Cat And Mouse 2 - Pink Persuasions - Chapters XII And XIII free porn video

XIII: Growing Pains Their names were Lowell Bunton and Scotty Griggs. Both had been members of violent youth gangs when they were younger. Both had created reputations for themselves as the kinds of people that no one messed with, although they never committed any very serious crimes apart from assault and battery against anyone who dared to challenge what they perceived to be their natural dominance. They both joined the Marine Corps, and upon being discharged, they went into mercenary work. At the moment, however, their expertise was useless. The former Sgt. Lowell and the former Pvt. Scott were expertly bound, shibari-style, in lengths of sturdy asanawa ropes. Neither of them were gagged, and they had no blindfolds on as they came out of an extended period of unconsciousness. They were both on their knees, however, and their heavily-tattooed and scarred bodies were completely naked. They saw that the room they were in had a heavy leather scent, and the room was padded. A single door was the only way in, and the only way out. There were no windows, although a vent at the ceiling proved to be the impetus for the room being well air-conditioned. There was one other person in the room with them, and unlike Lowell and Scott, she was fully-clothed. Clad from head to toe in a suit of shiny red and black latex. Her head...which exposed not only her eyes, her mouth, and a top ring from which the thickness of long black hair spilled down her back...was otherwise covered in a black, full-head latex mask. Tall stiletto points were seen at the heels of the platforms that went with the overall outfit. She sat upon a chair that was positioned backwards, her chest resting on the backrest, her arms crossed upon the top of the backrest. Her chin rested upon the arms as she quietly gazed at her captors. They both shook their heads as they squinted over to the latex-covered woman in the chair, perhaps waiting for their blurry visions to sharpen in the next moment. "Hello, girls," their abductor amusedly began. "Sleep well?" "Whh...whuuhhh..." Scott, a caucasian-skinned man, still sounded dazed. "...who th...who th' fuck are you? Where the hell are we??" "Y'better fuckin' untie us, bitch!" Lowell, who was brown-skinned, growled. "So I can kill yo' ass properly!" The woman smiled. "That's no way to speak to a lady." "FUCK y'self!!" Lowell angrily barked back. "Jeez. You men," The woman rolled her eyes. "Seems like every other word out of your mouths is fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck! Why can't you say something more interesting, like..." She mimed deep thought for a moment. "...PAIN?" Upon hearing the word, their muscles felt like they were on fire, and an even more painful agony struck their testicles, causing them to cry out and groan as they writhed with the unexpectedly sharp discomfort that was now torturing their bodies for a good five minutes. Once those five minutes had passed, they panted as they recovered from the intensity of their suffering. The woman just stared down at them amusedly. "What's wrong, girls?" she amusedly asked. "I thought you devil dongs were immune to PAIN!" And once again, the two bound men writhed as searing agony lingered along their muscles and at their crotches. They tried to break their bonds as they groaned and roared, but the restraints held. Five minutes later, they were once again recovering, this time panting heavily. Sweat rolled down their faces. "I'm bored," the woman calmly remarked. "I think you need a little more PAIN." They were obviously too late to protest as they were once again lost to a veritable electric shock treatment, minus the actual electric shock. Another five agonizing minutes passed as the woman yawned. Once it was over, the woman grinned. "Fourth time's a charm?" "NO!! No, no, please...!" Scott quickly called out. "Enough!" "What'd you do to us, bitch??" Lowell asked, a little less angry now. "I told you," the woman answered. "I thought you needed a little more..." "NO, NO, NO, NOOOO!!" they both seemed to cry out together, hoping they would not hear the word, and feel the agony that came with it. The woman finally rose up out of her chair. "I am the Mistress Voce. You may call me Miss Voce, or Mistress Voce, or just Mistress. Nothing more. If I hear either of you call me anything else, I will know what to say to bring you both to your knees, screaming in agony. Is that understood?" "Yeah, yeah, I get ya," Scotty mumbled. "What? What was that?" Voce put a finger to her exposed right ear. "You wanted more PAIN??" She quickly growled. And once again, Scotty and Lowell screamed and writhed as the internal pain tortured their tattooed bodies once again. Another five minutes passed, and when the pain once again subsided, they both had broken expressions as they looked back up at their latex-clad captor. "Now...I ask you again," Voce calmly remarked. "Is that understood? I prefer a more formal acknowledgement." "Y-yes, Miss Voce," Scotty fearfully acknowledged. "Very good," Voce replied. She then looked to Lowell. "Your turn." "Yes! Yes, Miss Voce," Lowell immediately replied. He, too, sounded afraid. "Now, before we begin your disciplinary actions, I have a question, and I'll expect you both to answer honestly, or I use the 'P' word. Again." Voce began pacing around the two bound and naked men. "Who sent you to shadow the movements of a woman named...Maggie Katzhoff?" The two men glanced at each other warily. This reaction alone made it clear to Voce that they definitely had the answers she was seeking. The silence that followed lasted a little over a minute before Voce stepped up to Lowell, who was now glistening with sweat. "Come on, tough guy. Give up the goods. I know you know something. Or you both do, but I wanna hear it from you." As the latex-clad dominant stared at Lowell, she could tell that the former Marine was very, very hesitant to just come out with it. Judging by the look in the muscular black man's eyes, Voce could tell that there was a definite feeling of fear, and one that he tried...and failed...to keep from showing. Voce smiled. "Five...four...three...two..." "XAVIER!!" Scotty suddenly blurted out. "His name was Xavier." "DAMMIT, MAN!" Lowell roared as he turned his angry head to Scotty. "YOU DONE FUCKED US BOTH NOW, MARINE!!" Scotty, however, kept talking. "He wants revenge for what happened to Sgt. Niehaus! Maggie...Maggie put him in the hospital. Xavier wanted us to..." "Kill her?" Voce guessed aloud. "No, no," Lowell responded. "Xavier just wanted us to report on her movements! We have to check in four times a damn day!" "Give me the times," Voce commanded. The last time bracket Lowell revealed was approximately one hour from the current time. Lowell sighed out fretfully upon surrendering the information he had sworn...until now...to keep to himself. "So if you don't report in," Voce surmised aloud as she covered the eyes of both men with a thick black strip of cloth, effectively blindfolding them. "they assume you're dead, or compromised...and if you're compromised, they'll have you killed. That right?" "Yes, Miss Voce," Scotty answered as Voce went to a duffel bag laying against the wall, a few feet behind the restrained men. From the duffel bag, Voce extracted a pair of syringes. The both of them had a copper-colored liquid inside them. She pulled off the plastic hood covering one of the hypodermic needles, and then stepped back over to Scotty Griggs, who like Lowell Bunton was shaking like a leaf. "Wh-what're y' gonna do, Miss Voce?" Lowell asked. Voce spotted a bulging vein, and she poised the needle over it. "I'm rewarding you." The needle was then pushed into the vein, causing Scotty to gasp aloud. Once the contents of the syringe penetrated the former Marine's bloodstream, she pulled the cover off of the second needle and stepped behind Lowell. "Both of you." Voce then pierced one of the brown-skinned man's visible, bulging veins and pushed the syringe's liquid into him. "Poison..." Scotty whined. "...fuckin' bitch is poisoning us, Low!" "Pffft. You're both fine," Voce amusedly assured. "And if you wanna stay that way, you'll stick around down here for the next few days and keep your voices low. I don't want to have to come down and...you know, use the 'P' word." "Shit," Lowell angrily writhed, fruitlessly, against his bonds. "What did you put in us??" Picking up the duffel bag, Voce calmly went to the only door in the room and unlocked it. With a knowing grin, she turned her head towards the backs of the blindfolded ex-soldiers. "Oh, don't worry. You'll find out soon enough, sweeties." With that, Voce stepped through the open door, and then closed and locked it. She could already hear them fruitlessly protesting and screaming as the latex-covered dominatrix calmly ascended the staircase leading back up to the main floor of her rented, three-floor Barford house. It sucked that she had to feed her captives during their development period, but...she needed some time to herself for a while anyway. * * * In the days that followed the Pink Persuasions party, Shelley and Sandra Portnoy found their respective conditions go from a full day's worth of recurring nausea to a mild cold, the latter of which went away completely by the time they turned in for bed on Sunday night. It was as if their maladies had never happened. As they both went to work, they both figured they'd catch bitter hell from Rita Noble for betraying her word. Shelley knew the debutante had gotten her text in advance, so it wasn't as if Rita didn't know why. Once Shelley stepped into her office, she figured she would see a Post- It, in all caps, from Rita so her boss could angrily vent to the Junior Executive face to face. If there was no Post-It, then Shelley figured the rebuke would come by way of a private office e-mail server message. But there were no Post-Its, and there was no angry e-mail. It was admittedly eerie. Once she had settled in, Shelley stepped outside of her office with her empty coffee mug...which was decorated with the words "Executive Excellence", with the large "E" serving as the first letter for both of the smaller words next to them...and stepped over to the coffee machine to fill it. The coffee machine, however, was near Rita's office, and a light in that room evidenced the debutante's presence. Shelley just played it cool, calmly heading over to fill her mug. The door to Rita's office was open, so she'd be easily able to spot Shelley. The Junior Executive couldn't help but to feel more than a little nervous. With the coffee mug filled, Shelley placed the pot back in the machine... "Shelley...step in here for a moment, please." Shelley's eyes closed regretfully for a moment, after which she calmly went into Rita's office, flashing a cordial smile as she did so. "Good morning, Madame Noble," Shelley began. "How are you feeling?" "No comment," Rita coldly replied. "A man was waiting outside my office when I came in a moment ago. I sent him to you. I need you to find out what he wants. If it is anything related to Vije Nastassje or her business, send him right over to me. If it's anything other than that, have him come back tomorrow." Shelley nodded. "Yes, Madame Noble." She then turned to leave. "Shelley?" Rita's voice stopped the Junior executive before she reached the door. "How are you feeling?" Shelley turned and once again flashed her cordial smile. "I'm totally fine, Madame Noble. So is Sandra." "Mmmm." Rita nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "Must have been food poisoning then." Shelley nodded, maintaining her smile. "That's what we said." "Very well. Go on back to your office, then." Rita smiled back. Shelley walked away surprised that she was more or less let off the hook. There would apparently be no manner of reprisal over missing the Pink Persuasions event. She felt more than a little relieved. Sure enough, a short-haired, well-built man with a curious expression and a slicked-back hairdo lingered outside of Shelley's office as the Junior Executive returned to it. He was about a head taller than her. Shelley took a sip of her coffee as she closed the distance between them. "Did Rita send you here?" she asked. "Yes, she did," he extended a hand. "Martin Gaines. I'm with the Chicago Tribune. I'm doing a piece about Loris International." The Press. Shelley mused to herself. Rita warned me about these vultures. Time to get my game face on. "I'm Shelley Portnoy." Shelley flashed her cordial grin as she shook Martin's hand, and then gestured to the open door of her office. "Step inside and have a seat, Mr. Gaines." "Thank you," Martin replied, following Shelley in. Once they had both settled into their respective seats, Martin pulled out a notepad and opened it up. Shelley had the mouse pointer on her computer screen zip to the top right hand corner of the monitor to quickly minimize programs and hide them from sight, and then opened up a database-browser app that was exclusive to the Sisterhood. "Don't mind me, Mr. Gaines. I am just finishing up some Loris-related work here. I can multitask, so go ahead and ask your questions." The Junior Executive brought up a box offering up a search engine on 'Press Agents', while another search field requested a 'Press Agency'. Martin's name went in the Agents box, while the Chicago Tribune went into the Agency box. If a match was confirmed, it meant Martin was legitimate and there would be little cause for concern. "Before we begin, I know how sensitive Loris executives are these days on the matter of Demetrius and his Trafficking ring, so you can be assured that I won't be making any inquiries about that," Martin began. "I appreciate that, Mr. Gaines," Shelley responded. "That's a chapter of our life that we'd prefer to put behind us." Martin now referred to his notes. "So...Loris International's business interests seem to have a focus on largely female aspects of modern society. Most experts in the economic field seem to indicate that for a business to thrive, they should take a balanced approach to business. Are there any reasons why Loris won't touch masculine interests?" As Martin spoke, a centered black box with a red border, and white lettering, blackened the rest of the screen and offered a message. Martin Gaines has been confirmed to be a cover identity for a United States Government agent. Fortunately, he has been staying at a hotel with recently-installed beds through which we were able to condition his mind as he slept. Consistent use of any and all forms of the following word should divert his tactics and thinking until we can permanently neutralize his masculinity. COMPULSION Make suggestions exploiting feminine fashions and hygiene beyond the first time you say this word, then make sure he is conditioned to remain at the hotel. Advise Rita Noble afterwards. - K. "Uh...Mrs.Portnoy?" Martin waved a hand to try and get the Junior Executive's attention. "Is everything OK?" "Hmm? Oh, yes, yes." Shelley flashed another grin as her attention returned to her visitor. "I'm sorry. It seems I was distracted by my work. One of my little compulsions, I'm afraid." As Shelley uttered the word, Martin suddenly frowned in confusion, seemingly distracted by something. He shook his head vigorously, and then restored his attention to Shelley, smiling cordially. The Junior Executive tilted her head to the side curiously. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Gaines?" She asked, feigning concern. At first, Martin looked a little spooked, but he waved it off in the next moment. "Nothing, nothing at all." "Perhaps...you would like to reschedule?" Shelley suggested. "No, no. No need," Martin quickly answered, smiling. "Are you sure?" Shelley asked, leaning forward. "I figured you had a compulsion to go someplace else. A compulsion to go to the mall, and go shopping for things that would make you look so...womanly." "Well, I...w-womanly?" Martin began to look flustered and confused now. "Don't be...why would I..." "You shouldn't feel ashamed of your compulsions in front of me, dear. We're both women, after all." Shelley narrowed her eyes, her smile becoming a little more malevolent as Martin began to look visibly nervous. "Shouldn't you embrace the compulsion to look more like one? Shave that chest? Shave those pits? Those legs? Get rid of that five o' clock shadow on your face? Don't you feel a compulsion to do all of that?" Every time Shelley uttered the word which was unexpectedly deteriorating his masculine nature and his habits, Martin began to feel a little more dizzy. It was becoming impossible for him to think straight, or even concentrate on reading the words on his notepad. Every time he heard the word, he felt all the more inclined to respond to feminine urges, such as shopping. A visit to the mall suddenly sounded very appealing to Shelley's visitor. Get womanly things. Yes. We're both women here. Such was the onslaught of the conditioning that it was next to impossible for him to manage a more masculine thought. I do need to shave! Yes! Nothing wrong with that. Need to shave my face. And my legs. Shelley was quickly getting drunk on the feeling of this kind of power she unexpectedly had over a man. This totally brings back the time Sandra and I convinced that little shit Timothy that he should be a girl. She thought to herself. He looked sooooo cute in grandma's smelly old vintage dresses. "Tell me something, dear...are you on a deadline with this interview?" Shelley asked. "Or are your compulsions more important?" Martin's male mind tried to re-assert itself before the word was spoken once again, resulting in a moment of confusion. "S-sorry...what?" "I said your compulsions are more important," Shelley responded. "You know...painting your nails...having your hair done...getting a proper french manicure...you've been ignoring all those important compulsions. You need to catch up." Martin's eyes looked lazy now as he stowed away his notepad. A hand went to his head as if he had been hit with a huge migraine. He rose from his seat, shaking a bit. "I...I have to go. Excuse me..." Shelley rose with him and stepped over to the now dazed government agent. "Yes, yes, you do that. You go catch up on your compulsions at the mall, and then you go right back to your hotel room. Come back here tomorrow around lunchtime, and let me see how much better you look after a relaxing day at the salon. Don't forget your shopping compulsions, either." Leading Martin to the elevator, Shelley had spoken the trigger word so many times that the feminine urges the Junior Executive had suggested were locked in. There was no escaping her compulsions by now. Shelley was already very eager to see Martin's changes when he returned. Once the elevator doors closed, she went back to her office to see the additional data that had shown up on her computer screen while she spoke to Martin, a result of the information she had entered into the Sisterhood's search engine. According to the Sisterhood data, Martin Gaines...who would have checked out as a legitimate employee of the Chicago Tribune had she researched through the online database of the Tribune itself...was indeed a government agent. Specifically, a CIA operative named Leland Hall. As per the instructions she was given, Shelley's next stop was Rita's office, where she dutifully explained the whole encounter. She noticed that there was a website for the business Vije Nastassje owned and operated on the debutante's computer screen. Whereas Rita had a somewhat troubled look on her face when Shelley initially came in, her expression softened, and then blossomed into a full, satisfied smile by the time her Junior Executive was done explaining what had happened with agent Hall. Rita leaned forward, her eyes locked on Shelley's. "Well done," the debutante satisfyingly cooed. "Well done, indeed." * * * "Agent Hall has gone dark." CIA Operative Marion Briggs had the grave task of reporting to her boss, Denton Lowenthal, regarding the disappearance of Leland Hall. She could see the color draining from Denton's face once she made her report. "Goddamn it," Denton griped. "I told him...I warned him...that stepping within the Bullchester grounds would be hazardous for a guy like him. I need to make it clear that from now on, Bullchester is totally off limits to male operatives. If they're assigned to the Bullchester case, they need to work outside of its borders!" "You may need to widen the radius if you do that, Director," Marion calmly advised. "Or just pull them out and replace them with genetically female operatives," Denton added. "That may be a hazardous move, too, which is why I have been particularly cautious," Marion noted. "In my own research, there are women who have been dosed and compromised. It's not just about men, sir. It's about anyone who stands in their way. Male, female, even the young." Denton rubbed at his eyes irritably. "I know you're okay, but...everyone else checked in?" "Yes, sir," Marion assured. "All the other agents are just fine. No compromises. We're blending in very carefully. We move in, find out what we can, and then retreat to hotels outside of the city's borders. I should note that two of them, not counting Leland, are men." "Who will be re-assigned as of right now," Denton remarked. "I'll find replacements ASAP." "Uh, Director...one of them is at Bottom of the 9th," Marion reminded. "Didn't you want him there no matter what happens?" At first, Denton looked confused, but it then hit him. "Ohhh, shit, that's right. Ray Mulkey. 'Mr. Headstrong'. Yeah...there's no pulling him out of there, eh?" "I'm sure you remember his words," Marion mused. ""I'd fight them even if they gave me tits and ass'. He'd really despise you if you pulled him out of there, boss." Denton shook his head resolutely. "I should take him out of there anyway." "Might be a bad idea by now, Director," Marion warily noted. "Granted, the Sisterhood hasn't done anything to the place just yet, but...if you pull Ray, suspicions might be raised." Denton sighed. "I just hope he's got the iron will he keeps insisting he has." "According to his psychiatric evaluation, I'd say so, sir," Marion responded. "I think even the Sisterhood would find a stubborn mentality like his a tough nut to crack." The CIA Director raised an eyebrow. "You make him sound like Rambo. He's only human, Marion. Not like he can't ever fuck up." "Well, if you don't mind my being so cruelly blunt, Director..." Marion remarked. "...Ray might not be as sloppy as Leland was." "I certainly hope you, Marion Briggs, are not as sloppy as Leland." The Director leaned forward, keeping his eyes on Marion's. "because I'm having you take over as the alpha of Bullchester operations." Marion sighed, her head dropping a bit. "I was afraid of that." When she raised her head back up, she had a look of determination on her face. "I won't let you down, Director." "Have you heard anything from our, uh, silent partner?" Denton then asked. "Who, as I understand it, is your domme?" Marion smirked. "Nope. Haven't heard from Maggie since last we spoke, although I believe she should be back in Bullchester by now." Denton nodded. "See if you can find her. That's all for now, Marion. Thank you." Nodding once, Marion turned and stepped out of the office, leaving the Director alone in his office once again as his thoughts turned to Leland Hall. I warned you, dammit. I WARNED you. He thought to himself as he opened Leland's file, gazing upon the picture of a good man...a family man, with a wife and two sons well into their adolescence...who Denton had known since going through Military School. Leland was always trim. Always dapper. An ace when it came to Officer's training, and always eager to take risks. He shuddered at the thought of what the Sisterhood might turn him into now that he had been compromised. * * * When Ruth Portnoy arrived in Bullchester with her son, it was her hope that they could start a new life in a neighborhood that had been making headlines over its consistently low crime rate, and its impressive quality of life standards. She did not expect, however, to be caught up in the heavily-veiled conspiracy that was so vigorously kept from the public eye. One minute, Ruth was a woman in her late 50s, recovering from a borderline abusive relationship with her misogynistic husband, Brock, who had died shortly after their divorce. The next, she had been convinced by the Sisterhood's ever-scheming debutantes to receive a makeover at the infamous Butterfly Salon, and that was where everything changed. She was quite literally, as per the Sisterhood's designs...or rather, the designs of her cousin, Celeste Richards...to go from Brock Portnoy's frying pan, to the fire that one Demetrius Konstantinos represented. Konstantinos had secrets of his own, as it turned out, and it nearly compromised the Sisterhood's plans. He had been attempting to establish a Human Trafficking ring within Bullchester, and Celeste was setting Ruth up to become his wife. It was Ruth Portnoy, however, who effectively became a hero when she surrendered herself to federal agents, and provided them with all the help they needed to track down and bring Konstantinos and his Trafficking operation to a permanent end. Several women from around the world who had been captured were freed when the operation was over, and Demetrius himself was dead. Killed in a wild shootout with well-armed federal agents. For her part in the operation, Ruth Portnoy entered into the Witness Protection program, but there was a price to pay. She could no longer see her son, who was still in Bullchester. Through the deceptive and vengeful machinations of Rita Noble, however, Timothy had become a she-male, and then a full woman with the aid of Maggie Katzhoff. Ruth had even been conditioned by the Sisterhood to take Tamara back into her life, but more as her personal maid than as a family relation. Rita had even tried to condition Tamara to accept the crafty debutante as her new mother. Tamara had shared this last bit with Ruth during a phone conversation they had during Tamara's time in Kansas alongside Larry Hanel. This bit was particularly upsetting to Ruth. Her spite for Rita grew significantly, and she was thankful that this damage to Tamara's psyche had been reversed through an intervention engineered by Grace Lees. So as far as Ruth knew, she considered Maggie Katzhoff, Larry Hanel, and Grace Lees, thus far, to be allies. Being forced to stay away from her own offspring, however, was beginning to wear on Ruth's patience. Through the radical sciences of the Sisterhood, she had become much younger in appearance...now looking more like someone in her mid to late 30s...and that was something the federal agents protecting her would be unable to reverse. As a younger woman, she now had a more calculating mind, and she had been building on a plan to be able to escape her forced seclusion. Her private moments were spent working out the best possible times to discreetly slip away and head for a Kansas airport. Ruth didn't know why they wanted to keep her in hiding in the wake of the death of Konstantinos. She figured it might have had something to do with her involvement in Bullchester affairs. They only told her it was a "CIA thing". Ruth realized, however, that if she did manage to successfully escape seclusion, she'd never get it back. She'd be effectively throwing herself to the Sisterhood wolves. There would be no second chances, in the words of the federal agents explaining the terms. This in itself was a sobering thought which typically caused her to doubt her recurring notions of abandoning the Witness Protection program. The agents charged with taking care of Ruth stuck to a routine, which they followed to the letter. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Make sure she honors a curfew, and if she needed to shop, it required that a pair of agents chaperone her. One morning, however, it was unusually quiet in Ruth's room around the time when they expected her to awaken and begin her morning ritual. There were times, however, when Ruth slept later than she usually did, and there was never really an issue with this. Agents listening in would be treated to the sound of soft, peaceful breathing, effectively betraying Ruth's presence behind the closed door of her room. But when the agent assigned to Ruth listened at the door, it was quiet. Far too quiet. Having a copy of a key to her locked door, the agent opened it up so he could check on her... ...and upon looking into the room to check on Ruth's presence, the agent immediately pulled out his smartphone and tapped a contact. "Code Red! Code Red!" the agent urgently exclaimed. "Ruth Portnoy is gone!" * * * Your name is Leigh Krystal. Your mind is female. You are a flirtatious, sassy, and carefree Feetham's dropout. You felt you were too smart for school, and you wanted to make your own way in life. You are a bisexual nymphomaniac who likes dressing colorfully and flirtatiously. You have a habit for exposing your navel at all times. You always keep it clean. You always like to smell nice. Wearing perfume at all times is one of your habits. You are a vegetarian. You crave bigger breasts. You want a large ass. You have always wanted to work at the Mistresses lingerie store. Your every gesture and posture screams femininity. You know who and what you used to be, but this memory will slowly diminish over time. Your memories of your previous life will permanently disappear when Leigh Krystal has sex for the first time. Your best friend is Hayley McKinley. She always gives you the best advice in the world. You never refuse her. You aspire to the life of a 'cougar'. You are a mallrat whenever you have money to spend. You are indebted to the debutantes of Bullchester. Your loyalty to them is absolute, yet you never wish to be a debutante yourself. You prefer a succession of small, part-time jobs to permanent employment unless you can win yourself a job at Mistresses. You want to know everything there is to know about lingerie so you can win that job. You have no memory of your mother and your father. You were adopted by hedonists who abandoned you in Bullchester. You have no wife and no children. You never married. You do not work for the United States Government. You never will. You will never leave Bullchester. It is the only place that you have ever wanted to live in. You are completely submissive by personal preference. Subtle, but powerful machine tones locked this radical, life-altering onslaught of suggestions into the compromised mind of Leland Hall as his body was given succinctly feminine modifications within the dermis machine at the Butterfly Salon. He had been intercepted, during his impromptu shopping trip, by Hayley McKinley who had guided him to storefronts where he had purchased his current outfit. The casual male outfit Leland wore as Martin Gaines had been placed in his shopping bag, as they permitted him to wear the clothes he had purchased when it was time for Leland to go to the Salon. He now wore a brand new lavender blouse, which was partially buttoned. The lower portion of this blouse was tied above the navel. New pink denim jeans now covered his legs, and banana-colored feminine sandals now adorned his bare feet. Paralyzingly nervous over how strange he perceived himself to look in his crossdressed state, it was Hayley who had proposed the means to make himself look better. This was the lure that brought him into the Salon. The application of a DNA-matched tear duct reinforced Hayley's suggestions, making Leland all the more agreeable beyond his initial hesitations. Assigning Hayley to subjugate Leland was a hasty decision on the part of the Sisterhood, of course, as he was a fresh find and he needed to be dealt with quickly. But Hayley...the biological mother of the young man that the Lady Rosemary Dolan used to be...didn't mind at all. She loved hopelessly dissolving a man into femininity, and Leland's visible confusions prior to stepping into the dermis machine were highly amusing for her to witness. When Leland Hall had so nervously entered the dermis machine, there was nothing remotely feminine about his hairy, lightly-toned body. He had slimmed down some from his days in Military School, so there was not much in the way of muscle tone to diminish. His last performance evaluation asserted that Leland had enough of a physical build for him to be able to perform his job as a CIA field agent. Once the secure door of the dermis machine opened at the end of the life-altering process, however, his now totally smooth and hairless body was even slimmer, with evidence of adolescent, feminine curvature at the hips, and his newly-grown B-cup bust. He looked younger, too. By about ten years. The worst part was that, by virtue of his conditioning, he would know who and what he used to be, which would make his discovery all the more shocking. Leland's first instinct was to obviously look down at himself. His mouth hung open in his shock as he gazed upon his now baby-smooth skin, and the small, soft mounds that had replaced his masculine pectorals. He also noticed that the size of his penis had diminished significantly. In fact, it could best be described as tiny, with a small patch of brown hair above it. "All finished, Leigh!" a grinning Donna announced as Leland slowly and nervously sat up. "Told you it wouldn't hurt." "H-hhhow..." He stopped to clear his throat. "...how..." Another attempt to clear his throat. "...how...." He had to give up. There was no way he could make his softened voice sound lower than the feminine pitch he had apparently been given. "...how is it...that..." A hand went to his throat as his eyes widened in his complete disbelief. "Come on, Leigh. You don't want to keep your best friend waiting!" Donna noted as she assisted in the removal of her thoroughly feminized subject from the machine bed. "Ohhh...my...mmmmy friend?" He made the mental leap to a man's face. "Uh-huh!" Donna chirped. "You do know who your friend is, don't you?" "Yes. It's...Daily Muh-Lowley..." Wait, that wasn't the name, was it? His mind struggled. "...no...it's Hayley...no, no..." He lightly slapped the sides of his head in his struggle to remember. "...H-Hayley...? Hayley Kin...McKin..." The name didn't go with the memory of the man's face. How did this man manifest in his mind to begin with? "Yes, yes...Hayley is waiting right outside for you," Donna assured as she guided him over to the dressing room so he could get back into his new clothes. "Don't keep that saucy debutante waiting too long!" Once he was back in the stall Donna put his feminine clothes in, Leland continued to struggle with his own thoughts. "Hayley...that's not his name...that's not a 'he'...Goddess..." He blinked. He meant to say 'God'! "...God-dess..." The full word practically forced itself from his mouth every time he tried. "...Goddess...who is this man??" he whispered fretfully, holding his head. "Hayley...m-maybe she knows...I need..." He began to pull on the pink underwear...the soft bra, and matching panties...he had purchased with Hayley's help. "...I need to see her...Goddess, my voice..." Without even thinking, he had tied the bottom portion of the lavender blouse at a spot above his navel, which his fingers momentarily stroked gently at without even thinking about it. Peripheral vision caught sight of someone next to him in the privacy of the dressing stall...but this turned out to be his own reflection. When he saw what his face now looked like, his eyes once again widened with shock. He saw that his lips looked a little more defined, and his normally short, well-combed hair...which he always had shaved at the sides...was now a full, unkempt mullet. It was still as dark brown as it was when he was a man, but it definitely needed styling. Running a hand through it, it definitely felt soft and smooth. The curvature of his face was visibly very different. Much more effeminate now. The five o' clock shadow he had coming into the mall was now gone, and his brows were a bit thinner. He also saw that he was casually standing in an effeminate posture. One knee was slightly bent. What have they done to me...? Leland's diminished male id lamented. "Hayley..." He pulled on the pink denim jeans. "...gotta talk...to Hayley..." Once his feet went back into the banana-colored sandals, he stepped back out of the dressing room. The smiling, ever-flirtatious face of Hayley McKinley gazed back at him once he stepped out of the stall. Donna, who was also smiling, stood next to her. "Hayley...!" A reflex compelled Leland to rush into her waiting arms, and his feminine arms wrapped her in a soft embrace. "Goddess...I feel so strange! My voice...what's going on?" "Now, now, Leigh dear...it's oooo-kay." The debutante patted the feminized, younger-looking man on the back. "It's all over. Hey...it wasn't that bad, was it?" "But I don't...understand..." Leland lamented. "...I have a man in my head...I'm...trying to figure out...how he got there...who he is..." Hayley pulled back a bit and placed her hands gently on both sides of Leland's head. "Do you know who you are?" Leland frowned. "Yes...I-I'm...Leelee...Lee...Lee...Krystal...?" His dainty hands went to his head as his mind once again struggled. "Leigh Krysthall...Leigh Krystall...Krystal..." Hayley feigned distress. "Leigh Krystal, Leigh Krystal...wherefore art thou Leigh Krystal? Oh, Krystal, Krystal, Krystal!" "Ssstop iiiit!" Leigh whined, giving Hayley a light, girlish slap on her shoulder over her teasing. The debutante couldn't help but giggle over her own mirth. Leigh, however, kept pouting. "Here." Hayley tapped an area beneath her right ear. "Smell it." The scent she breathed in was very, very sweet, and very inviting. It was a scent Leigh wanted to be able to smell like. "Like it?" Hayley asked. Leigh nodded. "Where'd you get it?" "It's not that expensive..." The fingers of Hayley's hands then gently pulled up bunches of her hair in emphasis of her words. "...but your hair looks like shit, Leigh. You should get it styled. I know the perfect look for you. Do you trust me?" "A-always." The word seemed to come out of Leigh's mouth unconsciously. "Then follow me, smarty-pants," Hayley tugged upon Leigh's arm, guiding the former government agent towards the Salon's hair care area. "You should throw in a full manicure while you're at it. Fingers, and toes. Give them a really fruity color. Then we'll see about having you smell like your saucy ol' BFF." When the stylist was finished with her work about an hour later, Leigh's head was buried in a hair drying machine. As Leigh waited, a soft voice was heard as the machine tones once again opened his mind, making it susceptible to suggestions. And once again, the life of the horny, carefree young woman he was doomed to become was much more inescapably reinforced. * * * Getting up in the morning proved to be more of a challenge for Kelly Sherman. A consistent bit of light, but stressed panting accompanied Kelly's daily routine on this particular day, as her body was now distinctly pear-shaped. She now had a larger gut, and wider hips. Such was a consequence of Leonard Hardcastle feeding her a lot of calorie-heavy food...mostly of the fast food variety...over the past few days. She could hear both prototypes discreetly giggling and whispering unflattering statements to each other about Kelly as she vacuumed the rugs. The black and white maid outfit she wore was now very tight on her body, and she worried that it would rip as she worked. As she concentrated on her tasks, she suddenly heard a loud voice directly behind her. "Soooo-EEEEEEE!!" Kelly gasped aloud with the sudden shock of the prototype's unexpected scare tactic. When she turned around, she saw Prototype A hurrying back over to B, giggling cruelly over the larger, resident maid's reaction. Before Kelly could say anything, however, Evangeline Pierson hurried into the room angrily, her eyes on the two feminized maid trainees. "Prototypes, STOP!" She commanded. Their bullying giggling immediately ceased as both feminized males snapped to attention, standing straight up with their feet together, facing Evangeline. Thankful that they were getting another rebuke, Kelly turned away and went back to her work. "Kelly, STOP," Evangeline then commanded. "Stand beside me. NOW." Swallowing hard, Kelly turned off the vacuum cleaner she had been using and stepped meekly over to the domme, posturing herself as she had been instructed to. Hands knitted together at waist level, and standing straight and tall with both feet together. "Prototypes. Stand behind the couch," Evangeline sternly instructed. "Keep your eyes forward." As they complied, Kelly noticed that Evangeline was holding a riding crop in her right hand. What would happen next seemed obvious to the larger maid. Why Evangeline had called Kelly over, however, was what confused the former fraudster. "Prototypes, put your hands on the back edge of the couch and bend over," the tall domme next commanded. "I want to see those pathetic asses of yours sticking out behind you." Both trainees resisted the urge to sigh irritably as they did as they were instructed, pushing out their posteriors as they bent down at the waist. The tall blond woman then turned to the house maid, gazing right into her eyes as she spoke her next command. "Kelly, pull down their panties." Prototype A had the idea, at that moment, to break wind when Kelly pulled down his lavender-colored panties, but he knew that would only make things worse for him. Both prototypes felt a coolness at their crotches as the thin, soft material covering their diminished privates was pulled down, one person at a time. First the lavender panties, and then the banana yellow-colored material Prototype B wore. Stepping back over to Evangeline, and getting into her posture, the taller woman then handed Kelly the black riding crop. "Which one of these two was bothering you just now?" Kelly indicated Prototype A with the riding crop. "That one, Miss Pierson." Evangeline nodded. "Start with A, then, maid. I want you to strike that skinny ass as hard as you can." She turned her head to the prototypes. "If either of you break wind, I promise that you're both going to regret it." Stepping timidly over to Prototype A's exposed posterior, Kelly took a moment, and then glanced to Evangeline. "Do it," the taller woman firmly commanded. Kelly reared back the riding crop, and then gave A's tush as hard a swat as she could. As a lot of her strength was diminished in the treatment she had been given in his feminization, the swat looked barely significant. Evangeline glared at Kelly. "Again. Harder." Prototype A shook his head, apparently disappointed with the effort. Frowning, Kelly summoned up a little more nerve... ...and once again swatted A's butt in a fairly pathetic manner. Evangeline's hands went to her waist. "If you can't properly punish this prototype, I will never again intervene the next time they bully you around. Now tan this bitch's hide with that crop, Kelly. Don't make me show you how to do it!" As Kelly once again turned to A, Evangeline stepped behind her maid and spoke quietly into her ear. "Think of everything you had gone through up to this moment. Think of the people who made you less of a man. Imagine them in front of you right now. They, who had the nerve to make you nothing more than a meek, pathetic little girlyman." Sure enough, a more angry expression was now on Kelly's face as she reared back... ...and inflicted a loud, solid, and vicious-sounding snap upon A's posterior. This finally caused the trainee to let out a grunt. "Hey! That hurt!" Kelly once again snapped the crop against A's buttflesh. Harder this time. The surprised prototype let out a groan from the stinging pain. WHAP! Another cry of pain. Prototype A's eyes squinted shut now. WHAP! WHAP! "COUNT them, A!" Evangeline angrily called out. The next vicious snap caused A's eyes to water. "One..." CRACK! "...Two..." CRACK! "...Th-Three..." "Fucking bitch!" Kelly angrily growled, once again snapping the crop upon A's ass. "...Four..." Kelly then laid down a series of furious strikes upon A's butt in rapid succession, flashing her teeth in anger as she did so. She never gave A the chance to count them. Evangeline just grinned, seeing her thicker maid develop a mean streak. The tall domina eventually had Kelly stop. She then walked over to A, who was panting in exhaustion, and wincing over the white-hot agony at his butt. "I hope you were counting, A," Evangeline calmly asked the brown-skinned maid trainee. "How many strikes was that?" Naturally, A was in such pain that he could hardly recollect how many times his posterior had been hit. Evidence of red welts could be seen upon the brown flesh. "Please, Miss Pierson..." A whimpered. "...he...he hit me so many damn times..." "Twenty-six, Miss Pierson." Evangeline turned to see Walda, looking particularly slutty with her hair hanging down one side of her head, wearing a flesh-colored bra and panties, and a long, gauzy, purple fur-lined robe, and nothing else. The former science aspirant fetchingly laid against one edge of a nearby doorway, grinning provocatively. A slight smile was on Evangeline's lips as she turned back to Prototype A. "And she wasn't...even...watching." She then inflicted a viciously-laid, bare-handed slap to A's butt, causing him to howl girlishly. Tears fell from his eyes as he squinted with the pain, gritting his teeth. The entire time, Prototype B dreaded his turn, which he knew was impending. He hoped that he would be let off with a warning... ...but the stinging swat of a riding crop at his pale ass, which came without warning, dictated otherwise. "One!" B cried out. Kelly once again inflicted a rapid-fire series of painful snaps with the crop. B tried desperately to hold to his concentration through the stinging pain that was exacerbating with every strike. "...ffff-fifffteen..." B managed to report. Kelly raised the crop again, but Evangeline raised her hand and gestured for her maid to lower the black leather fetish implement. Kelly complied. "I hope you have learned your lesson, you simpering sissies," Evangeline scolded. "If I catch you bullying Kelly around, or if I find out you have been bullying her, I will make you both bleed from the welts I give you. Now stand up straight." It was easier for B to obey this command compared to A. He was still wincing from the terrible pain at his posterior as Evangeline stepped in front of her prototypes. "You are one week away from earning your new names," Evangeline reminded. "You had better be on your best behavior during that time, or the names you get will not be flattering, and the mistresses you're assigned to will be advised of your...flaws. Are we clear?" "Yes, Miss Pierson," they both answered in unison, their stressed voices reflecting the pain they were both feeling at their asses. "Hey, fattie!" Walda called out. "You didn't get around to my room yet." "I just need to finish up in the Living Room, Miss Walda," Kelly replied before going right back to work. Prototype B's eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait a minute...how come WALDA isn't being punished?? She called Kelly 'fattie'!" Evangeline smirked, and then glanced to Kelly. The plus-sized maid just shrugged, smiling. "She's a friend. I don't mind." The tall domina's eyes returned to the prototypes. "Get back to your training...and this time, show Kelly a little more respect. Remember...she's the one who gave you those welts." With that, Evangeline disappeared into the kitchen once more. The prototypes looked to each other, still nursing their stinging posteriors, and then their gazes turned to Kelly. When the former fraudster glanced back to them, a slight smile was on her lips. "What? Did you want more punishment?" Without another word, the prototypes resumed their sewing exercises as the vacuum cleaner Kelly was still using whined to life once again. In the kitchen, Evangeline was tapping out notes on her tablet using a Bluetooth-based keyboard. Both the tablet and the keyboard were arranged in the sturdy case in a manner that made it look like a mini-laptop. WordProc was engaged, and Evangeline was updating her evaluation notes regarding Prototypes A and B. Among the notes she made were the following options... Proto A = Dermis Machine(Age Progression), Weight Gain Proto B = Dermis, Behavioral Modification, Victorian(?) * * * In a city like Bullchester, a woman walking around in a latex fetish mask was not the most unusual thing...and even if it wasn't, a woman like the Mistress Voce didn't care. Having fed and secured her two captive spies where she had placed them, she drove over to Dr. Drake's plastic surgery clinic, seeing as how there was someone she needed to visit there. She ignored the people in the clinic, which was across the street from Feetham's, who had looked up in the waiting room to stare at her masked appearance. Stepping right up to the woman at the desk, she flashed a cordial smile. "Good afternoon. Isabel Voce," She then asked about the person she had wanted to visit. It took a moment for the woman to answer when she saw how Voce looked, but she managed a reply. "Oh, uhh...yes. Down that hall, third door on the left." Thin heels clacked upon the floor as the latex-clad mistress made her way to the indicated door, and twisted the knob. She then pushed it open, seeing the person in the room resting on the bed. The room was quiet, and with the exception of the eyes and the mouth, the woman's head was wrapped up in tan-colored bandages. Her head was practically mummified. Steady breathing could be heard at her mouth. After locking the door to the room behind her, Voce smiled as she stepped over to the recovery bed, standing next to it. The eyes of the woman on the bed slowly opened, blinking a couple of times. They then turned to her black-masked visitor, who took one of the patient's hands in her own and affectionately squeezed it. The patient's eyes squinted, as if trying to make out who this person was. Gently putting the patient's hand back down beside her, Voce's hands went to the bottom edge of the latex mask. Pulling it up, the mask...and the long, fake topknot of black hair...slipped off of her sweat-soaked head. The patient's eyes widened when she saw the woman's face. Voce...who had now revealed herself to be Maggie Katzhoff...flashed a giddy grin. "Hi, Tamara." Tamara Portnoy's hand came up to try and touch the raven-haired woman's face, and Maggie rubbed the side of her face against the hand as if she were a cat showing affection for its owner. Maggie quietly, playfully emulated a cat's purr as Tamara gently rubbed at her friend's face. She then wrapped her lips around Tamara's middle finger and began sucking upon it. Tamara's eyes rolled as Maggie pulled away, giggling. Just as Tamara began to try and speak, Maggie quickly put a hand over her mouth. "Don't talk, Tambo. I can't stay very long anyway...but I wanted to let you know that I'm back in town. If anyone asks, you were visited by a woman named Isabel Voce, a domina from outside of Bullchester. Okay? Just nod, or shake your head." Tamara nodded. "Sooo...sculpted cheekbones and a new nose, eh?" Maggie mused, rubbing gently at Tamara's shoulder. "If I knew better, I'd say you actually wanted to be Rita's slut...but I know my Tambo better. It's tactics, isn't it?" Tamara nodded once again. "Yeah. I figured as much." Maggie looked thoughtful now. Mentioning Rita brought a conversation she had with Jemima Poulson to mind. About something Tamara was not aware of. Should I tell her? Maggie wondered to herself. Should I confess? After a long moment of thoughtful silence, Tamara waved a hand to try and get Maggie's attention. She then tilted her heavily-bandaged head to the side in an expression of curiosity. Maggie gazed back at her for a long and quiet moment before she spoke. "Tamara..." She swallowed hard, fearing that a rift would form between them, but felt compelled to tell her anyway, despite the risks. "...there's...something I've been...hesitant...to tell you. Remember when I managed to get you away from Rita Noble the first time she tried to bring you into Rubie's Mall?" Tamara nodded. "Well...when you went back to her, I...I had to let her do what she did to you," Maggie regretfully remarked. "I had to let her feminize you." Tamara's eyes widened, and she whispered a single word, "Why?" Maggie sighed, feeling the sting of Tamara's unexpected, one-word inquiry. "Tactics, Tamara. I knew she'd keep coming after you until she got what she wanted if I did intervene a second time. I'm sure Rita still wants to make a sex toy out of you, and I'm also sure you know by now that debutantes of the Sisterhood...people like Rita...are determined to get what they want. You know I wouldn't let her take you that far though, right?" Tamara nodded slowly. Maggie hung her head shamefully. "I hope you can forgive me, Tamara. I'll...understand if you don't." Tamara stared forward after a moment of thought. She then whispered two words, still staring forward. "I do." Maggie's response surprised even herself. She burst into tears, sobbing quietly. How could she? Maggie wondered as she covered her face with one hand. How could she forgive me for allowing Rita to rob him of his masculinity? Tamara just gazed at Maggie as she sobbed. This was something the former boy did not expect to see at all. She made a mental note to find a way to explain her justifications. For the moment, she kept quiet. The raven-haired Devil of Bullchester rose to her feet and slipped her latex mask back on. "I have to go, Tamara, but...I promise I'll see you again. Then we can...you know...pick up on this." Tamara raised both hands and formed a heart shape with them. Holding back another sobbing fit, Maggie responded with a smile before rising, unlocking the room door, and leaving. On a hunch, the Mistress Voce scanned the doors of the other rooms, looking through their windows. One of the faces she saw sleeping in the beds made her stop. Lingering her gaze on the patient, who had bandages wrapped around an apparently larger chest, was none other than Jemima Poulson. She was fast asleep, though. The movement within her eyelids indicated that Jemima was definitely dreaming. With a slight, thoughtful smile on her face, the latex-clad visitor hurried out of the clinic. * * * "Svegliati." The deep voice was unmistakable, and Jeremy Poulson had not heard it since his adventures in Venice. Yet, when he opened his eyes, there he was. Enrico Ventimiglia, the muscular carabineri with the bushy mustache that he had fallen in love with, and had spent some time with. Time he considered romantic. He had no clothes on at all. His hard, broad-chested body was in the buff as he stared down at Jeremy. Although Jeremy's own skinny, naked body was once again as flat-chested as he was before the semen-infused coffee of Mayoress Stroud had changed him, he couldn't stop staring into the eyes of this larger man, who pulled him out of his bed and into his huge, waiting arms. "H-how did you..." Jeremy stopped to clear his throat. His voice was higher than usual. "...how did..." Another clearing of his throat. His voice remained high. "...how did you...you..." Enrico tenderly rubbed and caressed at Jeremy's curly brown hair. The shoulder-length, drab-colored hair he had before he had gotten his first feminine hairstyle. Jeremy couldn't stop staring back at the strong Italian man. He was breathing shaky breaths as Enrico continued to hold his bare body close. Enrico's lips slowly moved towards Jeremy's. The curly-haired young man felt timid and weak in the arms of the carabineri. The scent of his body made Jeremy very excited despite his hesitation. "Wait...w-what are you...I..." "Baciami," Enrico calmly intoned. The Italian man's lips lightly, and teasingly, brushed at Jeremy's. By now, Enrico's scent was making him light-headed. His eyes narrowed. Jeremy then pressed his lips against Enrico's, moaning passionately. The young man then wrapped his arms around the carabineri, and then wrapped his legs around his waist. Enrico brought his arms beneath Jeremy's posterior, effortlessly lifting him up as they continued kissing deeply. Still carrying Jeremy, Enrico then stepped out of the young man's bedroom at the clinic. Out in the hall, the carabineri pressed Jeremy against a wall as they continued to passionately kiss. Enrico's hands rubbed vigorously at Jeremy's warm butt, while the young man's right hand rubbed at Enrico's hair, and his left rubbed around his bare, strong back. Jeremy's moans were unmistakably feminine. * * * "Mmmmmh...mmmm, Enrico..." the young patient lustily purred. "...baciammmmiiiiii..." "Miss Poulson??" She felt a hand slapping at her cheek, breaking the wonderful nocturnal visions up. "Hello?? Miss Poulson?" Jemima finally blinked her eyes as she writhed, "...uuuhhh...h-huh? Wha...?" Dr. Parker Drake smirked. "You were dreaming, Miss Poulson. Must have been one hell of a dream, too. Good thing your stitches are healed up, or you would have torn some skin tissue." The memories finally came back to him. Maggie Katzhoff scheduling work with Parker Drake, and going to the clinic to have the actual sex change work done. The raven-haired woman managed to convince Julia Stroud's former secretary that abandoning his birth gender would be not only a wise, but an advantageous move for him given his current circumstances. "Can I...move around?" Jemima asked. "Once the bandages are off, which is why I'm here, dear," the Doctor replied, presenting a pair of scissors as she spoke. "I just need you to hold still." Jemima nodded, slipping off the hospital bed and getting to her feet. The former boy was quiet and thoughtful as Dr. Drake began snipping through the tan-colored bandages. A couple of hours later, Dr. Drake had the new Jemima Poulson stand in front of a full-length mirror. Jemima's gaze lingered for a long and studious moment on her own reflection, gazing upon the firm roundness of his breasts, and the neatly-trimmed scrotal hair that was above the moist folds of her brand new vagina. A devious smile began to form on the former secretary's lips. She couldn't wait to show off the new Jemima Poulson. She couldn't wait to flaunt her sexuality, either. XIV: Condemnations Shelley Portnoy kept things routine as she settled into her office and got right to work. Ever since the episode of the previous day with the reporter Rita wanted her to deal with, things were relatively quiet. There were no e-mails in her Inbox after she had powered up, and logged into, her office computer and she had a few assignments to divvy out to her subordinates, among them her own sister, Sandra. The Junior Executive reminisced on the unexpected fun she had in diverting the nosy reporter. All it took was a single word. Compulsion. It seemed like a different person was speaking as she kept repeating the word in her responses. The praise she had been given by Rita herself felt good. Shelley wondered if anything more would come of her 'good deed'. The clack of a pair of heels outside of her office got louder as Shelley worked. She figured it was Louise Basinger voguing once again for her co-workers. She had been a habitual big spender, and for the successful commissions she had been amassing, Louise never resisted the chance to flaunt her excessive fortune. Shelley figured she was going to be subjected to Louise's typically endless stream of mind-numbing gossip. The Junior Executive's typical way of dealing with it was to just listen, nod, and the occasional 'yeah'. But it wasn't Louise who calmly stepped over to gently tap on the clear glass of the door to Shelley's office with a long, pink-painted, French- cut fingernail. Shelley instead saw a slim young woman with a boyish hairstyle...parted to one side, and short...with a bit of her light brown hair curled inward just above her eyebrows. Below her thin eyebrows could be seen banana yellow eyeshadow, and the same color could be seen at the ends of her long eyelashes. Evidence of pink blush could be seen at her pale cheeks, and her lips had been painted over with a sweet shade of pink. Small gem studs sparkled at her earlobes. An off-the-shoulder dress of pure lavender hugged her slim body, ending at her knees, and covering her legs was a pair of pink polka-dotted white stockings leading down to medium-heeled, banana yellow-colored shoes. "Can I help you?" Shelley asked as she stared at her visitor's overall appearance, which gave off a strong, but pleasingly sweet perfume scent. "Good morning, Miss Portnoy," the oddly familiar-looking young woman replied. "You told me, yesterday, to come back?" The Junior Executive initially frowned...but then, her eyes went as wide as saucers when she realized who this person really was. She had only yesterday called himself Martin Gaines. He was the visiting Press agent for the Chicago Tribune that Rita wanted Shelley to divert, only to find that the name he used was an alias for a nosy, unwise government agent that she later discovered was with the CIA. The agent's name was Leland Hall, and he was certainly a lot more manly in overall appearance compared to the colorfully feminine sweetie...holding the strap of a peach-colored pocketbook in front of her, with both of her now slender hands...that patiently stood at her door now. "Yes," Shelley finally replied as she rose to her feet. "Come in, dear." The young woman moved into the room with mincing steps as the suit-clad Junior Executive scanned her look once again. "Wow...very nice. You must have had quite a shopping trip yesterday, Miss...what was your name again?" "My name is Leigh Krystal," the visitor calmly answered. The difference between the high, whispery voice of this woman and the lower-pitch tones spoken by Martin Gaines/Leland Hall was definitely a case of apples and oranges. Shelley was entirely amazed over how thoroughly this man had been transformed over the course of a mere 24 hours. "Do you like how I look, Miss Portnoy?" Leigh asked as she slowly pirouetted. "I had a lot of advice from Hayley as I was shopping." Shelley frowned in confusion. "Hayley?" "Hayley McKinley," Leigh replied. "She's my..." She cutely giggled over a private thought. "...she's my BFF." The lavender dress hugging Leigh's body revealed the soft swell of a pair of B-cup breasts, and she had a pert posterior to go with her unmistakably feminine frame, and the posturing that went with it. She looked less like a CIA grunt, and more like a pixie. "Amazing," Shelley remarked upon finishing her visual appraisal. "Just amazing." "I know I am, but what are you?" A new, more familiar voice was at the door now as a very provocatively- dressed Rita Noble flashed a full grin, standing there in a posture of her own, clearly flaunting her status and appearance as a Bullchester debutante. "Good morning, Madame Noble," Shelley cordially remarked. "Good morning, Shelley, dear." Rita then turned her gaze to Leigh. "Who's your new friend? He looks..." One of the debutante's hands traced around the young woman's very sweet-looking face. "...oddly familiar." "My name is Leigh Krystal," the visitor replied. "Nice to meet you, Madame Noble. Hayley talked about you yesterday at the Mall." "Mmmm. You're certainly showing off your ancestral DNA, dear," Rita cooed as her hands rubbed at the swells on her chest. "Seems the women of the Hall lineage are...generously endowed." Leigh just blushed, now looking a bit bashful. "I guess." "So listen, girl..." Rita kept a hand on Leigh's shoulder as she spoke. "...are you looking for work?" She then gestured to Shelley with the other hand. "My Senior Executive here will need a new secretary once she moves into her new office." Shelley's eyes widened in her surprise at these words. Rita gave Shelley a quick glance, and a wink, before bringing her gaze back to Leigh. Leigh also looked a little surprised, but she also looked a bit nervous as a hand went up to nervously twirl at a lock of her hair. "I...I never really...thought about it..." "Don't fret, dear girl," Rita purred, stepping behind the former CIA agent. "She won't be moving into the new office until next week. The both of you also need to be educated in your new responsibilities. More you than her, though, seeing as how Shelley will be a part of my Executive Board once orientation is done. Come back tomorrow, third floor, Room 15A. It's where we show the training video for all of our new secretaries. You officially start working on Monday morning." "But..." Leigh nervously admitted. "...I was...really hoping to work someplace else, Madame Noble. That...new lingerie store in town." "Really? Mistresses?" Rita's eyes widened as she slowly paced around to thoughtfully stand directly in front of Leigh. "Oh, but you'll need some job experience under your belt before you consider that kind of work, sweetie. Just stay with us for a little while. Give the secretary's life a try. Let Shelley be your guide. You might surprise yourself. Hayley might even agree with me." "Well...I still wanna work at Mistresses, but...I guess you're right about the job experience thing," Leigh responded. "Okay." "Maybe you could earn enough money to get yourself the kind of body those sexy women over there has," Rita suggested, rubbing an index finger beneath the lower swell of Leigh's right breast teasingly. "You already have promising foundations." Shelley stepped behind Leigh and wrapped her arms around the she-male's waist. "Don't you feel a compulsion to work for me, Leigh?" The former agent's eyes rapidly blinked as the trigger phrase was once again spoken. Leigh now found the prospect of working for Shelley more agreeable. "Y-yes, I do." "Don't you feel a compulsion to do whatever Rita and I tell you to do?" Shelley then asked. Leigh nodded, staring forward as a very amused Rita Noble pushed a lock of hair out of the former man's eyes. "Yes, I do." "Good," Shelley cooed, still holding Leigh as she grinned. "Because I know you and I will work very well together...and don't forget that compulsion you have to say 'yes, Miss' when I tell you to do something for me, and when Rita Noble tells you to do something for her, you say 'yes, Madame Noble', because that would make me very happy." "Yes, Miss," Leigh calmly replied. Rita pressed herself against the former agent as she stared right into her eyes. "Good girl," She then rubbed a hand between Leigh's legs, feeling a diminished, tiny organ there as the debutante alluringly purred. "That's all you'll ever be from now on, you silly little sissy." "Yes, Madame Noble," Leigh replied. Shelley spoke right into Leigh's ear. "Mmmm, you have such a strong compulsion to be a sweet-smelling sissy girl at all times. Morning, noon, and night." Leigh's eyes blinked a few times. "Yes, Miss." "Go and fetch us both some coffee, sissy girl," Rita cooed. "Ask one of the office girls to show you where the coffee brewer is." "Yes, Madame Noble." And off Leigh went, dutifully stepping out of the office to comply with the debutante's request. Shelley looked to her boss. "Did you...mean what you said? I mean, about me being..." "Of course I did, Shelley dear," Rita interjected, smiling. "You will have a seat available to you for our Executive meetings, which are once a week unless circumstances require the need for an emergency meeting. Once you've finished orientation as a Senior Executive, we can talk about giving your sister less menial work." Shelley found it difficult to contain her excitement, but she maintained her calm demeanor. "Thank you for this, Madame Noble. I promise, I won't let you down." Rita nodded, smiling. "Our next meeting is next week. We'll be talking about the pros and the cons of a merger with Karelian Cosmetics." "Karelian Cosmetics?" Shelley frowned. "That's...the business that belongs to Vije Nastassje, right?" Rita nodded once again. "Correct." This made Shelley justifiably curious. She knew Karelian Cosmetics was a potent business force in European countries. Their only connection, up until now, was as a supplier of the mysterious skin treatment that made it look like a plastic sheen. Now, however, the word 'merger' was dropped, and merging Loris with Karelian had all the potential in the world to make the dominant faction stronger than ever. But Shelley had to wonder which side would become dominant. Rita's Loris entity, or Vije's Karelian juggernaut? * * * "Jemima...Poulson," Larry Hanel wrote the name down on the Post-It as he sat at his Bullchester office desk, glancing at a newly-placed picture of Gwynn Welsh, taken at a coin-operated photo booth. "Got it, sport. I'll be expectin' you on th' date we agreed on then. You rest up fer now...an' be pr'pared t' work if I find yer standards good enough t' put you on th' payroll! Have a mighty fine day now, sport!" Larry closed the connection on his smartphone and stowed the device away as he stared down at the name of the job applicant. A part of him still regretted letting Tamara go, but he was at least happy that the necessity didn't affect their friendship. Being without a secretary made Larry's working life a little more hectic. He would have picked out an interview date much sooner than the one he needed to agree on since Jemima was apparently in recovery following some intense...and apparently necessary...plastic surgery at Parker Drake's clinic. Grabbing his coffee mug, he rose from his seat...but a knock on his office door intruded on his initiative. The last he checked the monitor showing the image on the outer lobby's security camera, the lobby was empty, so he figured this was a fresh, unannounced and unscheduled visitor. "Who goes there?" Larry called out. An alluring female voice answered. "May I come in, Mr. Hanel? I was sent by the Sisterhood." Suspicious, Larry went to the monitor. The woman at the door had long red hair, and looked attractively shapely in figure. As she was facing the door, he couldn't see her face at all. Larry settled the coffee mug back down, and lowered his butt back into the seat. "Come on in, then." Stepping into the office was a provocatively-dressed, red-haired woman showing off the impressive twin valleys of her cleavage. She flashed a pleasant smile once she closed the door behind her. She stepped towards a seat near the desk and settled herself into it. Larry picked up on a strangely alluring scent as the attractive woman settled in. He felt a need to get closer, somehow. Perhaps rise from his seat and go in front of the desk to sit upon it, just to see if the captivating scent was stronger. Maintaining his composure, he remained where he was despite the gradually-building temptation. "So...uh..." Larry began as Barbara leaned forward. "...how...can I help you t'day, Miss...?" "Walsh," The woman replied. "Barbara Walsh. Call me 'Miss Walsh' though. Personal preference. I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Hanel. You are an exceptionally talented attorney. We hold you in very high regard...although I understand that you're awaiting news of a trial that you have been wanting to prosecute?" Larry's eyes switched between Barbara's face, and her cleavage, as he listened. It suddenly occurred to him, by the sudden silence, that a question had been asked. "Huh? Sorry, darlin'...cases, on...on m' mind." "Buford James Thornhill," Barbara responded. "The drunken Kansas redneck who killed your wife in Abilene. We have him, Mr. Hanel, and we're ready to give him to you," She pulled out a handful of files from a large bag that hung from her right shoulder. "This is everything we have on him," She rose up from her seat and placed the fat file on his desk. She noticed Larry shift his body forward as Barbara got closer. When she retreated back to her seat after handing off the file, an amused smile was on her lips. He wanted to be able to go through the file, as it likely contained all the dirt Larry would need to put Buford away, but he found it hard to concentrate given the scent that he was trying to fight off. The urge just kept redoubling itself. After skimming through some of the files, he looked back up to Barbara. "Well?" She tilted her head to the side. "Aren't you going to offer me something to drink, Larry?" "Huh? OH...oh, yes, Miss Walsh!" Larry chuckled nervously as he rose up to head over to his office's coffee machine. "I'm so used t' havin' a secretary take care o' these things. I'm b'tween secretaries right now, as y' can see..." "So you would rather have someone other than you tend to the work you yourself can do for your clients to make them feel more comfortable?" Barbara asked. "Shameful. I don't think it would take away from your work too much to personally bring a drink to your clients. You shouldn't have your secretary do it. That's demeaning." Larry chuckled again as he poured coffee into the empty mug. "Yes, yes, of course," There was a bit of excitement on his face as he brought the black coffee to... "Cream, please," Barbara suddenly requested. Stopping in his tracks, a bit of the coffee spilled on the ground. He then turned around and went back to the coffee maker, pouring a bit of milk into the cup. "Did y' want sugar with that, Miss Walsh?" Barbara smiled. "No, thank you. Bring it here, please...and don't spill it this time." Capably responding to Barbara's requests made him feel oddly pleased by now. His head felt a bit funny, but he tried to ignore it as he carefully brought Barbara's coffee mug over to her. "Good. Very good. Thank you." She then pointed to the coffee spill. "Now be a good boy and clean that up. You shouldn't leave stains like that in an office this nice." "Oh, right. Of course, Miss Walsh," He turned to grab some wet cleaning napkins from a plastic container near the coffee machine. "Darn clumsy o' me..." he muttered as he lowered to a knee and cleaned up the spill. The perk was that he was able to get a better noseful of the scent Barbara was giving off. It made him feel like he wanted to surrender the whole office over to the red-haired, busty woman sitting in front of his kneeling form, and tend to her needs, if she would let him. I know the Sisterhood warned me that I shouldn't mess with him, Barbara thought to herself. but I can't help it. This is too delicious an opportunity to pass up, and I refuse to be nothing more than a messenger. Let's see how far I can take this before I can convince him to wear panties for me, at the very least. "Good boy. Very good boy. The Sisterhood tells me you're a very good boy," Barbara cooed as she slipped a stockinged foot out of one of her heeled shoes and rose the foot up in front of Larry's face. "You may kiss my big toe." Larry was at an impasse, at this point. Between answering to the whims of this gorgeous woman, and resisting such a seriously unprofessional request. He began to frown. "I said, kiss my big toe, Laurie." Barbara's voice sounded a little more firm now. By now, Barbara's pheromones had affected Larry to the point where he could hardly refuse this woman. His frown softened to a more obedient expression, and his lips puckered. They then, affectionately, touched upon Barbara's big toe... ...but Barbara pushed the large digit between his lips. "Suck on it, Laurie. Show me how much you appreciate what we're doing for you." Larry's hesitation lasted half a second before he acknowledged Barbara's request, sucking on Barbara's toe lovingly as the Midwife watched. "Mmmm, nice. Very nice." She leaned forward to rub at Larry's hair. "You have a lot of powerful friends in Bullchester, Larry. Remember this...but we're also your betters, too. We can't have you taking advantage of us. You need to be reminded of your place in this city, despite your being a decent man. I think you could be an even better woman, but...I won't indulge such a notion," Pulling the toe out of his mouth, she lifted his head up to meet her gaze, placing a finger beneath his chin. "Unless...you want me to." Larry just stared back at Barbara, fully lost in the allure of her pheromones. "You want me to," she softly repeated. "You want me to...don't you...Laurie? Doesn't that sound like a much nicer name?" Larry swallowed hard. His cock was getting stiff now. "Y-yes, Miss Walsh." Barbara closed the distance between her head and Larry's...and then softly rubbed the moist tip of her tongue up from the bottom of Larry's shaved chin, across his lips, and to the tip of his nose before bringing her lips to Larry's left ear. "You want me to," Barbara tenderly whispered. She then moved her head to whisper in her right ear. "You want me to." The midwife then pressed her forehead against Larry's, still speaking in an alluring tone. "Now you behave yourself, and do your homework, like a good girl. Study that file we gave you. Memorize every little detail. Be ready for your trial so we can help you avenge your wife's death. Then...if you want me to...you can call for me to come back to you. Until then, all I did was give you this file, and then I left. You will not remember anything else. If it comes back to me, I will deny it, and I will make you regret betraying me." Barbara then planted a deep kiss upon Larry's lips, lingering the smooch for about three minutes before she pulled away. "Can I count on you to keep our little secret, Laurie dear?" "Yes, Miss Walsh." The crafty midwife rose to her feet, keeping her eyes on Larry. "You want me to," She softly spoke as she slowly walked to the office door. "You want me to," She repeated. And then, she disappeared behind the door, closing it behind her. It took a good five long minutes before Larry began to recover from the effect of Barbara's pheromones. When he realized he was still on his knees, he shook his head vigorously to try and break the spell a little further as he got back to his feet. He slowly, regretfully, walked back over to his desk seat, and took a deep breath, hoping to recover further from the unexpected effect Barbara Walsh had on him. Damn those Sisterhood witches... Larry griped to himself. ...I suppose it was only a matter of time before I'd get screwed over...by... His chain of thought was interrupted by a need to study up on the file he had been given. Opening up the file, he began examining its contents as thoroughly as possible. He was somehow determined to memorize every little detail. * * * As the bandage wrappings still gave her access to her mouth, her eyes, and her ears, Tamara was able to see, hear, and more importantly, eat and drink. Dr. Drake had recommended, however, that Tamara refrain from doing too much talking during the recovery time, as the new nose needed a little more time to heal and settle in. If she did need to speak, it would logically come out sounding like she had a cold bad enough to block her nasal passages. Aside from the impromptu visit by Maggie Katzhoff, she didn't have any other visitors aside from the nurse who had provided her daily meals, but that was about to change. Opening the door, shortly after Tamara had finished her breakfast, was a beautifully blond woman who turned out to be another considerably important person in her life. One whose advice the plus-sized woman had been conditioned to trust. "Good morning, Tamara dear," Grace Lees cordially remarked as she closed the room door behind her. "How are you feeling?" Tamara waved two fingers over her closed mouth, and shook her head. "Hm? Oh, right. You can't speak too much." She tapped her nose, grinning as she approached the bed. "Nasal thing. That's OK. Aside from the bandages, you're looking pretty good to me." The blond woman pulled a chair out so she could sit up close to Tamara's recovery bed, and she then settled into it. "So I heard the Pink Persuasions party became...a little more special than you thought, eh? Elizabeth can't stop talking about how wonderful that night turned out to be for her once she met you." At the mention of Elizabeth, Tamara turned her head to Grace, looking a little alarmed. Grace giggled over this reaction. "Relax, Tamara. I didn't come here to tell you to stay away from her. Far from it. In fact, the two of you do have some things in common. Did she tell you who she used to be?" Tamara nodded. "She did? Interesting. She usually doesn't open her past up to strangers that easily," Grace mused. "Eddie was just coming back from going to school when he saw that his parents were, well, different. I'll never forget the way he looked when he stepped out of that car with Ivan. Long blond hair, pert little breasts...he turned that she-male into a quivering pile of lust that night. I'm happy her life turned around the way it did. I thought I'd never see her again after she moved out of the country." "Why?" Tamara whispered, knowing that the word would not get in the way of her healing nose. Grace tilted her head. "You mean...why did I do it?" Tamara nodded. "The whims and the urges of a younger me, I guess," Grace answered. "By his own admission years later, Eddie was a layabout. The kind of kid who would have taken advantage of his family's charity. After what we had done to his mother and father, you would think that he would have tried to get out of his situation and get help from outside of Bullchester. Hey...I had to do something with him. It was...business." Tamara sighed, nodding in acknowledgement. Grace thoughtfully kept her eyes on Tamara's. "You know...it's your face that's healing, not your body. Sit at the side of your bed." After a moment, Tamara slowly swung her legs to the side of the bed and maneuvered herself to a sitting position. Grace modified her own positioning to sit directly in front of the plus-sized secretary. Once they had both settled, Grace smiled. "Hi." Tamara offered a slight smile in response. "I'm happy for you both, Tamara," Grace then admitted. "You have my blessings if these feelings you have for each other are more than just...platonic." She kept staring at Tamara as she leaned forward. "In a way, you owe me for this. I brought her to that party as my guest. That's why she was in pink. Elizabeth was my 'submissive', so to speak. Just like you were, Timothy Portnoy." Tamara lowered her head a bit. "You had me thinking about what I could have done with you if Rita hadn't gotten to you first," Grace thoughtfully remarked. "Maybe...a maid, to care for Lees Mansion. A sweet, timid, precious little maid. Perky little B-cups. Maybe a head of short blond hair. Golden blond, like mine. Maybe make you...a little smaller than me, so you'd always be reminded of your place." Grace reached over to gently grab one of Tamara's hands, slowly rubbing it. "An image like that seems to fit the true you, little maid. You like being submissive. Don't deny it. It gives you a thrill to have women like me tell you what to do." Tamara felt a mild buzz in her mind, but the feeling wasn't as strong as it was when Julia Stroud used her gifts on the former boy. Still, the words Grace spoke held their own natural allure as Tamara stared back at the former newlywed. "You know what the compelling part is, little maid?" Grace continued, speaking gently. "I can still make that happen. Shrink your height down a little until I'm naturally taller than you, keep you all pudgy and cute, but...more delicate. Frail, in mind. Dutiful. Comfortable in the knowledge that I always know what's best for you. Does that excite you, little Tammy?" Tamara just stared back at her blond visitor, not saying a word. Grace's peripheral vision caught sight of a nearby pitcher of water, with an empty, untouched and clean glass next to it. It was less than a foot away from Grace and Tamara. She gave it a glance after smirking over Tamara's silence. "I'm thirsty, maid," Grace remarked. "Pour me a glass of water." Tamara reached over to the pitcher and poured the water inside it into the glass. She then picked up the full glass and carefully handed it to Grace. "Hold the pitcher, maid," Grace then instructed. "I may want a refill." Tamara complied as Grace drank down a quarter of the water in the glass. "I should take you anyway," Grace mused. "Getting into the Fertility Clinic wasn't easy. Pretending to be a mere nurse there was even more difficult...and then, you ask me to keep the Sisterhood from brainwashing you on your first visit to the Butterfly Salon. All these little favors that you have yet to repay me for. You're lucky I'm a patient little bitch, maid." After drinking more of the water, Grace held the half-full water glass out towards Tamara, who filled it near the edge once again. "You know...if you surrendered yourself to me right now, if you let me change you the way I described, I'd consider all of your debts to me settled," Grace remarked, drinking down half of the water in the glass. "I wouldn't even need to condition you, seeing as how it's already clear that I know what's best for you, little maid." As she spoke, Grace reached over to grab the complimentary straw that was on the same tray as the water pitcher and the glass. She opened its plastic covering and then submerged one end into the glass. She then held it out to Tamara once again so that the plus-sized secretary could refill it, which she did. "Are you thirsty, Tammy dear?" Grace asked. "You look thirsty. Or your mouth is dry. You need a drink." She held up the full glass. "Too bad this is mine. There's only one way I'll let you drink from it." Tamara rose to her feet...and as Grace pushed her seat away from the bed to give the former boy the space he needed, Tamara lowered to her knees, keeping her eyes on Grace's. Grace grinned as she gazed down at her. "Good girl. Get back on the bed." As Tamara did so, restoring her previous sitting position, Grace moved back in, closer, to the plus-sized patient. Grace then brought the glass up close enough for Tamara to place the end of the straw into her lips, and she drew a bit of the water into her mouth. The blond Madame then pulled the straw out of Tamara's lips and placed the quarter-full glass back on the tray beside the bed. She then gently pushed Tamara further onto the bed until she was laying across it, and then climbed on top of her, resting her full body weight against the surprised former boy. Grace's face was very close to Tamara's bandaged head as she spoke softly. "You and I are alike too, you know," Grace purred. "I used to be a man, too...but over time, I became a very powerful woman, and a very beautiful one, too," The Madame tilted her head to the side. "Don't I look attractive to you, little maid?" After a moment, Tamara nodded her head. "Ooooh..." Grace looked wary now. "...I hope you're not just saying that because I'm helping you. That would be a very dangerous and naughty thing for you to do, maid. I don't like being lied to." From the solemn look in Tamara's eyes, however, Grace could tell that the plus-sized woman's answer was genuine. Grace frowned in her confusion. "You really mean it?" she softly asked. Once again, Tamara nodded her head. She then brought a hand up and tapped at the side of her chest where her heart was. "That's why," Tamara whispered. Once again, Grace frowned. "Hm? You think I have a heart?? Noooo, Tammy...Melissa Cresswell took that from me when she ruined my life. Don't forget...it's because of me that Edward Wilson became Elizabeth Zambrano, silly maid." "Who were you?" Tamara gently whispered. A long and thoughtful moment followed, during which Grace slowly rubbed a hand over Tamara's shoulder. She then slid the hand across the former boy's arm towards Tamara's hand, which she picked up. She slowly slid her fingers around Tamara's own digits before clasping it comfortably. "Graham," The former groom finally revealed. "But...he's gone now. I...I've grown to like what I've become too much, Tammy. Just as I suspect you have. If you knew the kinds of shit I've been through..." Tamara slowly raised a hand and began rubbing it against the side of Grace's face, stopping the Madame from speaking. The hand felt warm against Grace's cheek as Tammy rubbed it up and down. She then brought up her other hand to rub against the other side of the Madame's face. The entire time, Tamara stared directly into Grace's eyes, wondering what the former man was thinking. She looked a little shocked. Tamara began to pull her hands away...but Grace quickly grabbed both of the former boy's wrists. "No," Grace remarked. "Keep doing that." Masking her confusion, Tamara continued rubbing gently at the sides of her face as Grace closed her eyes and breathed gently. The former boy couldn't help but wonder what this crafty Madame was thinking in this moment. Grace's hands reached up to undo a clasp holding her hair in her updo, letting her golden locks of blond hair spill down. "Run your fingers...through my lovely golden hair." Grace angled her head back as she felt Tamara's warm fingers dig through the volumes of her hair. The strands felt silky smooth to the touch. Grace's eyes were half-lidded as Tamara continued to gently caress the head of the former man. Memories of his time as Graham came back to him. In their tender moments alone in bed, he had done the very same thing with his wife. He had buried his fingers through her hair, and ran the digits through the silken strands. He had rubbed his hands softly over the sides of her face. Now, it was as if Grace had become Graham's wife. Back then, he had wondered how what he was doing felt for her. Thanks to Tamara, she now knew how stimulating the feelings were. The thoughts were so welcome, Grace was tempted to shed tears over her unspoken observations. But they never manifested. Grace then took one of Tamara's wrists and gently planted kisses upon the back of the hand. She then laid it back down beside the plus-sized secretary. The Madame then placed her hands on Tamara's chest, staring right into her eyes. "When you get out of here," she remarked. "I want you to come to me..." She then tapped Tamara's lips. "...and give me a proper kiss." Grace then slipped off of Tamara and got back to her feet, straightening out her dress. Her tone was all business now. "Buford James Thornhill is gonna have his ass handed to him tomorrow night when he stands trial. That's the man who killed Larry Hanel's wife. We're having Larry prosecute him with enough ammunition to seal his conviction. More like a show trial, I know, but...I think we're both in agreement with Larry that Buford deserves the worst kind of punishment that the Sisterhood can give him. They'll probably feed his ass to the Farm. Goddess only knows what's gonna happen to him in there." Her expression turned authoritative as she stepped up to the bed once again, pointing down at Tamara with an index finger. "You will come to me when you get out of here, little maid," she firmly instructed. "And you will give me what I asked of you." With her head held high, Grace turned towards the door to Tamara's room and disappeared on the other side of it. Yes, Madame Grace. Tamara thought to herself. * * * Constance had his hair gathered in a ponytail when he came home from Feetham's. He wore a light purple turtleneck sweater to go with the tight, fashionably-ripped blue jeans on his legs. A pair of black flats covered his stockings-clad feet. Moving into the Living Room, he saw Agatha seated in the couch calmly sipping from a cup of tea. When she spotted the feminized young man, Agatha placed the cup down on the saucer which was on the coffee table in front of her. "Good afternoon, Constance." Agatha leaned back into the couch as she spoke. "How was school?" Constance shrugged. "Okay, I guess." Agatha nodded. "Aaaand...how was your date with Brad?" The feminized young man sighed. "All we did was talk. We went into the par-r-rk, and I r-r-really wanted him to kiss me, but...he didn?t." This brought Agatha to her feet. "You really should have been more aggressive with him. Isn?t he your best friend?" "Yes! But..." Constance fidgeted a bit. "...I don?t think he likes me like...ummm...like that." Agatha stepped over to him. "Like what?" "Well...you know..." The feminized young man shrugged again, smiling meekly. "...kissing...bed...that kind of thing. I guess he likes what I...what I used to look like." The Queen bee of the Sisterhood shook her head regretfully. "Did he think you were attractive, at least?" "Well...he couldn?t stop star-r-ring at me," Constance answered, twirling a loose lock of his hair nervously. "And yet, he didn?t want to kiss you," Agatha remarked, placing a hand on his baby-smooth cheek. "With guys like him, you need to be all the more seductive, Constance. You need to flaunt the sexiest dresses that hug your body like a glove. You want to become the most desired of women in the eyes of men." "B-but I..." His thoughts had become a jumbled, pliable mess as he spoke. "...I-I?m a..." "You are a woman, Constance James." Agatha placed her other hand on the feminized young man?s other cheek, staring directly into his eyes as she cooed to him. "You are a woman...with something extra, and you have no shame in flaunting that. Your mind is always going to be female. Your every move, your every word, your every curve-hugging dress, seethes with femininity. When you want a man, you never give up on him, and right now, you have your filthy little mind set on taking Brad Rollins, even if you have to chew him up and spit him out. When he is not around, wherever you walk and wherever you go, you will be confident that every man, young and old, desires you...and if they don?t desire you, you will make them desire you in whatever manner your passionate, dirty female mind sees fit, because you are a man-eater. If they are not Brad Rollins, you chew them up, and you spit...them...out." Constance?s eyes narrowed as his mouth hung open as Agatha spoke. "W- woman...fffemale..." "You never walk, Constance. You slink," The crafty Madame instructed. "Always slinking around, like the perfect femme fatale. Always wearing your hair, and your makeup, in the most attractive and sexy styles possible. You always look a little different every single day, and always with a need to draw in men. You want them to worship the ground you stand on, no matter where you go. Go with it, Constance James. Go with it. You are a woman. Your mind is female. Go with it." Cosntance kept her eyes fixed on Agatha as she stared at her. "Goooo with iiiiit...." she softly whispered. "Fix yourself up, then come back down to the kitchen." Agatha then slid her hands off of Constance?s face. Blinking rapidly, Constance shook her head. She then looked to Agatha. "I...I have to go...powder-r-r my nose." Agatha nodded. "You do that. I?ll see you in the kitchen." As the former son of an Army officer disappeared to the upper level of the household, Agatha casually stepped into the kitchen with a slight smile as her eyes found Connor?s father, who looked far less aggressive now. And not just in terms of his somewhat frightened expression. Agatha?s conditioning of Samuel James had forced him to adopt a more feminine and vegetarian diet. His first attempt to defy this conditioning resulted in painful stomach cramps and nausea. As a result, his normally chiseled body had begun to soften. The tear duct Agatha had administered had also gone to work on his masculine frame. Curves were beginning to manifest at his hips, and the areolae around his nipples were becoming larger. Everytime Sam tried to speak, nothing intelligent would emerge. It was as if he were a newborn child attempting communication, and failing every time. The moment Agatha appeared in the kitchen, Sam began his now customarily unintelligent protests, this time with a tone that reflected his growing fear. He had definitely learned...the hard way...never to cross a woman like Agatha, much less raise his voice to her in any way. "Nice to see you too, Samantha," Agatha replied, provoking a pleading garble from the Army Captain. "What was that? You?re developing well? I could have told you that, silly girl," She then sat at the kitchen table. "Make me fresh coffee. I like it black." Sam was quick to oblige, going right to the sink to pour water into a measuring cup while Agatha took a deep, relaxing breath. "You?re probably wondering when I?m going to make it possible for you to speak more like a normal human being," Agatha mused as Sam continued working. "Your behavior has certainly improved, but...I?d like to see you develop a little more before I release you from your little...curse. Put a little...no, a lot...more flesh on your chest. Fetch me a stick of celery, dear." Sam hurried to his refrigerator to acquire the celery stick Agatha requested, and then handed it to Agatha. "Thank you. Now finish your work on my coffee." The domineering woman turned to Sam as they waited for the coffee to percolate. She looked him right in the eyes as she spoke. "Now I know you might think me unfair for doing this to you and your son after what you?ve so generously done for me, but I need a backdoor plan in case the one I have in place now fails. I need to get what I want, you understand? And with Black Market resources like yours, I can create a world where I don?t have to put up with disgustingly excessive misogynism like yours. Now I usually work behind the scenes, but...I?m putting a more personal touch on you and Constance. Giving you both the same...excessive, shall we say, breast dimensions. Constance will have a bit more on the brain compared to you, though. I figured I?d turn that boy into a real masterpiece of a temptress. More of a wildly feminine weapon than a frequently abused young man...and you? Well...if you never liked the taste of bubble gum and semen, I intend to get you re- acquainted to the point where you?ll never have enough of it, Samantha." "Frrasgrrggpphlllmaaasseeerrh!!" Sam protested, his eyes wild. Agatha just giggled. "I know. I can?t wait, either." Once Agatha had a mug full of freshly-brewed black coffee in front of her, Constance had returned. She had completely transformed her face from a basic makeup style to something a lot more seductive. Her lips were a darker and more glossy shade of cherry red, and her eyeshadow now had a more alluring appearance. Her hair, however, remained unchanged from its previous style. Agatha stepped over to appraise the overall appearance as Sam just stared at the far more female-looking person his own son had become. "Mmmm." Agatha tweaked up a few strands of Constance?s hair. "I?ll have to bring the both of you with me to the Salon tomorrow. Your hair could use some more volume, and...a few touch-ups, here and there. A woman like you can never be completely satisfied with her looks, Connie." Glancing to Sam, Constance noticed how...unusual he looked compared to the last time she saw her father. She now had a look of concern when her eyes returned to Agatha. "Auntie...what?s gonna happen to my Dad? Agatha smirked after sipping from her coffee mug. "Don?t worry, Constance. No matter what happens to Sam, I can promise you that your days of being bullied and abused by him are over. In fact, you could walk over and hit him as many times as you wanted right now, and you wouldn?t have to worry about him fighting back, or getting any kind of revenge afterwards. You see..." Agatha grabbed Constance?s bare wrists, making the former young man?s thoughts a disjointed, jumbled mess once again. "...Samantha is going to need you to get her through her dumb, bubble-headed life. She?s going to need you to remind her that there is far more to life than her ever-constant need for sex, and you?re always going to make sure that she maintains her bimbo lifestyle for the rest of her life. Once she gets her full tits and ass, you?re going to forget that you ever had a father like Samuel James. You have no memory of your father. You have no memory of your mother. Samuel James no longer exists. The woman who lives with you is Samantha Wilder, with whom you?ve been besties for a very, very long time. The both of you are Feetham?s dropouts because you?re far too smart for that school," Agatha then let go as the eyes of Sam James, who had been watching and listening to the impromptu conditioning, boggled with horrified disbelief. "Do you understand, Constance?" The feminized young man nodded slowly. "Yes, Auntie Agatha." "Now head back upstairs to your room and do some online studying on the internet," Agatha instructed. "Learn everything you can about sexy makeup, and how to apply it while Samantha and I have a little talk." "Yes, Auntie Agatha." Constance then hurried out of the kitchen and made her way back to her room. In Sam?s desperation, he pulled out a black marker and began to write on the table?s clear white surface as Agatha sent the feminized young man away. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO MY SON?? A menacing smile was now on Agatha?s face after she read the message. "Because I can, Sammy dear," She then grabbed Sam by the throat with one hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Sam?s thoughts were now a jumbled mess as Agatha advanced the corrupt Army Captain?s conditioning. "You?ll do no more writing. You don?t even know how to write. You never learned how to write. Words mean nothing to you anymore, seeing as how you?re so dumb. Brainless. Witless. Stupid. The only voices that matter to you now are mine, and that of your very best friend Constance. You answer to the name Samantha Wilder from now on. Sam James does not exist. You don?t know that name, nor do you know the name Connor James. You never had a son. School is boring." Agatha continued speaking, outlining enough conditioning through her Angel?s powers to set Sam James on a path that would completely transform his life, forsaking his corrupt inclinations towards for- profit weapons trafficking in favor of a far more bubble-headed and sexually provocative life. And with Sam?s illicit Black Market weapons resources...the kind that would provide her with the kind of radical explosives and demolitions technology that would make a terrorist organization capable of making public statements...now at her disposal, she now had a backup plan. Once she was finished with Sam?s reprogramming, she contacted the Salon to secure appointments that would irreversibly change the appearances of Sam James and his son. * * * Rita Noble pressed a button down on the intercom device in her large Loris International office following the buzzing sound it had made. "Yes, Brianne?" "Vije Nastassje is here, Madame Noble," Brianne reported. "Good." The crafty debutante...who was now fully recovered from her mental ordeal...quickly fixed her hair and her short-skirted dress. "Send her in, dear." A short moment later, the tall waif that was Rita?s newest and most alluring client clacked into the office on another set of high heels. Rita was thankful that the effect Vije?s tear duct had on her was only temporary, and she was now determined to make sure she didn?t falter like that again. A big, devious grin was on the face of the glossy-skinned woman, who looked just as alluringly alien as she always did. "Hello again, freak," Vije began as she stepped right up to Rita. "You miss Vije?" "I know what you tried to do with me, Vije," Rita replied, still smiling. "I?m prepared to share the world with you, as you had hinted at the last time we talked. I will not, however, find myself beneath you for any reason, and at the end of a leash you hold. Understood?" Vije shrugged, letting out an infectious giggle. "Vije can no help it," The taller, silver-haired woman teasingly touched the tip of a slender index finger to the tip of Rita?s nose. "Vije like to own." "As do I," Rita responded. "And on that note, I would be willing to proceed with establishing our merger arrangement...but we need to agree to be on equal footing here, Vije." The European temptress now pouted. "So...no more Vije kiss?" Rita smirked, and then pressed her lips against Vije?s, the both of them softly moaning as they smooched for a long moment. The debutante then pulled away. "I never said that...but I would much rather we have our thrones side-by-side. No one side larger than the other. What?s mine is yours...but what?s yours is mine, too." Vije pouted again. "No Vije hair?" Rita shook her head, smiling in her amusement. "Yours is certainly different, and I do like it, but...I prefer to keep my own beautifully silvery mane as long as it is." With another amused smile, Vije shrugged again as she slowly paced around the debutante. " Fine...but you no ?Madame Noble? to me. You Rita to me." As much as she wanted to dispute this, she instead sighed and nodded. "Fine." She returned to the seat at her desk. "Sooo...what will it take to convince you to merge with us?" Vije, ever the non-conformist, chose to sit on a bare edge of Rita?s desk, crossing her long, unadorned legs in front of her. "Bodies." Rita?s right eyebrow raised up. "As in, models?" "I have want for...concept. Vije Nation," The alien-looking woman elaborated. "All is Vije. A...how do you say...?collective? concept. Or just...VN." "What about...VRN?" Rita amusedly suggested. "Or a code name, like...Verna? Capitalize the R and the N." Vije giggled at this. "Vije Rita Nation. But...my concept. My name. Vije think first, naughty freak. Is VN." "Which would suggest you want the more dominant side of the merger," Rita countered. But Vije shook her head. "No. I listen. We equal. You show humble with Vije idea, I show humble with Rita idea. Scratch Vije back, Vije scratch Rita back." Rita was thoughtful of this. Good way to test her word of honor, I must admit. The debutante quietly surmised. A related idea fermented in Rita?s head, thinking of a couple of young male executives on her board who had been feisty as of late. "What if I suggested a couple of...males...for your first bodies?" "Vije already have two bodies," The European waif corrected, maintaining her sultry smile. "You see them at party." "Okay...two more bodies then," Rita corrected. "But do you care if they are male or not?" Vije frowned. "Vije no make male fashion. No art in male fashion." A crafty smile was now on Rita?s face, thinking of the young executives, and how in one case, Shelley Portnoy could fill the void his departure...and his transformation...would enforce, with her sister Sandra potentially filling the other. "Who said they had to stay male?" The waif-bodied european?s head tilted to the side. It was something that had made her curious ever since she first laid eyes on all the effeminate-looking males living their lives in Bullchester. She had to wonder if there was some kind of justification for that curious propensity. "Men...change...to women?" Vije slowly wondered aloud. "But...is, take months?" Rita shook her head, smiling insidiously. "More like days, Vije...and seeing as how someone like you would easily fall in line with the Sisterhood?s wants, I don?t think they would be against exposing you to our dirty little secrets, and those young men I mentioned would be the perfect guinea pigs through which I could demonstrate how quickly...and how radically...men of all ages could be feminized through our scientific advances." Vije was now fiercely curious. She leaned forward towards Rita. "Tell Vije about...?guinea men?." * * * "Th? Prosecution calls Buford James Thornhill to th? stand," a very sober-looking Larry Hanel announced. Buford...a man in his mid 40s with a greasy mullet of sandy brown hair, who wore a cheap green suit that looked as if it had come from a thrift store...stepped over to the testimonial box. Buford?s face had a visible black speckling of hair, and he seemed to be wearing a perpetual frown as he raised his right hand, placing his left upon a Bible held by the Bailiff. "Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?" the female Bailiff asked as Buford glanced to Larry, and then his Defense Attorney, a man named Harold Platt. "Yeah," Buford replied, with a bit of a growl to his harsh-sounding voice. "You may be seated," the Bailiff instructed as Harold Platt rose to his feet to begin his line of questioning. Gwynn Welsh, who had her eyes on Larry the moment he entered the courtroom, saw that the Texan Attorney was maintaining a surprisingly calm stance. He was in clear demonstration of the professional demeanor he had promised during the previous night?s phone conversation with Gwynn. As Platt...who she had discovered was paid for and sent by the trucking company Buford worked for...continued going through the pre- rehearsed line of questioning, Gwynn regarded the redneck with the eyes of an angry viper. Barbara Walsh, who had been sent by Agatha, similarly observed the proceedings from the audience section. Larry had never spotted her, as he was too engrossed in the courtroom proceedings, but she knew that at some point after the trial was over, she would offer up yet another tempt owing to her resolve to permanently change Larry Hanel?s life. The security cameras in the courtroom did more than provide their safeguarding visuals, though. Their signals were also being transmitted to members of the Sisterhood...ladies like Judith Newlington, Olivia Tench, Irene Moore, and the Lady Rosemary Dolan...so that they had the option of viewing the proceedings. Among those watching was Rita Noble, and the signal went to Evangeline Pierson?s laptop as well. She watched as the more curvy-looking Kelly tended to Evangeline?s blond hair with a brush behind her. Satisfied with the run of their pre-rehearsed routine, a smiling Harry Platt turned his gaze to Bernice Gleason, the heavy-set, brown-skinned Judge sitting in the high box of the courtroom. "No further questions, your Honor." With a deep breath, Larry rose from his seat, picking up a piece of documentation from the open file folder he had in front of him. He felt a thousand and one eyes upon him as he approached the area where his wife?s killer was sitting. "Mr. Thornhill..." Larry began. "...when did y? first start drinkin? at, well, excess?" "Objection!" Harold called out. "Leading!" Larry sighed, closing his eyes. He knew the first salvo would be too direct to begin with. He started to speak the word ?withdrawn?... "Overruled," Judge Gleason soberly replied, putting a look of shock on Harold?s face. Even Larry was surprised by this...but then, he had been warned in advance that this would be more of a show trial. Startled, Buford turned his head to the Judge in disbelief. Larry restored his calm. "Would y? please answer th? question, Mr. Thornhill?" Buford turned his head back to Larry, this time with more evident anger in his face. "Ah drink t? ease m? nerves. Truckin? is a stressful business." "An? at 9pm on th? night o? th? accident, you were at intox three on th? scale, Mr. Thornhill." Larry indicated the documentation...an arrest report proving that Buford was indeed drunk...in his hand as he spoke. He then turned to the jury. "I could undr?stand your want t? ease work stress if you were at intox one, since that indicates bein? relaxed, alert, an? coordinated. But you were at intox three. If you?re at two, y? slur, y? sway, and y? get a lil? more...emotional. An? three? Not only can?t y? walk without trippin? ov?r y?self, but there?s also nausea, an? a factor which is th? most likely to apply t? what happen?d that night." He held the sheet up for dramatic effect. "Fadin? Attention," Larry turned back to Buford. "Now jus?...what matter o? stress would lead you t? drink that much that night, I wond?r? The expression on Buford?s face turned nasty as he stared back at Larry. "Had t? put th? woman in ?er place th? night b?fore." "That woman bein? y? lady friend, Eugenia McKay?" Larry asked. "Yeah," Buford replied, practically growling the word. Larry felt compelled to ask what he had done to her, but he knew that would provoke an objection. Bernice, however, turned her head to Buford. "Just what did you do to Eugenia, Mr. Thornhill?" "Your honor, objection!" Harold rose up, a look of surprise on his face. "Irrelevance!" "Overruled!" Bernice looked to the defending attorney. "Bullchester law takes potential assault and battery upon a woman very seriously, Mr. Platt. I am within my rights as a Bullchester judge to make such an inquiry." Her head went back to Buford as Harold sank back into his seat. "Answer the question," Bernice commanded. "Ain?t got no shame. That woman was crazy that night," Buford answered, causing Harold to lower his head fretfully. "Ov?rheard ?er talkin? t? one o? her co-work?rs on ?er phone ?bout me. Sayin? lies. So yeah, I gave that lil? strumpet a piece o? my mind! Had t? discipline ?er! That was th? only way I knew how!" Harold rubbed his eyes irritably. He knew Buford had been provoked into digging his own grave. Larry had to steer his line of questioning back on course, however. "Mr. Thornhill...I am compelled t? ask why y? chose t? ent?r a ?Not Guilty? plea when th? facts we?ve brought t? light t?day are clearly not in your favor. Didn?t y? have any r?morse ov?r th? life you took in that accident?" Harold sighed out audibly. "Your honor..." "Answer the prosecution?s question, Mr. Thornhill," Bernice interjected, lowering Harold?s head once again. Buford defiantly shook his head. "No." Larry?s eyes went to Bernice, who was about to issue another rebuke, but... "No r?morse at all," Buford continued. "Jus? wanted t? get home. Wasn?t about t? let any damn traffic get in m? way." Although Gwynn worried, in that moment, that Larry would lose his cool in that moment, she was surprised to see that the attorney...her boyfriend...kept his composure. "How long did it take you t? get home that night?" Larry asked. Buford sighed. "Long?r ?n usual. Got off at th? wrong exit." "An? d? you usually have a full bottle o? liquor with you when y? drivin?, Mr. Thornhill?" Larry then asked. "Birthday pres?nt from Daisy Bodine. She was workin? bar that night," Buford replied. "Said she was gon? get me somethin? on th? day of, but...she was only two days late. Mighty fine drink, that was." "Mmm. I saw th? label. Tend t? stay away from that kinda stuff m?self," Larry shot back. "Alc?hol content?s too high for my blood. Or anyone else?s, if y? ask me," He turned his attention to the Judge. "Prosecution rests, your honor," He then, calmly, went back to his seat. He had a distinct feeling of vindication on his mind. When Buford returned to his seat next to Harold, the defense attorney still had his head lowered, saying nothing at all, but looking completely defeated. From the expression on Buford?s face, however, he didn?t seem to care much for how his attorney felt. Both Gwynn and Barbara had satisfied smiles on their faces. Those who were watching remotely had similar expressions on their own faces. The Jury was sent away to deliberate, and decide on a verdict. It only took them about thirty minutes to do so. Once the jurors were back in their seats, Bernice turned to them. "Has the Jury reached a verdict?" The ordained Foreman...Victoria Burgess, formerly Hector Burgess...rose to her feet. "We have, your honor." As Bernice read off the criminal charges, Tori replied with the same verdict. "Guilty." Buford?s nasty expression did not change as the verdicts were read, and Larry kept his eyes on the Judge the entire time. Harold, however, had to push for a more individualized verdict, which meant asking every one of the Jurors to confirm their verdict. They were all unanimous in their agreement with the official decision, causing Harold to hang his head in defeat. It bothered Harold even more when Bernice went right to sentencing despite his objections. Buford was apparently to be taken to an undefined correctional facility within Bullchester. She also reminded Buford, directly, that this would not be a death sentence despite the circumstances. Everyone in the Sisterhood, however, knew that Buford was about to be thrown to the Farm. It was just a question of what kind of a submissive sissy they would ultimately turn him into. And when Buford Thornhill was escorted out of the courtroom in restraints, and then brought into a waiting van, that was the last anyone ever saw of the unrepentant redneck. As the heavily-tattooed male that he was, at least. Before leaving the courtroom, Larry checked his smartphone, which he had muted, and found that he had several text messages congratulating him on his victory. One of them was from Agatha. It was the one that came from Barbara, however, that made him a little more interested. Good girl, Laurie. Your reward will be waiting for you when you get home. Larry quickly scanned the audience area, looking past where a smiling Gwynn was approaching him... ...and he spotted a smiling Barbara Walsh glancing back at him as she exited the room. Gwynn was quick to wrap her arms around Larry as he quickly stashed away his smartphone. She was giggling with delight. "Congratulations, Larry, darlin?!" She chimed. "Ohhh, it musta been soooo satisfyin? fer you t? hear that verdict. Don?t you worry none, though. We gon? make ?im suff?r. You do not wan? be Buford James Thornhill right now, Larry." "He?s goin? t? that ?Farm? place y? told me about, ain?t he?" Larry openly guessed. "He most surely will, darlin?," Gwynn assured. "You, uh...got any suggestions as t? what kinda sissy girlie he?ll b?come? Maybe y? need a pers?nal maid?" Larry shook his head. "I don?t want that filth anywhere near me no matt?r what they do t? him. I?m jus? done with that phase o? my life, an? I jus? wanna move on." Gwynn flashed a wide grin, bringing her lips close to Larry?s. "Sounds good t? me, honeysuckle." Although Larry pressed his lips, lovingly, with Gwynn?s, he chose to turn down the Texan woman?s offer for an after-trial celebration. He did agree to share dinner with her later in the evening, though. For the moment, however, he was more eager to get back home and see what kind of gift Barbara had rewarded him with... ...and when he arrived home and opened the package containing his gift, he was quick to replace his male underwear with them.