as she took another bite of her burger. "Good, good," Julia responded, smiling. "Keep yourself in shape, while packing the calories. Maggie trained you well, Tamara." "Is that what you came here to do, Julia?" Tamara asked, after swallowing her mouthful of food. "To comment on my diet?" "I heard about Larry's decision to let you go, Tamara," Julia quickly replied. Tamara giggled a little at this. "Not surprised." "I'm also letting my own secretary go as well," Julia then revealed. "I have...regrets...for what I did with Jemima." "And you want me to fill the void you're creating," Tamara deduced. "What a convenient idea," she sarcastically added. "Tamara...whether you want to believe me or not, what I did to Jeremy Poulson was necessary," Julia reasoned. "Unlike what Rita tried to do to you, I never wanted to ruin him. That wasn't about petty revenge. All I did was...set things up for the higher powers of the city. Some...real estate land grab bullshit. Jeremy had talents that made him an asset to the Sisterhood, but you and I both know they don't want men." Tamara raised her drink glass as if to propose a toast. "Congratulations. Job well done. I'm sure Jemima's life will be very happy now that he's got a pair of breasts he never wanted in the first place." At this point, Julia found herself struggling to keep from forcing her will upon Tamara, but she knew that this would only make things worse between them in the long run. Just kiss her. Her less than noble conscience seemed to taunt her with. You don't need these aggravations from this useful cow. FUCK YOU. Julia's stronger, more positive conscience shot back. I am the Mayoress of Bullchester, not a tool! "Perhaps...I should leave you to consider returning to the Lady Rosemary?" Julia challenged. "I heard maid Mara served her very well. She's probably gossiping about you as we speak." "Don't make it sound like it's gotten that desperate for me, Julia," Tamara firmly responded. "Tamara, you know they're going to make the prospect of finding a new job very difficult for you, if not impossible," Julia reasoned. "They may even deliberately lead you back to Rosemary's doorstep in your desperation, and they will make things desperate for you. They know that's the equivalent of defeat. They know that whether you're back to being maid Mara for the rest of your life, or being Rita's slut, it's lose-lose for you. They also know about your part in urging Charlene Merrywether to become a little more rebellious, which is why Agatha had to personally intervene so she could get her way." "And how do I know that becoming your secretary isn't something Agatha wants?" Tamara challenged. "Finish your meal, and follow me to the car," Julia thoughtfully remarked. "and I promise you that I'll answer that question. I really do hope it will be to your satisfaction, Tamara." Out of the stewpot and into the fire. Tamara mused to herself as she inserted a spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Again. As Tamara continued eating, Julia continued to stare at her. "I missed you," She remarked. "I know you don't trust me, but...I still missed you, and I really do feel bad for what happened to Larry's wife." The plus-sized woman nodded. "Thank you," she quietly remarked. Once Tamara had emptied her plate, she settled the bill and followed Julia to the limousine. She glanced around her, wondering if anyone was watching them both. She was also expecting to hear the click of cameras, but she heard no such sound as she stepped into the long, black car's passenger area. "Good to see you again, Miss Portnoy," the driver chimed as Tamara stepped in. Tamara chose, understandably, to take a seat position opposite from where Julia settled herself. Although there would be limited room to move, she at least wanted to send the message to the Mayoress that she didn't wish to be touched by her for any reason. It was her hope that all Julia wanted to do was to talk. And, perhaps, prove that the Mayoress could be a woman of her word. From time to time, at least. Once the car was mobile, Julia took a deep breath, and then began speaking. "Tamara...for the record, I don't agree with a lot of the things that Agatha seems to be doing, but I have to do them because it's what she wants. She wants a woman...a genetic woman...to be in a position of control in the city. Sometimes, it may mean doing things for her that you may not agree with, but which would at least keep me safe from...unwanted scrutiny." Tamara slowly nodded. "Go on." "I meant what I said about Jemima being a regret. I guess that comes from being, well, drunk with power. But...well, I have a mutual friend of ours to thank for shaking me out of it. Two friends, actually. One of them is your savior. Your...guardian angel. Or rather, devil." An eyebrow raised up on Tamara's face. "Maggie?" Julia nodded. "You should know there has been some association between her and, well, that other person. A blonde. Deeply seated within the Sisterhood, but secretly working against them. She basically wants what Maggie wants. She's just...less physical about it." "Grace." "Yes," Julia confirmed. "Now if you asked me where my actual loyalties lie, it would be with, well, the good gals. Can you bring yourself to understand, however, that if Agatha demanded something be done, and it meant getting her off of my back for a time, I would have to do it?" "Only if you figured out a back door strategy," Tamara answered. Julia frowned in confusion. "Back door? You mean...a way to undo whatever she was asking?" "Something like that." Julia lowered her head thoughtfully. "I...think I see what you mean, and it's sound thinking. I can't promise that my contingencies will be good ones, but...I will try," Her head came back up as she leaned towards Tamara. "You see? This is why I need you with me. I want to be a responsible Mayoress, not some...corrupt pawn being used by selfish women. You've been fighting them in your own way, and you even went face to face with Agatha herself and you stood your fucking ground. I might also add that you have a glowing recommendation from Larry Hanel, who I totally respect, and would never do anything to sabotage. He's in a good place too, Tamara. The Sisterhood won't fuck with him or feminize him. In fact, I'm tempted to recommend that Jemima succeed you as his new secretary." "Heh...a trade," Tamara mused. "He gets what you had, and I become yours." "Because you want to fight, Tamara," Julia noted. "I would think that if you stood beside the Mayoress of Bullchester, you would be in a much better position to advise caution to people that the Sisterhood might have their eyes on. Like you did with Charlene Merrywether." "Can you tell me what happened to her?" Tamara asked, genuinely curious. Julia's expression went grave. "Well...she's...no longer herself, Tamara. She's been positioned to be the best friend of a salon girl named Nicola. I...hear they made her look a little, well, catty. They worked over the rest of her family, too. Her brother became a big- breasted midwife alongside Barbara Walsh, her father's literally an old maid, and her mother is the hostess of that new 'Merry Weather Show'. It started out good, but...it's gotten a bit boring as of late. Ratings aren't as high as they were when the show premiered." Tamara sighed aloud, regretful of the news. "Agatha wins again." "And all because they wanted a couch potato TV program for the housewives project, and because a businessman wanted revenge against a former employee who drove a CEO to suicide through a blackmail scheme," Julia lamented. "Obviously, their kids were collateral elements, but...you at least tried." Tamara's head lowered. "I wish I could have done more." "Maybe I can help you next time, Tamara," Julia offered. "Providing I agree to become your new secretary," Tamara warily noted. "Oh, I think I can have you do far more than be my secretary, sweetheart." A slight smile was on Julia's lips as she spoke. "I'd prefer to call you my personal assistant. On a purely municipal level, of course." "Unless you need me to perform maid service for a potential political ally," Tamara had to remind her of that. "Which I know you loved doing, Tammy," Julia shot back. "I'm sorry, but...I had to exploit that itch of yours. I understand it was something that came out of your experiences with Rita, but...well, like I had said, sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do if it means working towards the greater good. Did that little episode keep you from convincing Charlene Merrywether to be a little more rebellious?" Tamara went quiet once again. Her eyes closed thoughtfully. "I will never, ever try to turn you into something you don't want to be, Tamara," Julia assured. "I promise you. I am not Rita Noble, nor am I Agatha. There may be times when I might sound like I'm one of them, but...you have to trust me when I say that I am not the woman they obviously want me to be, deep down inside. I've also acknowledged Grace Lees to be an ally. You feel the same way about her, don't you?" "More or less," Tamara obviously had her impending visit to the Butterfly Salon, at Lois Fryer's behest, to serve as the ultimate test of the former boy's ability to trust the blond woman who saved her from Agatha and Rita. "Work for me, Tamara." Julia's eyes gazed yearningly unto those of Larry Hanel's former secretary. "Please." A long, quiet moment of thought, on Tamara's part, passed as the limousine continued to coast around Bullchester in a seemingly aimless fashion. The driver had been instructed to do such until Julia gave her a particular direction. The Mayoress knew that convincing Tamara to work for her would not be easy. Julia remained silent for the entire moment, never wanting to intrude on her potential hire working it all out in her head. "I have conditions," Tamara finally replied. "If you're going to touch me at all, wear a glove." Julia smirked. "I can't do that. I can only promise you that if it's not absolutely necessary for me to touch you, I won't. I will also add that I'll try to do a better job of convincing you to do something for me before I have to succumb to more...convenient methods. In fairness, you should try to be a little more agreeable. Start trusting me a little more, since we both share the same allies." "How do I know you haven't been compromised?" Tamara challenged. "Agatha could step in at any time and reassert her wants. She might even demand that you kiss me, and we both know what that means. Lose- lose, yes?" Julia sighed audibly. "I...errrh, damn, Tamara...you really know how to twist a knife in someone's gut," The Mayoress rubbed a hand against her face in her frustration before throwing her hands out to her sides in surrender. "What can I say? Resist me. Get the hell away from me. But only if it comes to that. I mean...I'm not James fucking Bond, Tamara. Even if I am one of the angels. All I'm asking for is your trust, but I'm not gonna be flawless. Not for anyone. That wouldn't be realistic thinking! I can only do the best I fucking well can under the circumstances. Can you at least trust that I'm gonna try??" After a moment of thought, and seeing the distress on Julia's face, Tamara figured that the Mayoress had earned herself a touch of acquiescence. "I can do that, Julia." Julia seemed to relax a bit upon hearing this reply. "Does that mean...you'll take the job?" A part of Tamara seemed regretful over what she was about to say, but she figured that the position she would be in might afford her some diplomatic advantages. Her presence might also be a means of testing Julia's stated resolve to be more of a responsible Mayoress compared to a Sisterhood pawn. "Yes," Tamara replied. "If you feel I qualify, I'll do it." A smile now formed on Julia's face, melting away the troubled expression she had. "Good. I'll send you an e-mail explaining the responsibilities. Might not be much different from what Larry had you doing. Typing, phones, announcing people who want to see me...you know, office shit. But...there may be times where I will want you to come with me on municipal functions. Public appearances. You may even get to shove a document or two in my face from time to time to remind me that I need to be more of a Mayoress than a pawn," She punctuated this last sentence with a wink. "And I can call you if I have any questions about the responsibilities?" Tamara asked. "Of course. You already have my number," Julia assured. "Monday, 7 a.m. I'll have the desk and a working computer ready for you to inhabit and log into. Coffee every morning. I like it black." Although Tamara still worried that this was going to be a mistake, she nodded nevertheless. "Yes, your...your honor." Julia smirked again, this time a little more deviously. "I see you haven't forgotten my social preferences, either," The Mayoress mused. She then pushed a button near where she was sitting, and directed her voice towards a nearby intercom. "Take us to Tamara Portnoy's house, driver." "Yes, Your Honor," The driver chimed back. "Welcome to the team, Miss Portnoy," she then added. From one mousetrap to another. Tamara mused to herself as she assumed a more relaxed position in her comfortable limo seat. Goddess help me. * * * - DivineFem '< : Good afternoon, Rita. I have been doing some thinking on your Pink Party concept. I don't think Sisterhood advocates should be part of the "pink hair" scheme. I think that should be restricted to our conquests. - LovlyRita '< : Yes, I was thinking the same thing, actually...but in keeping with the color motif, we can at least agree that Sisterhood women adopt, say, deeper shades of pink to contrast with the lighter ones I'm deeming the submissives wear? - DivineFem '< : That's fine. Also...I need you to add another name to the guest list. One of our more recent acquisitions. I have a favor to ask of her. - LovlyRita '< : Very well...and who is this recent acquisition? - Tenchion '< : Me. - DivineFem '< : Her name is Olivia Tench. She will be bringing an entourage with her. Extend all courtesies. - LovlyRita '< : As you wish, Agatha. - Tenchion '< : For the record, I love your ideas, Rita. I am looking forward to your Pink Party. I have a feeling my girls and I will enjoy this. I will see to it that we are attired according to your specifications. - LovlyRita '< : Most kind of you. Thank you. - Tenchion '< : And this is the Saturday after next, yes? - LovlyRita '< : It is. - Tenchion '< : I'll have my girls clear their schedules for it then. - LovlyRita '< : Was that it, Agatha? - DivineFem '< : Just...one other thing. If Olivia sees anyone who she feels is suited to join her bordello at the party, let her indulge. - LovlyRita '< : Mmm. Anyone in particular? - DivineFem '< : That is up to Madame Olivia. - Tenchion '< : Two, maybe three at the most would satisfy me. - LovlyRita '< : Mmm. Very well. I'll see you at the party then, Olivia. - Tenchion '< : You certainly will. Have a good day, ladies. ----===*CHAT TERMINATED*===---- * * * "...the young man's name is Howard Venis. His family is offering a reward for information on his whereabouts. He was last seen in the vicinity of the 'Luck Be A' nightclub in Rubie's Mall. Bullchester police are questioning the owners..." ...and Howard's family has refused to offer comments at this time, asking only for privacy during this difficult time in their lives. Rita Noble mouthed these words, glancing at the original copy of the breaking news bulletin script she had faxed to the Bullchester Evening News bureau, as it was read by the anchorwoman. Such was the standard procedure when a missing persons report had been filed by the troubled parents of a Sisterhood acquisition... ...although this case was different than the others in that the Sisterhood never acquired anyone who answered to that name in the past couple of days. The tapping of a knuckle against the glass door to Rita's office, however, diverted her attention. Standing at the door were two women, one of which she knew to be Shelley Portnoy. The thinner, waifish, and taller woman behind her, on the other hand, had enough of an exotically alien appearance to clue Rita in on who the smiling, Nordic-haired woman was. With the motion of a hand, Shelley pushed the door in. The woman behind her...Vije Nastassje...immediately stepped in, disregarding Shelley completely. Rita had to giggle, discreetly, over the ambitious businesswoman's surprised expression. "You Rita?" Vije asked. "Nice to meet you, Miss Nastassje." Rita rose out of her seat and extended a hand. "I am Rita Noble, Chief Executive Officer of Loris International. I trust this city...and my subordinate..." She gestured to Shelley, who now had a neutral expression. "...have been kind to you?" Vije glanced over to Shelley for a moment, and then returned her eyes to Rita. "She gloomy." Rita laughed out loud at this. "She's just ambitious is all. Looking for a foot in the door, which I think she's earned, despite being a day late." She then switched her gaze to regard Shelley. "That will be all, Miss Portnoy. We will talk again later." Shelley gave a polite nod, and it looked like her expression was turning sour as she exited the office, closing the glass door behind her. "Have a seat, Miss Nastassje." Rita gestured to the empty seat in front of her desk. "I Vije," the tall, white-haired model corrected as she settled into the offered seat. "As you wish, Vije." Rita settled into her own seat. "So...I first wanted to thank you for making your contract with us on the skin care product an exclusive one. It's amusing to see competitors try to copy our success, with embarrassingly pathetic results." Vije pulled a small mirror out of her pocketbook, paying more attention to her reflection than to Rita. "Mmm." "There has been some decent income on your latex dress designs, too," Rita next informed. "Sales perked when they started showing up at our garment stores over at Rubie's." Vije next pulled out a comb, and ran it across her head of short, snow white hair. "Mmm." "There's a bomb under your seat, and it will explode in the next five seconds," Rita casually added. This made Vije glance up, but in the next moment, she giggled through her perfect white teeth. "Awww, you funny." Rita smirked. "My obviously half-assed way of getting someone's attention if I feel they're not paying attention to me." Vije shrugged, still smiling impishly. "Sale reports. Vije know she good," The tall woman then rose up and clacked over behind the desk, to where Rita was sitting. The curious debutante swiveled her chair to face her as Vije stepped up close. The alien-looking woman then gestured to herself. "I 'U'..." She then gestured down to Rita. "...you 'neek'. Two parts." Rita raised an eyebrow, finding this odd bit of thinking amusing. "I...'neek'? Um...how nice." Vije then surprised Rita by straddling her, settling right into her lap. The debutante's eyes widened in her surprise, but she was intrigued at the same time. "Together..." Vije wrapped her arms around Rita, laying against her curvy body and coming very close to her face. "...we...'unique'. You strange shape. Vije like." Up close, Rita found Vije's ocean blue eyes very nice to gaze upon as she continued to stare upon them. "Uhh...well! Thank ymmmf...!" Vije's lips had pressed upon Rita's own augmented lips, once again startling her... ...but she knew, in advance, that Vije was a highly unusual person, although she had quickly shown herself to be a stimulating one at that as her hands rubbed along Rita's curves during the deep kiss she was giving the debutante. Rita's own arms slipped around the thin woman's back as her eyes narrowed to sensual slits, kissing Vije deeply as she surrendered once again to the passion of the unexpected moment. Five long minutes passed as the passion increased between them. They writhed and moaned as they switched over to the couch in Rita's large office. Their kissing and their wild, unrestrained groping continued from there, with Vije remaining on top the entire time. In this moment, Rita found the exotic nature of her new client far too stimulating to resist. She pulled her lips away from Rita for a moment, grinning like the Cheshire cat as she made an open observation. "Secretary...Portnoy. Vije like sound of this." Rita, panting heavily, nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "I...I'll see...what I can do." After a moment of Vije smiling down at her, she pressed her forehead against Rita's. "You freak." Rita blinked. "I beg your pardon?" "You freak. I freak." She gestured over to the office workers outside. "We freaks. Vije like." Rita couldn't figure out whether she should feel insulted, or perhaps...complimented? "Ummm...well...I'm a...I'm a debutante kind of frea..." "Say it," Vije firmly commanded. "You freak." "Vije...I do beg your pardon, but in all seriousness, I am a debu..." "SAY it!" Vije's voice was much more commanding now as she glared down at Rita. "You freak!" Rita unexpectedly gasped at the woman's demanding tone. She was at an impasse over whether she herself should counter with a firm tone of her own, or temporarily indulge her new client's want for submission. The latter seemed more appealing as Vije's lips approached Rita's right ear. Her tone was once again sensual. "Only freaks work with Vije," She switched to the other ear. "Say it," she hissed, switching back to the other ear. "You freak." Rita grinned wide. "I'm a freak." She nodded emphatically. "Yes...I'm a freak...but, I'm also a debutmmmff...!" Once again, Vije's lips pressed against Rita's. Once again, they moaned and writhed against each other. Rita was already looking forward to more meetings like this. * * * Langley, Virginia - 7:00 P.M. Director Lowenthal sat thoughtfully at his desk, clicking through missing persons files which seemed to be growing in number over the past few weeks, and all of them were related to Bullchester citizens, old and new. The files had pictures associated with them, and a few of them had immoral, if not downright criminal, personality profiles. The one that concerned him the most was the Merrywethers. An entire family unit relocating to Bullchester. Although he was no stranger to the blackmail scheme Cameron Merrywether carried out which resulted in the suicide of his old employer's CEO, it was his concerns for what happened to the rest of the family that perplexed him. The mother, their son, and their daughter. What happened to them? The uncertainty was what kept Denton from taking immediate action. If they had been killed, that would be a no-brainer. He'd recommend dropping the hammer on the entire city. Armies, tanks, gunships, as much as it took to declare martial law on Bullchester. Washington was beginning to show signs of impatience, too. Although the danger level was minimal for the moment, he knew the reminders would continue to threaten his job if they were left unheeded for much longer. But the Bullchester situation was scary, from a gender perspective. The ages-old battle of the sexes seemed to be approaching critical mass levels there, and was perhaps at the heart of all the disappearances, considering all of the personality profiles he had been perusing. Many of the missing individuals had misogynistic tendencies. Nine times out of ten, these were men who enjoyed taking advantage of women. It occurred to Denton, by now, that the actions of this 'Sisterhood' within Bullchester was a clear vendetta against misogynism itself. He figured that the architect of this scheme could conceivably become a heroine if she ever wound up on 60 Minutes. Or she could be the cause of a total breakdown in social services. She could be the cause of a gender-fueled mass hysteria. This was why the Loris International business entity went largely untouched by federal entities like the SEC and the FCC. Denton knew that the business had its home office deep within Bullchester. Clamping down upon its international practices would be like declaring war on women. It was clear that Denton needed to approach this problem very, very carefully. The chime that sounded on his computer when a fresh new piece of e- mail had arrived diverted Denton's attention. Bringing up the e-mail program, the unknown source...which he knew was not a phisher, or a hacker...had the subject line "READ ME", and the presence of a paperclip image indicated that a file had been attached. As the e-mail program scanned for and trashed viral sends before going into Denton's private Inbox, the Director of the CIA opened the message. The message read "Remember me?" Raising an eyebrow, Denton double-clicked the attachment. What opened up was another file, which had been formatted to be thrown in with the other missing persons files. It was the name that had immediately caught his attention, and no picture was included. Katerina Rubinov. Denton's eyes closed regretfully as he let out a loud sigh. Sins of the fathers. He thought to himself as he rubbed his eyes irritably. Jesus Christ. After extracting the file to his desktop, creating a folder entitled SPECIAL ATTENTION, and then slipping the Rubinov file into it, he opened a secure phone line and tapped out a number. "Lee? It's Den," the Director began. "I have a new directive for our plants. Make it a priority. They need to be as covert as possible on this. I need visuals to try and connect to the Bullchester files. Just have them shadow a handful of suspect personalities and send the snaps they get my way through the usual secure channels. I'm gonna try a match-up. Yes, I realize how crazy that sounds, but...it's a new line of thinking. Greenlight it." Before Agent Hall could say another word, Denton closed the connection. He then reopened the Rubinov file and began staring thoughtfully at its contents, absorbing every word displayed on the flatscreen monitor. Let's see how badly past CIA regimes fucked things over. Denton mused to himself Again. * * * Larry Hanel sat in silence at the bar area of the Bullchester restaurant Tamara Portnoy had departed from a few hours before. As a multitude of patrons sat, talked, watched TV, and ate, Larry spent most of his time simply staring at the half-full bottle of beer he had ordered. A basket full of warm tater tots sat idle beside the bottle. Memories of the time he had spent with Tamara as his employee hung heavy on his mind as he silently lamented his decision, which was fueled by the suggestions put forth by a therapist friend Larry had talked to while he was in Abilene for his wife's funeral. Even as he continued to stare at the chilled beer bottle, he began to wonder if the therapist's wisdom was sound. He considered the possibility that he was making a mistake. He had told himself, prior to arriving at the restaurant, that if Tamara was there for whatever reason, it would be taken as a sign that he should take her back. But she was nowhere to be seen. The bar stools to his right and his left were unoccupied, but his peripheral vision picked up on someone settling onto the left stool. The faint, but evident scent of perfume indicated that whoever had sat next to him was either female, or a victim of the Sisterhood's schemes. Larry just continued to stare forward, debating whether he should buy another bottle, and then another behind that until he was fully inebriated. "Y' okay there, darlin'?" The unquestionably female voice next to him then asked, breaking the silence between them. Larry quietly nodded, a little intrigued that a southern belle had chosen to sit next to him. He kept staring forward, even though he got the feeling that the woman next to him had her eyes on him now. "From th' looks o' that bottle, I'd say you were drownin' yer sorrows," The woman surmised aloud. "Done that once or twice m'self. Had my own regrets. I got over 'em, o' course. Reckon you will too," The woman then leaned closer to Larry's left ear. "Sometimes, all it takes is a should'r t' cry on." Larry finally turned his head to face the woman, and found that it was a smiling redhead in blue jeans, a black leather jacket, and a pair of boots. Larry allowed for a slight smile as he lingered his gaze upon the woman. "Maybe," Larry replied. He then shook his head. "'Cept I don't know you." "Name's Gwynn," the woman softly shot back, still smiling. "Now y' do." Larry chuckled, picking up his beer by its long neck. "So...who sent ya, Gwynn? Rita? Aggie?" "Ain't none o' them bitches sent me here, darlin'," Gwynn assured as Larry drank down some of his beer. "Only bitches puttin' me in this here stool is me, m'self, an' I." Larry finally turned his head towards Gwynn, momentarily distracted by how attractive she looked, although he immediately wondered if this was once a man. "Y' speak as if you know 'em. That concerns me, Gwynn." "It shouldn't. Trust me," Gwynn assured. "Tell ya what. Why don't you tell me what it is that has you sittin' at a bar so quiet an' tragic, an' I..." "My wife died, Gwynn," Larry interjected. "Auto accident in Abilene, Kansas. Drunk trucker." Gwynn's pleasant face quickly dissolved to one of genuine sympathy. "Oh. Oh, Goddess...I-I'm sorry, Larry. How long were you...?" Larry couldn't hold back the rising tide of sorrow that began to stream from his eyes. "Eighteen years..." He buried his face in his right hand as he sobbed, speaking through clenched teeth. "...damn it...!" "Hey, hey...shhhh!" Gwynn placed a hand on Larry's shoulder, rubbing it consolingly. She then signaled for the bartender. "Glass o' water, please." Although he wiped his tear-stained eyes, he could still feel fresh ones flowing from them. "I'd give anythin' t' be th' one t' put that bastard straight down t' hell, if I knew who he was...where he was..." "I hear ya, darlin'..." She held up the full water glass. "...hey. Got water here. Go on. Down th' hatch." Larry gazed at the water glass for a moment, and then sighed. "Oh, what th' hell. Bound t' happen t' me here anyway," He took the glass and began drinking it down. Gwynn frowned in confusion. "Huh? What're y' talkin' 'bout?" "Oh come on, Gwynn," Larry shot back, a bit irritably. "Ain't a man in this city that Aggie doesn't wanna put in a skirt." "Yeah, well...surprise, surprise. All I jus' gave you was water," Gwynn replied. "Told you. I ain't like them bitches. I know 'bout 'em, an' I know 'bout what they do, but I ain't among them." Larry picked up a nearby, untouched napkin to wipe away the tears, which had stopped flowing. "Sounds like a couple o' people I know." The smile returned to Gwynn's lips. "Well, you gushed enough 'bout y'self. Now it's my turn...'cept there's jus' one problem. I don't know you." "Heh...touche'," the attorney mused. "I'm Larry Hanel." "Well, Larry, I think you need some fresh air," Gwynn pulled him off of the stool. "As we walk, you get t' hear all th' horny details o' my own sorry lil' soap opera life." Larry placed some money on the counter before rising from his stool, taking a deep breath in his recovery from his sobbing fit. "Why not, I got nothin' bett'r t' do right now." "Bullchest'r Park ain't far from here," Gwynn noted as they left the restaurant together. "I won't start gabbin' 'til we get there." It was then that Larry heard a chime from his smartphone. Stopping for a moment, an unknown sender had texted him a small message. Urgent. Check your Inbox. "Gwynn...can y' wait out here for a bit? I need t' see this," Larry then hurried back into the restaurant, and then rushed into the men's bathroom. Stepping into one of the stalls, he pulled out his smartphone again and brought up the e-mail app. One new message was boldfaced, and it came from Rita Noble's e-mail address. Opening the mail message, he saw a picture attachment come up. It was a mugshot. The Caucasian man had a short head of dark, curly brown hair. Evidence of tattoos could be seen at his neck area. He had a handlebar moustache, and a goatee-styled beard. He definitely had the appearance of a drunken hick. The accompanying text in the message, however, widened his eyes significantly in shock. His name is Buford James Thornhill. He drove the truck that killed your wife. We have him, Larry. We can set a court date at your convenience. You will be given enough evidence to convict him. You're welcome. - A. * * * Tamara Portnoy was clad only in her bathrobe as she settled into her couch in the living room of her home to relax after completing her evening shower, heaving out a deep, relaxing breath. She had jumped in to the shower stall after storing away the bags of goods she had bought during her late shopping visit to Gourmandizer's. She also had a fresh pot of coffee brewing, a habit she apparently developed through her experiences with the Lady Rosemary. The offer from the Mayoress was still on Tamara's mind. A part of her felt compelled to call Larry so she could talk about it with him, but she surmised that he needed time alone, given his sudden decision to end her services as his secretary. As she had worn her bathrobe loosely, the silken garment was wide open, unconsciously baring her plus-sized curves as she laid back upon the couch's soft cushions. Her eyes stared up to the room's ceiling as she wondered how much she could trust Mayoress Stroud on the notion of keeping things professional during her new line of employment. It was during the second round of light knocking that Tamara realized she had a visitor at the front door. As she rose up, she hoped it was Larry... ...but when she opened the door, she saw a familiar-looking redhead standing there. Her eyes went wide when she saw the house's occupant, whose robe was wide open, exposing her pale-skinned bareness. "Goddess..." Gemma Schultz exclaimed. "...you continue to blossom like a natural flower, Sister Tamara!" Momentarily confused, Tamara then realized how exposed she was! She gasped, wide-eyed. "Oh! I'm sorry, Gemma...I'm such a ditz. I'll be right..." "No, no. It's okay." The pious redhead quickly stepped into the house and placed a warm hand upon the blushing young woman's bare chest. "Were we not all naked in the earliest days of creation, Sister?" My touch seemed to have an effect on Marcia. Gemma thought to herself. Will it work on this one? "Gemma..." Tamara could feel her sinful side stirring within her, despite herself. "...honestly, I...I'm not any kind of a 'sister'..." "You are to me." Gemma's right leg angled back to push the front door shut. Her lips hovered very close to Tamara's as she whispered. "Yessss. You are to me." I wish I had another of those Tear Ducts. Gemma silently lamented, to herself, as she stared lustfully into the plus-sized former boy's eyes. "I had a feeling that I would not see you on Sunday. That you would not come down to the church," the red-haired former man remarked, rubbing a hand against Tamara's cheek tenderly. "I had to see you again, Sister Tamara." Tamara frowned, puzzled. "Newest follower?" Gemma smiled. "Sister Marcia. A lost sheep amid the flock of unbelievers and heathens, until she came to me, and...my divine word guided her out of the cesspool of her unclean, shameful life of wretchedly privileged excess." Tamara tried to fight through her building sexual urges, but it was difficult. Gemma was too close, and her perfume was making Tamara feel a little light-headed. "Was this of her own free will, Gemma?" She managed to ask, wondering if Gemma was referring to the obese wreck of a young female handing out pamphlets near the sliding doors of the supermarket. The redhead began removing her dress as she spoke. "Mine is the one true word in this city, Sister Tamara. Mine is the guiding word. The wayward find purpose with me, even if I have to...temporarily sacrifice my own virtues to do it. You denied the temptations of your former employer to bring yourself down to the level of a mere servant girl so you could do penance under the eyes of the Goddess. Only a true Sister of the Divine Feminine could walk such a humble path. You need to be with us, Sister Tamara. It is your one, true path. I will stake my own reputation on this." "Gemma, I..." Tamara tried to fight her own light-headedness, but the perfume was far too intoxicating by now. "...I choose to go...m-my own..." "Did it excite you to be a mere servant, Sister Tamara?" When Gemma removed the silk bathrobe from the plus-sized young woman's arms, Tamara made no move to resist the pious redhead. "To shed your hard exterior before a commanding presence?" "Gemma..." "Answer Sister Gemma." Gemma's tone turned authoritative. "Speak from your heart. Did it truly excite you to be a servant?" Tamara's head lowered, feeling a bit more compliant now. "Yes, S- Sister Gemma." "It's so pleasing for you to be beneath someone." A now fully naked Gemma stepped over to the living room as she spoke. "Isn't it?" Tamara couldn't deny the rush of excitement she was feeling now. "Yes, Sister Gemma." The redhead settled into the couch seat Tamara was in. "Pour me a cup of black coffee, Sister Tamara...and after you serve it, lower to your knees beside me with your hands in the proper prayer position, like I showed you at the restaurant." "Yes, Sister Gemma," She then hurried over to the kitchen, procuring a large mug from the cupboard near the sink. As she had the coffee maker set to keep the coffee warm, the coffee she poured still generated steam from the liquid's heat. She then carefully brought it back out to the dining room and placed it in front of Gemma. Remembering their restaurant encounter, Tamara settled herself upon her bare knees and placed her hands together in a prayer position in front of her, keeping her head lowered as the satisfied redhead took a sip from the mug. "Mmmm. Very good, Sister Tamara," Gemma praised. "You brew your coffee well." "Thank you, Sister Gemma," Tamara replied. Goddess knows what manner of witchcraft produced this perfume Rita asked me to use... Gemma thought to herself. ...but it seems to be an acceptable substitute for a Tear Duct. Tamara's red-headed visitor gazed down at her thoughtfully. "You're about as big as Sister Marcia, did you know that? You must work out to have such...sinful curves." "Yes, Sister Gemma," Tamara quietly answered. Gemma's hand then went to Tamara's hair, lightly caressing it. "And your hair shines like the sun. It looks very soft. It makes you look radiant, Sister Tamara." "Thank you, Sister Gemma." The redhead then rose up from the couch, and stood right in front of her. "Do you miss being a boy, Sister? Have you thought about having your manhood restored?" Tamara went quiet. It was not a question she could answer right away. "Answer Sister Gemma!" the redhead firmly asserted. "You were once a boy, were you not?" "Yes, Sister Gemma," the dazed-looking, plus-sized blonde answered. "You once had a penis between your legs, did you not?" Gemma next asked. "Yes, Sister Gemma." Tamara's visitor reached down and craned Tamara's head up so that she could gaze upon the small cock between Gemma's legs. "Look upon it. Do not take your eyes off of it, Sister Tamara. Stare upon it. Yearn for it. You want one. You need one. You had one before. You can get it back, and you can still be blessed by the Divine Feminine." As Tamara stared upon the small, but otherwise erect cocklette, a hunger within her stirred. She couldn't take her eyes off of it, even if she wanted to. She was filled with a need to take this fleshy, erect member into her mouth, so she could suck hungrily upon it. Even as the perfume Gemma wore made Tamara a little more susceptible to the pious former man's suggestions, the deep-seated urges implanted by Rita were beginning to resurface as well. Gemma's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer to Tamara, bringing the cocklette closer to the blond woman's quivering lips. "Are you hungry for mine, Sister Tamara? Perhaps you would like to...kiss it?" Beads of sweat now formed on Tamara's forehead as she continued to stare upon the cocklette. "Mmm-may I, Sss-Sister Gemma?" "Kiss the head first," Gemma instructed. "Continue worshipping it from there, Sister Tamara. Yearn for one of your own, as you do." Breaking the prayer position her hands were in, Tamara carefully steadied the small maleness, and then brought her lips towards the head. She then began kissing it, sliding her lips from the edge to the tip every time. "Mmmmm...gooooood girl," Gemma purred as Tamara continued rubbing her lips along the roundness of the head, feeling its warmth between her lips. While there was not a lot of flesh there, she nevertheless established a rhythm which compelled Gemma to begin moaning. Tamara gradually went from kissing the head, to sucking deeply upon it, unable to hold back the urges. It felt like the floodgates of abstinence had splintered apart as she continued to work her lips up and down along the cocklette. She felt Gemma's hands hold her head, suggesting a rhythm as she continued passionately sucking upon what remained of the shemale that was once a man named Jed Schaffner. "Oo-ooooh...ooh...ooh-ooh...Sss...Sister Tammmmm-mmara..." Gemma was panting now, her own primal urges rising with impending climax. "...yyy...ooh...yyou...y-you're so goooooood...mmmph... yes...yes...worship it...like that...worship meeeee...!" Feeling hot, bothered, and dirty, Tamara also moaned as she continued to work the erect maleness with her hungry mouth. Her tongue already acknowledged the taste of precum, and it was making Tamara even more frisky. "OooOoOOOohh, yes...yes...mmmm-my mess-messiah..." Gemma was very close to climax now as the redheaded shemale's moans became louder. "....drink...of my seed...my...mmmmh...mmmy...messSSSIIAAAHH!!" Once Gemma's cocklette exploded with surges of thick, warm cum, the shemale recruiter held Tamara's moaning head fast, making sure she drank of the ejaculations. Tamara seemed eager to comply anyway as Gemma breathlessly spoke. "Yes...drink...drink it...all of it...drain me dry, my Messiah...mmmf...drink...drink...my seed is in you now..." Gemma, still panting lustfully, then lowered to her own knees in front of Tamara, and then pressed her lips to those of the exhausted, plus- sized former boy. Still holding each other's naked, sweaty bodies, they continued to passionately kiss, rolling around upon the carpeted floor, reveling in each other's warmth. The scent of the perfume Rita Noble had provided Gemma with practically had Tamara in an erotic delirium. The two of them kissed for hours, continuing to writhe and grope against each other. Their hair became visibly disheveled in the exercise of their raw, primal passions. Eventually, Gemma pulled away, looking down at her sweaty, cum-stained body. "Mmmm, look at me. You've made me feel like such a beast tonight. I've gotten so...so indescribably primal with you, Sister Tamara. You should be punished for making me betray my vows. Present your posterior to me." Rising to her hands and knees, Tamara positioned her large ass towards Gemma, who remained on her knees as she rubbed at her hands. She placed one hand upon Tamara's moist back, while the other reared back, preparing to strike. *SMACK!* Tamara let out a moan with the impact. *SMACK!* Tamara winced, feeling the second strike, biting her lower lip. Five more strikes followed, the last three delivered in rapid-fire fashion, each strike more solid than the last, and each strike producing a passionate moan from Tamara's lips. "You dirty little messiah," Gemma spoke right into Tamara's ear as she panted in exhaustion, still dripping with sweat. "Stay just like that. Don't move." Tamara simply panted in her recovery while Gemma went back to the dress she had removed, producing a silver chain pendant with a circular piece upon which was a strange purple symbol. Going back over to Tamara, she fastened the pendant around the plus-sized former boy's neck. "You will always wear this, Sister Tamara," Gemma instructed as she began to re-dress herself. "I need to be reminded of my vows whenever I am around you. That should keep me from losing myself to you, as I had tonight. Now...rise to your knees, Sister Tamara." The blond woman complied, running a hand back over her sweaty hair as she continued to pant in her exhaustion. "You think about what I said, Sister Tamara," Gemma gestured to the now concealed cocklette at her groin. "You can have the best of both worlds. We can do this for you. All you have to do..." She rubbed a hand over Tamara's cheek. "...is surrender to the Divine Feminine." Bending down to place another deep kiss upon Tamara's lips, the pious, red-headed recruiter turned and opened the front door, leaving Tamara kneeling, naked and sweaty, on the carpeted floor. It took a couple of hours for the scent of the perfume to diminish to the point where Tamara was once again capable of clear thought. Although a part of her felt like masturbating, she was far too tired as she finally rose up from the ground, slowly making her way back to the shower stall. A hand went to her groin as she did, trying to remember how it felt to have a cock between his legs. VIII: Of Misandry and Misogunia Evangeline Pierson sipped at a fresh warm cup of tea as Prototype B attempted to keep up with his training regimen. At the moment, he was tasked with the completion of the first round of house care tasks as per Evangeline's pre-ordained list of tasks to be completed, which was all about dusting and polishing. The young, smiling, effeminate black man in the full black and white maid outfit that was Prototype A was busy running a mop across the floors, cleaning the messy brown residue Evangeline's husband, Leonard, purposely tracked up in the kitchen a few hours before with a muddy pair of shoes. It was A's job to make the floor spotless. B, on the other hand, frequently had to push back a growth of his own softer, light brown hair which always seemed to fall in front of his eyes as he continued polishing the many furniture pieces the statuesque woman had commanded him to clean. B also seemed to be dealing with a visible swell of flesh that was growing at his chest. As B had chosen to continue wearing male clothes, he wore a white T- Shirt and a pair of black shorts. Sandals were on his feet as he moved, and every now and then, he had to stop so that the nipples of the growing mounds under the shirt would stop rubbing so enticingly across the T-Shirt's fabric, distracting his concentration. One thing Evangeline noticed about B's efforts for the past couple of days was that he seemed to go over furniture pieces he had already completed. She found this amusing as the former bully struggled to keep up with his work, pushing his own growing hair out of his head, and keeping the T-Shirt from provoking the larger nipples of the C- cups beneath it. If it wasn't for his new toy, Evangeline quietly observed to herself. I'd consider giving him this one. Once she was finished with her tea, she rose up from her chair. "Stop," she commanded aloud. "Line up before me." Both prototypes laid down their cleaning implements and stepped over to stand side by side in front of the waiting blond amazon. A was standing up straight with a sense of pride. B, however, was slightly bent, and his body quivered a little. No doubt a side effect from the feminizing agents Evangeline had injected into him using the tear duct she had been given. Evangeline then walked around the large living room, surveying the work her trainees had been doing. She didn't speak a single word as she assessed the room. "Not bad," the woman finally remarked. "But, uh...B, you keep going over the same furniture pieces you've already done. Are you trying to hem and haw?" "N-no, Miss Pierson..." B seemed to fidget a bit. His voice was shaky as he answered. "...it's just...I...it's hard t-to concentrate...to think..." Evangeline just shook her head shamefully. "Maybe A can see to your needs." "No! No!" B shook his head, wide-eyed, and holding his hands out. "I...I just need a...a little time...t' work through it..." Evangeline looked disgusted now. "Do you have a problem sharing a room with A, B?" "C-could I...could I have a room...of my own, please, Miss Pierson?" B asked. "No. You may not," the woman sternly replied. "Why should I? You haven't even finished going over the rest of the furniture in here! You keep going over furniture you've already done!" "Hmph! B is hopeless," Prototype A huffed. "His work sucks, and he doesn't like me. He's more of an airhead than a maid!" Evangeline stepped closer to B, lifting his head up to gaze angrily into his half-lidded eyes. "What is it, maid? Why don't you like Prototype A?" "I..." B couldn't come out with the truth so easily in front of her. "...I can't say..." "Oh, yes you can." Evangeline now squeezed at his cheeks with a firm grip. "And yes you will, if you don't want your training to get worse." But B kept quiet. The real reason was something his father had indirectly impressed upon him as he was growing up. The family had relocated to Bullchester from Alabama, where his father was a member of a certain racist society that wore white sheets over their heads, and engaged in acts of violence and bullying against people like Evangeline's husband. That chapter of the infamous hate group, however, was forcibly dissolved by federal agents who had been working undercover. The Blatz family escaped custody by moving to Bullchester. Such was the ultimatum given once the chapter had been crushed by the raiding feds: get out of Alabama, or spend the rest of your lives in jail. Spending one night with Prototype A, to B's hopelessly misguided mind, was bad enough for him. "I'm waiting," Evangeline reminded. She now tapped a foot in her impatience. Five minutes passed in total silence. B kept stone silent. Evangeline finally stepped slowly behind him, placing firm grips on B's shoulders to speak right into his ear. "You can't keep the truth from me, B. Like father..." She grabbed a handful of B's hair and forcibly jerked his head back angrily. "...like son." A, who had turned his head towards Evangeline and B, now looked curious. Evangeline angled her eyes towards the black maid, whose formerly well-toned body looked visibly slimmer. "B is a racist," the blond woman revealed, maintaining a distasteful expression. "His daddy was a Klansman." A's eyes widened. "I didn't know there were Klansmen in Bullchester!" "There aren't," Evangeline assured. She then returned her attention to B. "Don't be surprised if your father shares the same fate as you, my little bimbo maid. The Sisterhood knows his secrets, too. He's certainly not going to be the same man you knew once you've finished..." She rubbed a hand over the T-shirt, and then squeezed a breast tightly, causing B to wince. "...developing." She then stepped back out in front of her trainees as B recovered, feeling miserable for having his dark secrets exposed so unexpectedly. "Before you get back to work, there is a social coming up at Cincher's. You'll both be coming along with me and my husband. It's called the 'Pink Party'. When you are not walking around, I will expect you both to not only be on your best and most obedient behavior, but also on your knees whenever I choose to stop. We're also going to visit the City's mall sometime next week to make sure you abide by its little...dress code." "Yes, Miss Pierson," A replied, smiling. B continued his silence, still feeling defeated over his exposed secrets. Angrily, Evangeline clacked over to B and yelled right in his face. "RESPOND!!" B gasped in his effeminate shock. "Y-yes...yes, Miss Pierson. I'm sorry." "Get back to work, you racist bitch," Evangeline growled. She then looked to A. "Once you're done with the floors, you get to supervise our little racist here. Make sure he covers all of the furniture in this room. Even if you have to motivate him a little." A grinned. He was looking forward to a bit of...provocative torment. "With pleasure, Miss Pierson." Evangeline then dragged B over to a piece of furniture that had yet to be polished, and B went right back to work as A retrieved his mop to finish his own cleaning work. When Evangeline stepped out of the room, effectively leaving her trainees alone, A was just about finished with his mopping job. Once his job was finally done, he placed the mop in the wheeled plastic basin and pushed it aside, stepping over to where B was working to watch the other prototype work. "Wax on, wax off, white trash," A mused aloud. As B worked, he couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen to his father... ...and what this 'Sisterhood' Evangeline mentioned was. * * * Tamara was lost in thought over her unexpected encounter of the previous evening as she sat quietly in the neon green 121 Barford West bus. She figured that time spent in the Bullchester Park, near the Northside stop, would help ease her mind a little. But then, there was that part of her that found the experience of being subservient to Gemma Schultz unexpectedly arousing. She entertained these very thoughts as the bus settled at the Barford Central bus stop. Mmmm...what a wonderful evening that was... Her more provocative id began telling herself. ...and who would have thought she had a cock under all that prudeness. My Goddess...how cute that cock was, though... She could hear herself subtly purring with the thought as a pair of voices...one of which sounded very familiar...snapped Tamara out of her reverie. "Miss Portnoy! How delightful to see you again!" It was a grinning Lois Fryer. Beside her was a redheaded woman who looked just as provocative as Lois did. She wore a red dress with a low-cut opening at the chest. She looked a bit nervous compared to the more confident...and somewhat lascivious...appearance of the woman who had so insistently invited Tamara to potentially have her life irrevocably changed at the dreaded Butterfly Salon. "My God...is she a model?" The redhead looked awestruck by Tamara's appearance. "Uhmmm...sorry, I was...?" Tamara was momentarily taken off-guard by the nervous woman's admittedly flattering guess, even though it had been some time since she had taken pinup girl photos for magazines at the behest of Maggie Katzhoff. "Lena, please meet my savior from that asshole who frequents my apartment." Lois gestured to the plus-sized woman now looking up at them. "Oh. Mrs. Fryer. It's, uh...good to see you again..." Tamara looked to the redhead. "...and, err...?" The redhead giggled amusedly. "I'm Lena!" Tamara nodded once, smiling cordially. "It's good to meet you, Lena." "Lena wanted to know of you were a model, Miss Portnoy?" Lois asked. "Oh, I did do some fashion modelling for a 50s style shoot, but...that's all I've done," Tamara dismissively replied. Her more provocative thoughts, however, mused a different take. I wouldn't mind doing that again, seeing as how the wind was tickling my clitty that day... "Well, you sure look like one, Miss Portnoy!" Lena chirped. "Please..." She raised a hand in mild restraint. "...it's Tamara, Lena." The curly-haired redhead nodded. "Tamara, sorry." "I've offered to take Miss Portnoy to have a makeover at the Butterfly Salon, as a gesture of thanks for her help in my divorce!" Lois explained to her friend. Lena looked supportive of this potentially disastrous idea. "Ohh, God, Tamara...you have to go. It's absolutely fabulous!" Hmmm... Tamara's more sensible id observed to herself. ...I guess you looked nothing like that before you went in there, Lena? "Well...I should have told her how satisfied I was with my own Salon up on the Eastside," Tamara glanced warily to Lois, who smirked amusedly in response. "The offer was there, Miss Portnoy," Lois countered. "You could have denied it." If you weren't all over me, Tamara mused to herself. I probably would have. "Uhhhm...are you not on the wrong bus for the University?" Tamara asked, hoping to change the subject. Lena shrugged. "I keep asking her where we are going, but she will not tell me." "Our trip to St. Justine's is...kind of work-related, Miss Portnoy," Lois had a somewhat lascivious look on her face as she said this. "St. Justine's?" Tamara frowned in her curiosity. "Isn't that quite some way from the campus?" "Yes, it is..." Lois answered. "...but we are going to visit the wife of the University's Dean at her Antiques Store." "Ahh, I see," Tamara replied. Sisterhood business, no doubt. She thought to herself. "Lena is having the Dean's baby," Lois then added, widening Tamara's eyes. "Aren't you, Lena?" "Oh, God, yes I am," Lena confirmed. "I'm so happy!" Tamara raised an eyebrow. "And I'm guessing she knows nothing about the two of you, right?" Lena made the matter sound surprisingly casual. "Oh, no. Angela does not know I am fucking her husband." Tamara's response echoed her thoughts. "Well, that's sure gonna be one hell of a surprise when you tell her." "Lena is hoping it will make her divorce the Dean," Lois added. Tamara tried to keep from sounding thrown. "So, he...uh...has no idea you are pregnant either, eh?" "Nooo, no," Lena responded. "Lois said it would be much better if he found out from his wife." Incredible. Tamara thought to herself as she spoke. "Well...having dealt with divorces myself, I would say that would do the trick." Lena seemed surprised at this. "Do you really think it will make her divorce him?" "Well, uhh...after my part in Lois's divorce..." Tamara glanced to Lois, who gave her a suggestive, quiet smooch with her painted, pursed lips. "...I'd say a lawyer would make mince meat of this Dean." "Ohhh, God. I hope the lawyer doesn't take too much out of him," Lena wondered aloud. "I want to be the next Mrs. Carmichael!" She giggled over her own resolve. Although Tamara cordially smiled back, her thoughts were in quiet judgment of this apparent scheme. I should be shocked at this woman's deceit, but...after Lois's shitbag husband, and the other men I've seen Larry rip to shreds, I seem to have developed an immunity to it. "Oh, Tamara...I heard about Larry," Lois then noted. "I feel awful about what happened. How is he holding up?" "I spoke to him yesterday," Tamara replied. "He had gone back to Kansas to sort things out," She decided to get strategic with her words, hoping it would deflect Lois's curiosity. "He...asked me to close things on this end until he returns..." She let out a sigh to add to the act. "...if he returns, that is." Goddess, I hope Lois bought that. Tamara thought to herself. The last thing I need right now is for her to go behind my back and arrange some kind of skullduggery with Larry. "And you, Miss Portnoy?" Lois then asked. "How are you holding up?" Lena looked curious now. "Forgive me for asking, but...what happened?" "Some drunken redneck asshole forced Shelley's car off the road and, well..." Tamara paused to let out a regretful sigh. "...she died." "Ohh, how awful...!" Lena sympathetically responded. "Without sounding unsympathetic," Lois added. "What will Larry be doing about the court cases he had scheduled?" I knew it. She's digging. Tamara mused to herself. "Well, I didn't go so far as to ask that, considering." "That's understandable..." Lois replied. "...and you, Miss Portnoy? How are you holding up?" Tamara shrugged, unconsciously...and thoughtfully...grasping at the pendant necklace around her neck that Gemma gave her last night. "I'm okay, I guess. I..." Lois raised an eyebrow, seeing Tamara fiddle with a necklace that had a familiar insignia upon it. "Hmmm. I take it you've found something...or someone...to lessen the blow of Larry's wife's death?" Tamara blinked. "You can tell...?" She bit her lower lip nervously, on the off-chance she could be outed over last night's...encounter. "Sweetheart..." Lois began, her eyes narrowing. "...don't forget that I am a Counsellor for hundreds of girls and boys on campus, and from the way you're playing with that pendant there, I would say...she...has helped you?" Tamara couldn't help but blush beneath Lois's inquisitive gaze. "What...makes you think...it was a woman?" Lois then gestured to the necklace. "That pendant is a religious token of the Sacred Feminine, my dear. I know you're not one to frequent that place of worship?" "Really?" Tamara tried to play dumb, but Lois didn't look convinced. "I did..." "I would ask you to be very wary of those Sacred Feminine sisters, Miss Portnoy," Lois warned, sounding very serious. As wary as I should be with you at this Butterfly Salon you gave me no choice but to visit? Tamara's thoughts countered. Fortunately, Tamara was able to recover quickly. "I can look after myself, Miss Fryer." Apparently, Lois wasn't buying Tamara's conviction. "Tamara...they may be all sweet and angelic out here on their, shall we say, recruiting crusades...but the woman who heads their religion is a real nasty bitch." Tamara frowned a bit, wondering if she was referring to the Lady Rosemary. "In what way is this woman who heads the Sacred Feminine a bitch?" The plus-sized woman also seemed to mentally ponder this as well, based on what the former boy knew. Kat said the same thing about this Sacred Feminine, too. Hmmm... "She castrates men for fun," Lois began. "From what I heard, she is also celebrating the birth of her miraculous conception by having four nuns castrated as part of her ritual." Tamara just shrugged at this. "I've already been castrated, Miss Fryer, so this doesn't really concern me." "Ah, yes. Yes, of course," Lois responded. "I am just pointing out what I have heard, dear." "Plus...the recruiter I was with last night, she only lost her balls," Tamara then added. Tamara's lascivious id chimed upon her mind now as she noticed the bus nearing her stop. And Gemma's lil' wee-wee, as small as it was, still became aroused. "Just tread carefully with them is all I am saying, Miss Portnoy," Lois remarked. Tamara began to rise from her seat. "We've reached my stop, Mrs. Fryer." Lois nodded, and held out a hand to help Tamara get to her feet... ...but this gave the short-haired platinum blonde an opportunity to connect her lips to Tamara's. A moan escaped the former boy's lips as they kissed in that moment before they pulled away. "As I had said," Lois noted, grinning lasciviously. "I will not take no for an answer, Miss Portnoy. I hope you're not too upset at my little liberty in booking your appointment with the Butterfly Salon?" Grace said I would not be put through the hair dryers. Tamara wondered to herself. But can I really trust her? "No, but...I don't want a full makeover, if that's okay," Tamara replied. "Oh, sweetheart...a full makeover is way too expensive..." Lois answered. "...and I sure as hell don't need anything that radical." Once again, Tamara's words echoed her thoughts, which were punctuated with a giggle. "I guess you don't." "No, this will just be a pampering, sweetheart," Lois assured. Tamara nodded as she stepped past the two ladies. "I'll see you Saturday then, Lois," She then looked to her red-headed friend. "Nice to have met you, Lena." "Oh! Likewise!" Lena answered. "Maybe the three of us can be mallrats someday." "Mmmm," Lois responded, eyeing Tamara thoughtfully as she pushed open the back doors of the bus. "I kinda like that idea." Tamara, however, stepped off, and she was once again at the site where she had practically given herself over to Rita Noble. A part of her wondered if she would see the insidious and shapely blond witch again. Knowing that the bench where Timothy Portnoy had hoped for a brief visit to apologize to Rita...only to have his life completely changed...was near the bus stop, Tamara headed over to check out this particular bench. She found herself conflicted between relief, and...was it actually regret?...to see that Rita was not there. There were a few people in and around the park, but they were common Bullchester citizens. Tamara settled into the empty bench, once again lost in thought as her eyes traveled among the idle citizens of the city, observing their carefree lives. The ratio seemed normal, somehow. There were men as well as women, and boys as well as girls. A couple of the men, however, seemed a bit slim, soft-faced, and nervous, and Tamara spotted boys who seemed to have the same problem. In the vicinity of these effeminate males, unsurprisingly, were confident and smartly-dressed women. Junior Executives from Loris International, perhaps? They certainly looked the type. They were not in a large cluster, however, but rather in separate places of the park, engaging in separate matters of the moment. None of them looked very familiar to Tamara as her gaze quietly traveled around the area... ...but one pair of eyes caught sight of the plus-sized woman scoping the various presences in the park, and diverted from the morning jog she was about to undertake so that she could confront this former boy, who she had seen only once before in the Fertility Clinic. When Tamara spotted this red-haired, large-chested woman, she stared at her warily. She, too, remembered this redhead. The last time they saw each other, Tamara had a paralyzingly huge amount of inert bio- matter in her gut. Barbara Walsh, wearing a skimpy gray jogging outfit, stopped in front of the former boy, smiling pleasantly. "Good morning, Tammy." In that moment, Tamara wondered if Sisterhood advocates were nearby, ready to pounce on her and drag her away. She tried not to panic too much as she flatly acknowledged the busty former man, who she believed was in league with Agatha and the Sisterhood, nodding once. "Barbara." "There's no need for you to look so nervous, dear," Barbara assured. "I'm just doing my morning jog. Care to join me? I'd like to talk with you." Tamara grinned. "Sorry. I'm not dressed for any kind of a jog." Barbara shrugged. "Walk with me then. Unless you want to spend the rest of your time here staring at people walking by?" She then settled herself in the bench space next to Tamara. "Why did you come out here this morning to begin with? Hmm?" The redhead leaned in close to Tamara as she settled in, and the former boy was able to pick up on an inviting scent. It wasn't the same perfume that Gemma wore when she came by, though. This was a different scent, and an enticing one at that. It seemed uniquely Barbara's. Tamara shrugged, feeling slightly less evasive as she continued to stare forward. "Nice weather, I...I guess." Barbara turned Tamara's head to face hers, rubbing a hand over her cheek as she spoke in a nurturing tone. "Walk with me, Tammy. Please. I won't hurt you. We're two of a kind, after all. Just walk. That's all," When Barbara rose, so did Tamara. "Juuuuust walk." Although Tamara did have enough of a hold on her willpower to break away, she didn't want to cause a scene out in the open like this, and there were questions she wanted to have answered about this woman called a midwife, whose rising notoriety may have been the cause of a radical change in the lives of a family that had moved to Bullchester not too long ago. The strangely inviting scent Barbara was giving off was more of an unconscious impetus for Tamara to begin walking alongside the red- headed, busty midwife. "You've developed very well, Tammy," Barbara remarked as they began walking along a park pathway, leading into the woods. "Do you miss being a young man?" Tamara sighed, a bit irritably. "That question is starting to become tiresome." She then remembered what Barbara had said about being 'two of a kind'. "Do you miss being a guy?" "There are times when I do, yes," the busty midwife answered. "But I suppose it's because, unlike you, I was a father." Tamara raised an eyebrow. "How many children?" "One girl," Barbara answered. "A very gifted girl, too. She's learning quite a lot at Feetham's. Her name is Leanne," She went quiet for a moment, thinking about the past, before continuing. "My life was shit before this happened to me, Tammy. I...made mistakes in my life. My wife, my daughter...they didn't want to have anything to do with me. I was fortunate to have been given a second chance. I didn't expect, at the time, that it would lead to becoming what I am now." Tamara nodded slowly. "And your wife? What happened to her?" "Imogen? She...went into modeling," Barbara replied. "We didn't turn out badly though, Tammy. Yes, the three of us look different, but...we're back together, and more importantly, we're happy. Imogen and Leanne don't hate me anymore." "And now, you're the Sisterhood's errand girl," Tamara mused. "I'm sure families like the Merrywethers are pleased as punch about that." Barbara felt stung upon hearing the name of the family unit she had not too long ago subjugated. "Tammy...their father was a blackmailer." "Don't bother repeating the story. I know all about it," Tamara quickly shot back. "He drove a company CEO to suicide. Whatever happened to him doesn't concern me. I'm not even bothered by what happened to his wife...but his son? His daughter? I wonder if you realize just how terrified Charlene was when she came to see me!" "Tammy...what we had to do with Charlene was unavoidable," Barbara reasoned. "We couldn't let her leave. We couldn't let her go back to the paranoid and judgmental society that exists outside of Bullchester," The midwife stepped out in front of Tamara, stopping her in her tracks within a dense, isolated section of the forest that they had unconsciously been walking through. "Okay...I grant you that Charlene is, well, different now...but what's the takeaway from her raising the red flag? From coming back with an army of federal agents who, when they finish their lightning raid on the Sisterhood, would effectively turn Bullchester back into the misogynistic hellhole that it used to be? Is that what you want, Tammy? Do you want to bring Bullchester back into the stone age?" "Barbara...you're not giving some of these people a choice," Tamara countered. "That is what's bothering me!" "No one has ever died over what we have been doing," Barbara calmly reasoned, leading Tammy off the path and into the park's woodlands, gesturing for the plus-sized young woman to follow. "No, they don't kill people, Barbara," Tamara remarked. "But they do kill identities. Unless there's a girl out there who answers to the name 'Stanley'?" Barbara smirked as she turned to face Tamara. "Annie is with me. She's developing just as nicely as you are. In fact..." She stepped up close to Tamara to rub a hand over one of the large, fleshy globes on the former boy's chest. "...you two share a kinship." Tamara frowned in her obvious confusion. "Wh-what are you..." "She lactates as easily as you do, Tammy. Why do you think you have such pale skin?" Barbara noted. "The only difference between you is that Annie is a midwife, and you are not. She is...feeding newborn infants for us at the Fertility Clinic." "So Stanley's spending the rest of hi...her life...as a milk bottle," Tamara closed her eyes, sighing out lamentedly. "Goddess..." "There's more to Annie's life than just that, Tammy. Don't make it sound so tragic," Barbara chided. "I won't let you deny how wonderful it feels to have milk drawn from your nipples. The afterglow on Annie's face once she finishes a feeding is the furthest thing from distress. She loves her life. If we had left Stanley alone, knowing what kind of a person he was even at his young age, he would have become either socially awkward, or he would have become entirely lecherous. You should have seen the way he was staring at me from where he was sitting on the bus when he first saw me, Tammy." "Yeah, well...you do have that kind of effect on people, given the way you turned out," Tamara sarcastically mused. "Did you know that his sister nearly drove one of our young ladies to suicide, Tammy?" Once again, Tamara turned her head towards Barbara as she stopped walking, an expression of disbelief on her face. The red-headed midwife also halted, keeping her eyes on the former boy. "It's true, Tammy," Barbara began. "Her name is Nicola. She was attracted to Charlene Merrywether, but when she found out that Nic was a she-male, Charlene walked away in disgust. Her mom, and her friends, had to intervene just to keep Nic from killing herself." Barbara sounded straight and sincere with her words. As much as Tamara did not want to believe it, she only knew about Charlene's concerns regarding her family, and her own well-being. "I know what you're thinking, Tammy." Barbara stepped up close to the plus-sized woman. "Nicola was a man. He was the wrong kind of man, though. The kind that wolf-whistles whenever they see a short skirt on a young girl. The kind that deserved what happened to him." "What about me, Barbara?" Tamara challenged. "How do you explain what happened to me?" Barbara shrugged. "I was told you wanted revenge against Rita Noble over what happened to your father. I was also told that your father bullied around Rita at a Summer Camp, so...forgive me if I don't shed any tears over his death." "How very considerate of you...but you've been lied to, cow-boobs," Tamara shot back. "My father was killed by Russian mobsters shortly after my mom divorced him. Apparently, he sexually abused a mail-order bride who was the daughter of a mob boss. They paid inmates to kill my dad in retribution, and you should know that I wasn't shedding any tears at all when I found this out. My mom and I were glad that misogynistic bastard was whacked." Now it was Barbara's turn to be a little startled. Now it was Barbara's turn to see the sincerity in Tamara's words. This was no fabrication, unlike what the midwife was told by the Sisterhood. "Rita went after me because she couldn't get revenge on my father," Tamara explained. "Russian mobsters denied her that privilege. I was the substitute, Barbara. I was condemned for the crime of being related to him. Rita even tried to make me think she was my mother!" The midwife thought on this as Tamara spoke. "And...your real mother?" "Alive, well, and out of your reach," the former boy evasively answered. "So you're on your own here in Bullchester," Barbara mused. "Thinking the way you do, that can be a dangerous thing, you know." "I can handle myself," Tamara quickly shot back. "I've done it before. More than once." "So I've heard," Barbara replied. "But you're more powerful than you realize, Tammy. Given the kind of woman you've become, you could draw in any man giving you lustful stares. Maybe even use his own lust to your advantage. Can't you see the possibilities in having a misogynistic jerk of considerable power and influence...at your feet? A man who can't stop staring at your generous mammaries, dreaming of being able to suck from them? Those breasts can be more than just milk producers, Tammy. They could become your most valuable weapon. The lure that leads to a sex-hungry man's inevitable downfall." Tamara felt a need to dispute this, but the words sounded hesitant. "I-I'm not a...temptress..." "But you could be," Barbara stepped closer. "I see the way you're glancing at my breasts. It's the young man inside you yearning to see them. To feel them. To touch them. It's Timothy Portnoy, crying out for his urges to be fulfilled. You could do the same to another man," She pressed her forehead, alluringly, against Tamara's, still staring into the former boy's eyes. "Make him waaant you," She hovered her lips very close to Tamara's now as she purred. "Make him neeeeed you." Goddess... Tamara's more lustful urges began to take hold as she stared at Barbara through half-lidded eyes. ...I never realized how...wonderful...she looks when she's this close... For some reason, Tamara began manifesting thoughts of nursing from a mother's breast, as if Barbara herself were the former boy's mother. The ambience seemed to stick as their eyes continued to stare upon each other. No sounds passed from Tamara's lips in that moment aside from steady breathing. "Why are you looking at me like that, Tammy dear?" Barbara cooed. "Is there something about me that you find...irresistible? Here I am, speaking of how you can bring men to their feet...and you look like you want to be at mine. You're such an odd little girl, Tammy. I wonder what you're thinking right now?" It was hard for Tamara to think clearly in that moment. What was it about Barbara that made her so alluring all of a sudden? Was it her womanly face? Her flowing red locks of hair? Was it the scent she was giving off as she remained close to the confused former boy? Barbara gently stroked at Tamara's soft locks of blond hair. "Do yooooou...miss Mommy, perhaps? Do you miss having a mother's love, to keep you confident in life?" Tamara frowned a bit. "My mother still loves me." "But she's not here, is she?" Barbara reasoned, tilting her head. "She's...out of your reach. Wasn't that what you said? She has left you to fend for yourself. Left you to take on the trials and terrors of Bullchester, completely on your own. When was the last time you spoke with her, Tammy?" The plus-sized woman answered with a long moment of silence. "Mmmm. Too long, judging by your expression," Barbara surmised aloud. "Has she stopped caring about you?" Tamara's eyes began to fill with tears. "She...she can't see me..." Her head angled down regretfully, unable to resist the pain of a decision she was powerless to change. "...she's being...protected. She can't see anyone..." Her voice dissolved to a fretful sobbing. Barbara wrapped her arms around Tamara in consolation as the plus- sized woman wept openly into the midwife's shoulder. "Shhhh...relax, dear. I didn't realize this was a witness protection matter. Mommy understands. Yes, she does..." The midwife resumed caressing Tamara's hair gently, rocking her back and forth as her voice remained nurturing in its gentle, purring tone. "...yes, she does..." She's so nice... Tamara's inner voice observed. ...like...like Mom...yes...just like Mom... "Are you hungry?" Barbara gently chimed into Tamara's ear as she exposed one of her large mammaries, guiding the former boy's lips to the exposed nipple. "Would you like some of Mommy's milk?" Once Tamara began drawing forth Barbara's breast milk, the taste was heavenly to the former boy's mouth, and she swallowed down as much as she could as the midwife moaned passionately, gently massaging Tamara's head as she drank...and drank...and drank from Barbara's offered mammary. "Mmmmmmh...yessss...g-gooood girl..." Barbara cooed through her moans of passion as Tamara continued hungrily drinking. "...Mmm-mmmommy loves you, little girl..." Goddess...oh, Goddess... Tamara's inner voice echoed her visible reaction to the 'meal' the midwife was giving her. ...it's so DELICIOUS!! "You love Mommy too..." Barbara was able to pull Tamara's mouth away from her breast, milk droplets dripping from the plus-sized woman's chin as the midwife stared into Tamara's dazed, half-lidded eyes. "...don't you, little cow?" Cow?? I...I'm not...cow... Tamara tried to fight the suggestion, but her mind felt funny. All those times the Lady Rosemary had suckled from her breasts, and the noises Tamara had made as the noblewoman did so, effectively placed the fallacy of Barbara's suggestiveness in doubt. ...am I?? Barbara giggled at Tamara's reaction. "What's wrong, Tammy? You don't know, do you?" the midwife spoke gently into Tamara's ear. "You're the prototype for the Heifer project. A development for the Fertility Clinic. I know you don't work there, and we don't plan to have you work there...well, unless you really want to, but...it does give hopeless horndogs like Stanley Merrywether a chance to feed the infant children who are regularly born there. Annie is loving her new life, and her new job." "But..." Tammy began, her head still feeling fuzzy. "...what about me, m...mmuh...mm...?" "You? Have you forgotten so soon, silly cow?" Barbara gently chided. "The Mayoress needs her new secretary, seeing as how she has become so interested in you working for her. Now I want you to be as focused and as attentive to her tasks and your duties as possible, Tammy dear..." She confided the next part, gently, into the dazed young woman's ear. "...but don't you dare let her kiss you on the lips, or let her impale you with that huge cock of hers, or we really will need to send you to the Fertility Clinic. You don't want that, do you, little cow?" Tamara was already shaking her head. "No..." Memories of her torment there came flooding back in that moment. The inert matter in her gut that made her look so immovably huge. The humiliation of Rita Noble standing over her in wicked triumph. "...no..." Barbara smiled, caressing Tamara's sweaty face. "The pay should be better than what you were earning with your last job, so I have a feeling you're going to be very happy working for Mayoress Stroud. Oh...and I should tell you that you have a blind date for a party that's coming up at Cincher's that you have been invited to. It's called the Pink Party. Your date is sending you something to wear, plus a bottle of hair formula which you will be applying to your hair before you go. There will be a card in there with the rest of the particulars on the party." As Tamara's mind still felt quite pliant, she just nodded in acknowledgement. "Yes, m...mmmmuh..." Barbara tilted her head. "Hmm? What is it you're trying to say to Mommy, Tammy dear?" The midwife's lips once again hovered close to Tamara's ear. "Was it...'yes, Mommy'?" Tamara's sensible side was initially in protest. NO...not...not Mommy... Even her sensible side, however, began to falter. ...but...Barbara...she's so nice...bad Rita...good Barbara...like...like Mommy... "'Yes, Mommy.'" Barbara enticingly hissed, repeatedly, into Tamara's ear. "'Yes, Mommy.''Yes, Mommy.'" ...telling me...what to do... "Yes, Mommy," Tamara gently acknowledged. "Goooood cow," Barbara gently kissed Tamara on the lips. "Goooood cow. Mommy is pleased. Now...run along and let Mommy do her jogging. Get back home, and if you have any responsibilities or appointments, you be a good girl and be as prompt and as timely as you can for them. Understood?" The two women rose to their feet, Tamara still looking dazed. "Yes, Mommy." Barbara covered up her exposed breast. "If you're really good, Mommy will send a nice little reward for you. Have a wonderful day, little cow." "But...when will I...?" Barbara, however, had already begun jogging away. She even put a pair of wireless earbuds into her ears as she widened the distance between her and Tamara. The dazed young woman walked slowly over to a large rock that was nearby, and sat upon it, holding a hand to her head as she waited for the odd sensations running through her head to clear. The process was gradual, and the entire time, Barbara's words and instructions lingered within her mind. Once she felt sufficiently recovered, Tamara rose up from the rock and headed for a bus stop that would take her back home. Barbara's instructions, however, lingered strongly upon her mind. * * * It was difficult for Gwynn Welsh to unravel a spectacularly torrid past to Larry Hanel the previous evening, but she felt compelled...by virtue of Larry's sincere, and completely voluntary vow to keep what she told him a secret...to surrender the intricacies of a life fraught with masochistic, domineering abuse, and a formerly male daughter named Poppy, to the curious attorney. He looked completely receptive to the words Gwynn had spoken, in her own southern drawl. Recounting a lot of the trauma of that time even brought tears to her own eyes, just as the unexpected and sudden death of Larry's wife had caused the typically unflappable man he was to emotionally break down. The night ended quietly enough, and it ended with Gwynn offering up her phone number. This came coupled with a kind of challenge. If Larry wanted to see Gwynn again, he would call and arrange another date. Otherwise, Gwynn would assume that the attorney just didn't want to get involved with the Texan woman at all. She also had to wonder what her only child, who was once her son before the influence of Cresswell transformed him into Gwynn's daughter, would say about such a union. The scary thing about Poppy was that she had the very same gift that the Sisterhood's "angels" possessed: being able to forcibly manipulate and influence others through skin-to-skin contact. Her mother somehow had to have Poppy understand that Larry Hanel was in no way a man deserving of subjugation, much less feminization. With Larry, Gwynn wanted real love. Real happiness. Real contentment. She hoped that Poppy would understand. But it was dependent on whether or not Larry would call, and she had resolved to wait within the time bracket Larry had mentioned during their time together in Bullchester Park to hear from him. She was beginning to get impatient. A part of her briefly considered forcing her hand, perhaps even through Poppy's gift, but she realized that this would make her no better than the misogynistic monsters she had wanted to put out of her life who had carved such a lingering scar in her past. An hour passed, and Gwynn's smartphone remained silent. She rose up to refill the mug of coffee she had been drinking, and she began to finish the small amount of her second full cup that she had been consuming... ...and that was when the coffee caught in her throat with the chiming of the device's ringtone. Gwynn's eyes widened as she coughed wildly, attempting to clear her throat as she looked upon the surface of the chiming smartphone to confirm that this was indeed Larry Hanel. "Hi, darlin'!" Gwynn cheerily began. "I was jus' putterin' around on social media, thinkin' 'bout...huh? Oh, sure! Yeah, I know th' place! Sure thing, sugah! I'll be there, but...I gots to insist on takin' an outdoor table, seein' as how it's awful nice out...oh, I'll be totally r'ceptive, darlin'. You jus' speak y' mind, an' I'll jus' hush up an' listen, seein' as how I was doin' most o' th' yakkin' last time...yup! It's a date, then! See ya in a couple hours, sugah!" With a noticeable spring in her step, Gwynn headed for her bedroom... ...and saw Poppy coming out of her own room with a basket full of dirty laundry. "Oh!" Gwynn flashed a pleasant smile, hoping to deflect her curiosity. "Uhhh...yeah. Washer should be free, soooo...you go on ahead, honey." Poppy, however, saw through the plastic smile. She now had a more inquisitive look on her face. "Who is he, mom?" "Uhhhh...who's who?" Gwynn attempted. Poppy flashed a grin of her own. One which sent the clear message that she couldn't be fooled. "I heard you speaking to someone downstairs, mom." "Y' did? Well...uhh...how d' ya know I wasn't settin' up a bank appointment?" "'Cause bank tellers don't conduct their business at outdoor tables," Poppy wryly shot back. Gwynn sighed. The jig was clearly up. "Okay, okay...he's a divorce attorney. His name's Larry Hanel." Poppy frowned. "What's the game this time, mom?" The Texan woman, however, shook her head. "No game this time, darlin'. I think I found me a winn'r this time. Kansas man. Lost his wife in an auto accident up in Abilene. Drunk-ass trucker killed 'er." Poppy nodded. "Well, I hope you realize that he'll need time to heal." "An' I wanna help 'im there, Poppy dear," Gwynn reasoned. "Already broke the ice, might as well learn how t' float on it." Poppy nodded again. "Do I get to meet him?" Gwynn shrugged. "Sure! If it pans out as I hope it will, but I ain't gonna be scorin' any points unless y' let me start preparin'! He's expectin' me in about, oh, two hours." "Well...have fun," Poppy showed evidence of a smile. "But be careful, okay?" "Sure will! Now you go on an' clean that ol' mess o' clothin' up!" Gwynn amusingly chided before disappearing into her room to make her preparations. She made sure to replace her more conservative black blouse with a deep red one with a low cut chest area. With the aid of a push-up bra, she made her cleavage look a little more prominent. Hope you pass your second test, darlin'. Gwynn mused to herself. Or you may just grow a pair of your own boobs. * * * MISOGUNIA We are growing impatient. CIA-Dir Who is this? This is a secure chat line! MISOGUNIA Break the Circle. You have the power. You have the resources. CIA-Dir Define 'Circle'. CIA-Dir And while you're at it, define why you're using the Greek term for 'misogyny'. MISOGUNIA Don't question us. We ask the questions. CIA-Dir And we can find out who you are, and why you are making the mistake of telling me what to do. MISOGUNIA We know who you are, Mr. Lowenthal. CIA-Dir Congratulations. MISOGUNIA We know you envy them. CIA-Dir You still haven't answered my question. MISOGUNIA They won't care who you are. You'll be a target. CIA-Dir Risks come with this job. MISOGUNIA So do the sins that come with it. Sins that are now yours to burden. MISOGUNIA Along with the potential consequences. MISOGUNIA Ignorance will cost you not only your natural life, but billions of others like you. MISOGUNIA Break the Circle. MISOGUNIA You already have your eyes on Bullchester. You could have raised the red flag. MISOGUNIA WHY DIDN'T YOU?? CIA-Dir You. CIA-Dir That's why. CIA-Dir You obviously expect me to think, by the use of this handle of yours, that you pride yourself...or rather, yourselves...on being superior to females. CIA-Dir Which is the epitome of silliness. MISOGUNIA The Circle will never stop. The Sisterhood will NEVER STOP UNTIL THEY GET WHAT THEY WANT. MISOGUNIA BREAK THE FUCKING CIRCLE! CIA-Dir Why must I? You didn't even say 'please'. Why the sudden desperation? CIA-Dir I don't even know who you are. For all I know, you could be a gender terrorist hacking a secure CIA channel using your granny's laptop. CIA-Dir All I am going to tell you is that the investigation into Bullchester affairs...and the Circle you've been blithering about... is ongoing. CIA-Dir You, however, don't get to play boss with our efforts. That is MY job. CIA-Dir If you do not approve of the pace, then maybe you should change your handle to 'SULK'. MISOGUNIA Only if you change yours to 'ASSHOLE'. * * * Langley, Virginia Denton Lowenthal smirked as 'Misogunia' sent his last message. The mysterious, gray-screened widget box then disappeared from his computer screen, indicating that the impromptu...and unexpected...chat session was over. He had seen the name attached to an e-mail he had received in his online Spam folder. He had passed it off as yet another hack attempt. The kind which downloaded a virus if it were opened up. The subject always alluded to 'impatience'. But this was an unexpected move on the part of...whoever these people were. As if I didn't have enough mysteries on my goddamn plate. Denton mused to himself. He then picked up the phone receiver on his desk and pressed a button. After a couple of purrs, the line clicked open. "Elaine, have Nate Dugan of the National Security Agency call me at his earliest convenience," he calmly instructed. "Drop the chat handle 'Misogunia' if he asks why."