Cat And Mouse 2 - Pink Persuasions - Chapters XIX And XX - Epilogue free porn video

XIX: Last Call "Oo-oooh...y-yyes..." Riley murmured as he writhed under the covers of his bed. "...fff-ffill me up...fffuck me, y-you big...big...stud... mmmmhh..." The young man began to blink his eyes as the morning sun shone through the window. Its radiance and its warmth effectively rousing Riley from his sleep, and rudely interrupting his wildly erotic dream. But he turned his body away from the sun's rays, shifting to the other side of his bed as he tried to go back to sleep. "Nooo...come back. I...I want you to...t-take meeee..." When it was apparent that the dream was over, and there was no re- entering it, Riley rolled onto his back and let out a fretful sigh. Maybe tomorrow night. He thought to himself. He can have me any way he wants. Pulling aside the bedsheets, he swung his pantyhose-covered legs to his right... ...and that's when he noticed that he was wearing something he never thought he would ever see himself wear. Stockings, elbow-length gloves, garters, a corset, and a bra. The gloves, the corset, the garters, and the bra had a matching green lace design. The stockings...which were attached at the edges to the garter...gave his legs a dark brown sheen. His hair felt strange, too. His first instinct was to head for the bathroom and find a mirror to look at himself with. As he walked, his mind also felt weird. For some reason, Riley felt light-headed. When his hand went to his head, he felt a mass of curls there. This particularly compelled him to hurry into the lavatory. Riley went pale as a ghost to see himself not only dressed effeminately, but to actually have a head full of curls as if he had come out of a beauty salon! His normally dark brown hair was now a bright ginger in color as well, and there wasn't a follicle of hair to be found anywhere on his body. His black-lined eyes, which had a light green shade of mascara fashionably covering his eyelids, continued to boggle with disbelief as he stared at himself. What...the actual...FUCK?? He tried to summon up the urge to remove these ridiculous articles of clothing which were completely inappropriate for his gender... ...but the best his own hands could do was to grasp at the edges. There was no follow-through. He instead gazed upon his own reflection, and ran his hands over the lacy material. A strange sense of wonder, and...admiration...began to stir within him as he continued to stare at himself, and as his hands continued to gently rub against the feminine garments. "RILEY!!" The voice barked out his name so harshly that the crossdressed young man had to gasp in his shock. Is that...Shannon?? Being her brother, he could certainly recognize Shannon Rafferty's voice...but she sounded much more assertive than she usually did. Although he knew her to capitulate fairly easily to pressuring(especially from their father), this was usually followed by a show of passive-aggressiveness. A begrudging, but silent acceptance of loss. "Riley?? Where the hell are you??" Silent...and more or less safe...in the bathroom, he heard Shannon's heavy, angry footsteps head downstairs as she spoke. She continued to call his name while she was down there. As she did this, Riley dashed out of the bathroom and went right into his room, his feet making loud thuds as he went. He could hear his sister's feet stamp back up the stairway...but Riley was already pulling out drawers to grab a shirt and a pair of pants. He also locked the door to his room just as Shannon began to rattle it. As her fists pounded at the door, Riley quietly made sure most of the feminine undergarments were concealed by his male shirt and pants. He then unlocked the door and pulled it open. "Can't a guy go to the fucking bathroom in peace??" He cried out. Only when he did, he noticed that his voice was strangely higher than usual! A hand went to his throat as his irritated expression visibly changed to one of total confusion. He also noticed that Shannon herself had an appearance that was...different. Typically, Shannon Rafferty was a plain-looking irish-american girl. Straight, dark brown hair extending to the level of her shoulder blades, a freckled face, and wide eyes. She was never the sort to adorn her body with tattoos, so her pale-skinned body was free of illustrations of any kind. The Shannon Riley spotted upon opening the door looked a touch older, and her expression was more harsh and severe as she glared at him. Her hands were at her waist as she fixed her gaze upon him. She also looked taller. "Do you know what time it is??" Shannon sternly inquired. Riley tried to keep from feeling intimidated, but his body was trembling as he looked towards his room's digital clock. 9:27 a.m. He also noticed that the alarm was not engaged, and that's when it hit him. That's when he remembered. His eyes squeezed shut in his frustration as the memory re-manifested. Inspections!! They're supposed to arrive at 9 a.m.! "You are fucking lucky I managed to call them and tell them you'd be late," Shannon growled. "Now GET YOUR ASS OUT TO THE GODDAMN PUB!!" "Okay, okay, I'm going, I'm going..." Riley sounded whispery and meek now as he gathered up the usual pocket mainstays from his dresser. "...I'm sorry, I...I should have..." Shannon interjected with sharp, loud, punctuating claps of her hands as she yelled. "GO, GO, GO!!" What am I doing?? He told himself as he hurried out of the house and headed towards his car. I'm...taking orders...from my sister?? But she's so... Another mental voice inside him seemed to counter-point his confusion as the car roared out onto the street. ...she's so...commanding, I...I shouldn't...argue with her authority...no...don't do that... His nervous mind settled once Riley secured his car in a parking space. He then hurried over to the front of the Bottom of the 9th... ...and found that the ribbed, steel gate covering the entrance had already been pulled up. There were lights on within the place as well. Attached to the door was a sign with big letters which read "CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS". Confused, he went inside...and found that the place was already being worked on. Three ladies wearing traditional black and white maid outfits were busy cleaning the place. Two were white, and one was black. Fiona observed their progress as Riley stepped in. Fiona?? Riley said to himself. How did she get in? She doesn't have a key to the gate lock...? Stepping out from behind the door of the Management Room, the possible answer to his question hurried over to Fiona. It was Hayley McKinley. She was also wearing a T-Shirt identifying her as a member of the staff. Riley's eyes boggled as he also approached Fiona. By the time he reached her, Hayley had turned away and was already heading back to the Management Room. The pleased expression on Fiona's face melted when her eyes fell on Riley. "Nice of you to join us," She sarcastically began. "If it wasn't for Hayley, we could have lost the pub." "But...wait," Riley remarked, still mystified. "Did she let you all in?" "Well, since you never give me a key of my own, yeah," Fiona replied. "She even told us you gave her a key. She's not even fucking staff, but...given her organizational skills, she ought to be!" "Fiona...did you tell her that no one should be in my office but me??" Riley protested. "Where are the inspectors??" "They're here." Fiona gestured to the office. "They're in the Management Room with Hayley." Riley hurried over to the office and hurriedly pulled open the door. Sure enough, Hayley was there with a conservatively-dressed woman. She was seated at Riley's desk, and she had an open black looseleaf binder in front of her. Standing beside this woman was a bald, mild-mannered young man who also had a business suit on. They were in the midst of a discussion when Riley entered. "Good morning, sleepy-head!" Hayley flashed a sweet, flawless grin. "Did you sleep through your alarm? Or were you too busy looking at yourself in mirrors to notice the time?" "Hayley..." He walked over to the sneaky debutante, frowning. "...I never gave you a key to get in." "Uhh...actually, yes. Yes, you did," Hayley corrected, her expression still pleasant. "After our shopping spree and your makeover, I noticed that you dropped your key. I picked it up. Fiona was so distressed, and I just happened to be in the area, so I just let the inspectors in at Fiona's request." "Does Fiona have a management position in this place, Miss Rafferty?" The woman at his desk asked. Riley shook his head. "She's an employee, not management." "Well, she should be," the woman responded. "She told us she was waiting for us for a full hour. If that's not dedication, I don't know what is." "Don't worry, dear. The place is still yours!" Hayley reminded in a nurturing tone. She then gestured to the woman. "This is Vera Ullman..." A gesture then went to her bald partner. "...and this is William Goldblatt. I was just telling them about your renovation initiative. They told me, however, that they need you to sign a couple of documents they brought with them. That's something I can't do, since...well...I'm not staff." Riley quietly gestured to Hayley's black shirt. "Oh, Fiona gave this to me," the debutante with the center-parted bob hairstyle admitted as she rose to her feet. "Don't worry. They know I'm not staff. In fact, they know I'm a concerned patron who doesn't want to see you lose this place," She placed a hand on Riley's shoulder while the other hand ruffled at his effeminate curls. "Goddess...I love that hair. It's so you!" She then handed Riley the key he had apparently lost, still flashing the Cheshire Cat's grin. "Hayley..." Riley gently grasped the debutante's shoulders. "...this place is...i-it's mine. It's not yours, and it's not Fio..." "Now, now. There's no need for you to get so nervous, my little Riley Raff." Hayley gently cupped her hands beneath the crossdressed young man's moisturized chin. "They're doing all the work for you outside so you can stay in here and think about...divine couture." Riley's clarity of thought, and all of his confusion, and the worries about his being supplanted, dissolved in that moment. The first thing that came to mind in its place was a silken green half-slip, and how he would feel wearing it. And with a matching silken robe. His mind mused. I love the way it seems to shine in the light...and it's so smooth against my skin...so cool... "RILEY!" The young man gasped again as Hayley barked his name. "You have documents to sign! You can get back to your own personal fashion shows once you do that. Now come on, grab a pen and give them the signatures they need. No questions, no reading. Just sign." Vera offered a pen as she pushed the first document towards him. Shouldn't I read this first? No. No questions. No reading. You heard Hayley. His other voice told him. Just sign...just sign...where's the line? Oh, there it is...mmm, I wonder what satin skirts feel like? Riley Rafferty's name manifested upon the line of the first document, and he did it again on the document behind it. As he did, his mind envisioned running his hand over the feel of the satin material tightly wrapped around his ass. Hayley's expression turned insidious as Riley wrote his name on the signature lines, fully aware that the heir to the disgustingly misogynistic sports bar had just supplanted himself by virtue of the terms outlined in the contracts he had never bothered to read first. But Hayley wasn't done with Riley just yet. Not by a long shot. All she did with her past victims was to give them their initial doses of the mind-bending Cresswell serums, but then she more or less handed the poor bastards off to others to femininely mold as they saw fit. Hayley wanted to have an active hand in Riley's path, however. She had him dead to rights. She didn't care too much about the pub's fate. It was Riley himself that she wanted to personally cultivate, and reinvent, from start to finish. Her own little precious and fashionably submissive irish lass. The inspectors rose up from their seats as Hayley extended a hand to Vera. "Thank you so much for coming down. We can take it from here. If you have any further questions, you can contact Shannon. If she's not available, you can call Fiona, since she's the new Floor Manager." Vera nodded, smiling, as she shook Hayley's hand. "Good call," William noted, nodding. Riley frowned, confused once again. "Wait...Floor Manager? We...we don't..." He turned to face Hayley. "...have..." "Shhh. Don't worry, Riley Raff. The pub will be fine. Mavis, Sheree, and Kelly know what they're doing out there," She then gently grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the office's bathroom. "But...they could use a little help. I left a bag of clothes in the bathroom. Go ahead in and put them on, then go over to the bar and report to Fiona." "But..." The confusion in Riley's mind fueled his hesitation once they were at the door to the lavatory. "...sh-she's not..." "RILEY!!" Hayley barked, delighting inside over the crossdressed young man's visibly, and girlishly frightened reaction. "O-Okay...okay..." Quivering with fear, Riley stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He stood, motionless, for a moment. His mind struggled with his current situation. What the hell is wrong with me?? What's going on?? Taking a deep breath, he pulled the bag of clothing over and opened it up. Black and white garments could be seen inside. Even inside the bag, given how similar they looked to the uniforms the maids outside were seen in, he now knew what he was being told to wear. As he pulled out the different parts of the outfit, he confirmed that he, too, was going to join the maids in their cleaning activities. As a fellow maid! A part of him wanted to resist... ...but at the same time, he felt an urge to try this uniform on. Five minutes later, the uniform was on his body, and he had a miserable look on his face as he stared back at himself in the bathroom's mirror. Slowly, he re-opened the door and walked to the office entrance as if he were being led to a gallows to be executed. Hayley was on the phone and as he walked, he overheard some of her words. "Well, I dunno...what about a coffee house? The first coffee house to have resident maid service during its hours of operation! I figure maybe we can have the Merry Weather Show do a live broadcast here, seeing as how Pam had the idea of taking her act on the road, going to interesting places in and around Bullchester...yeah! Combination coffee house and maid caf?! Everyone wins! As long as it's not the fucking sports bar it is now...oh, REALLY?? That's GREAT! I'm sure Seamus will be very happy out there..." Outside of the office, Riley's steps were slow as he tried to comprehend what he had overheard. Hayley had invoked his father's name, and from the sound of it, it seemed that he now had a want to remain in Belfast. Riley had overheard his father speak of this possibility, but didn't think he'd actually go through with it. What about me and Shannon, Dad?? He protested to himself. Why can't we go out there and join you?? Riley finally arrived at the bar counter, and just as Fiona was finishing her instructions to the black maid, Sheree. Clasping his hands in front of him nervously, Fiona went quiet for the space of a moment of thought before giving her old boss some instructions. "I'm gonna put you on toilet duty," Fiona instructed. "Those are the only areas the maids haven't touched yet. I want those bathrooms spotless. That includes the toilets. They put some cans of paint in there and a paintbrush so you can start painting over all that graffiti in there. There should be enough paint in there for two coats. Go on and get busy." Riley tried to protest, but he didn't want Fiona to snap at him. Walking away from the young woman who was supposed to be his subordinate, and the best and the most responsible of them at that, he headed over to the men's room. The interior still smelled like nicotine as he entered. Nicotine mingled with the scent of urine. The men's bathroom was a fairly unpleasant sight. A lot of the writings on the walls were of sexist barbs, dirty jokes, and crude illustrations of male and female genitalia rendered in pen and magic marker. Paint cans were not the only things that were left for Riley. There was also toilet cleaning implements in there as well. Wrapped urine cakes, brushes, cleaning formulas...all of it resting against the paint cans, the white linen drop cloth, and the paint brushes. But... He protested to himself. ...I'm not a maid... Nevertheless, he acted upon the urge to begin the work which would keep him bound to his maid uniform for the entire day. He hoped Fiona would be pleased with his work once it was done. * * * Donna Brent, the attendant from the Butterfly Salon, found herself in an extremely compromising position as she waited for Evangeline Pierson to return to the room she had placed her latest visitor in. The former male's mouth was filled with a ballgag, and her arms were bound behind her, wrapped from forearm to wrist in a sturdy black leather restraint. Donna had been asked to strip down to her panties prior to her being restrained and gagged. She was then given a wooden seat with a backrest, after which she was asked to sit upon the chair backwards. She waited about fifteen minutes before Evangeline returned. The Madame was clad, head to toe, in a Victorian-styled outfit with leather and latex pieces. The outfit had a white blouse, a brown, knee- length latex skirt, and a tight black leather corset which seemed to crush the lower part of her torso significantly. Evangeline effectively had the figure of an hourglass. Donna couldn't help but wonder if the taller woman was able to breathe. In her right hand...which, like her left, was clad in an elbow-length satin opera glove...was a black riding crop. Evangeline had also given her hair an imposing-looking Victorian style as well as she slowly paced around Donna, her every step emitting the clack of a pair of intimidatingly high-heeled black boots. Stopping in front of Donna, Evangeline tapped the riding crop against her open hand as she stared down at her restrained visitor. "Comfy?" All Donna could do was moan her response. Evangeline had also instructed the former male to pull out any restraints that shaped her hair. The dominatrix wanted her visitor's sweaty hair to be loose and free so she could do what she did next: to run the gloved fingers of her right hand through it. This caused Donna to moan in a more pleasing manner. "I knew you would come to me," Evangeline cooed into the former male's right ear. "The allure was too great, wasn't it, little girl?" She then clacked her heels over to stand in front of her restrained visitor. "On your feet." Evangeline slowly walked up close to Donna, and her hand rubbed from her waist to her panties. She felt a bulge of small, but erect flesh there. "Oh ho." The taller woman's eyes went from the bulge at Donna's groin to her eyes. "You aren't man enough to give up your manhood, are you?" Evangeline then rubbed at the bare, soft, feminine bumps at Donna's chest. "And yet, everything else about you just screams 'girl'. You like being a girlyman, little...boy?" Another moan was her restrained visitor's only response. Evangeline paced around the now nervous-looking Donna. "There's a word for people like you, you know," Stopping by the Butterfly Salon employee's right ear, she hissed the word right into it. "Ssssissy." Donna felt one of the woman's gloved hands rub briskly at one of the fleshy bumps on his chest. The former Gordon Brent closed her eyes, savoring the pleasurable feelings the rubbing gave her. "Doesn't that make you feel so girly, sissy?" Evangeline cooed. "I think you should be one. I think you should get rid of that useless little pecker, and embrace what you really are." But Donna shook her head. The she-male then felt a painful squeeze at her nipple, which made Donna squint her eyes tightly. She began to moan in pain from the pressure. "Are you resisting me?" Evangeline threateningly intoned. "You came to me, sissy boy. I did not force you to come here. Now you want to deny me? Do I need to remind you who is in charge here, girlyman?" As she spoke, she grabbed the rear edge of Donna's panties and pulled them down, exposing his posterior. "Bend over, little boy...or would you prefer that I continue my little...squeeze?" Once Donna bent her upper body down, Evangeline slowly released the nipple. The she-male let out a sigh of relief. In the next moment, however, a stinging pain at her posterior followed the crack of Evangeline's riding crop against the former boy's bare posterior. Donna let out a squeal through her ballgag. "Are you suuuure you want to keep being a she-male?" *CRACK!* "You're very close to total femininity, you know," *CRACK!* "Just one pathetic male organ standing in the way," *CRACK!* Donna, however, shook her head once again. This time, more vigorously. Never! She protested to herself. Suki WANTS me this way! I'll NEVER be a full girl U-unless...she wants me to... Evangeline crouched down in front of Donna, looking right into the she- male's eyes, as if staring into her soul. "I'm very good at picking up on a lie, little boy. I will ask you one, last, time. Do you, or do you not, wish to become a full girl?" Donna's sweaty head shook from side to side in her denial. Gazing into her eyes, Evangeline saw that Donna's feelings were genuine. She had to know why, though. Bringing up a hand, Evangeline pulled out the ballgag, allowing Donna to pant heavily in her recovery. "Tell me why," Evangeline calmly inquired. "Suki," Donna confessed. "M-Mmmiss Suki. At the Salon. I'm...I'm not changing...for anyone but...but her." "And yet, you came here," Evangeline noted. "Does she know you're here?" Donna did not immediately answer. She looked conflicted. Evangeline then rose to her feet and began to move back over to the former boy's behind, brandishing the crop. "NO!" Donna cried out, stopping Evangeline in her tracks. "No...she...she doesn't know I'm here." When Evangeline crouched back down in front of Donna's face, she had a wicked grin on her face. "You naughty little bitch." "Please..." Donna swallowed audibly in her fear. "...please don't tell her!" Evangeline held up two fingers. "Two conditions will keep me quiet, bitch boy. We'll handle the first right now." Once again, she rose back up and went behind Donna. She then held up the riding crop. "Count them for me." *CRACK!* "Mmpf...one...!" *CRACK!* "...two...!" The stinging had Donna squeezing her eyes shut as tears fell from them. Yet, she continued to count until the crop finished smacking against her butt following the seventh impact. Evangeline then returned to crouch in front of Donna. "There," she remarked as she permitted the former boy to stand upright with a gesture. "One for every sin. First condition honored." Another sigh of relief emerged from Donna's mouth. "Wh...what's number two?" "You're going to spend the rest of the night serving my needs," Evangeline answered as she stepped over to a portion of the room which had straps of leather hanging from hooks on the wall. "As if you were mine, and mine alone. In the morning, I will personally bring you back home, and I won't say a word to Suki. If she asks anything, I will simply explain that I hired you to privately perform your beautician skills for a friend." As Evangeline perused the straps, some of which were studded, Donna noticed something tattooed on the back of the taller woman's neck. It was a stylized letter "A". The font reminded Donna of the way letters used to look on advertisements of a bygone era. Stepping back over to her visitor, Evangeline fastened the strap she had in her hand...a studded strap with the word "Sissy" on the front, in cursive script...around Donna's neck. A D-ring hung beneath the word. Once the collar was secure around the former boy's neck, Evangeline attached a leash to the D-ring. She then went behind Donna and loosened the bonds holding her arms together behind her. Once her arms were free, Evangeline pulled Donna in close to her. "Any protests, any displeasing me in any way, and I'll have you eating from a doggie bowl. Understood?" "Yes, Madame Pierson," Donna calmly replied. With a slight smile, Evangeline tugged at the leash as she turned around. Donna followed behind her. Still seeing the "A" at the back of her neck increased her curiosity. "Madame Pierson..." Donna began as they reached the staircase coming out of the basement. "...is...that your husband's name on the back of your neck?" Evangeline waited until they were at the top of the stairs, emerging in the kitchen, before she turned around to answer. "My husband's first name is Leonard, dear. The 'A' is a membership mark someone like you would never be able to earn." Donna tilted her head in curiosity. "Um...may I ask...what it stands for? Is it...'authority'?" Evangeline had to giggle at this guess. "No, my silly little boy...and it's only because they're taking an interest in this city that I would ever make such a revelation. I give you fair warning, though...they come down very hard on every aspect of your life if you speak openly about them. They can ruin you very easily, and impoverish not only your life, but those of your family and friends." From the look in Evangeline's eye, Donna could tell that the taller woman was deadly serious. "Consider this a test of your ability to keep a secret. If you blow it, you're going to wish you were dead," Evangeline warned. "The 'A' is..." "Uh, there's...there's no need to tell me, Madame Pier..." Evangeline suddenly pulled on the leash, interrupting Donna's words. "I will tell you whatever I wish to tell you, little boy," She kept Donna close as she spoke. "The group is called the Aristocracy. They are a very old, and an extremely wealthy group of powerful people from the upper echelons of life. Masters and Mistresses of the Universe, practically. They can get away with anything and everything. Only those who have achieved a level of dominance in a certain area of life are given an invitation to attend their private parties, and they can bring any number of guests they deem submissive enough to follow their lead. It is not until the end of the party that they find out if they have earned the mark that gets branded onto them, wherever they wish. My husband and I have been with that group for six years. We both bear the mark. I actually met my husband at one of these parties." "And...they're coming here?" Donna asked, now extremely curious. "To...to Bullchester?" Another wicked grin formed on Evangeline's mouth as she held the she- male close. "Perhaps. Why? Did you want to be my guest...or rather, my husband's guest...at their first social? I can't guarantee that someone like you would come out of there with your tiny little weenie still attached. Wouldn't that make Suki mad?" Donna swallowed hard. "Ss-sorry I asked." "But now you're being held to that little secret," Evangeline reminded. "Don't disappoint me, little boy. Your life would become a living hell if you failed to keep it to yourself. You may even start attracting the dominants of the Aristocracy to you like flies on shit." "But...they don't...know about me..." Donna now looked nervous. "...do they?" Evangeline brought her face in close to Donna's, still grinning malevolently. "They will when I tell them about you. And I WILL tell them about you." "Oh..." Donna smiled meekly, further regretting her inquiry in the first place. "...swell." Evangeline's hands rubbed up from Donna's waist to her breasts, where she once again began rubbing them briskly. "Aristocracy members tend to be very sensual creatures, too. When they know they want something, they just take it." Evangeline then planted her lips on Donna's, kissing her very deeply as she continued to rub at the fleshy bumps. After a long moment, Evangeline pulled away. "They make someone like you WANT one of us." They continued to stare into each other's eyes for another long moment. Donna was now conflicted over whether she should kiss her back, or stay still. She ultimately chose the latter, and partially out of fear, and her loyalty to Suki. "And that's all the answer you're getting. Now make me a sandwich, little boy." She turned away, amusedly, from the naked and nervous- looking she-male. "And I want a cup of tea to go with it." "Uh, Madame Pierson..." Donna figured the answer would be obvious, but she had to try. "...I...don't suppose I could actually wear something as I work in here? Other than my panties, that is?" Evangeline's answer didn't surprise her. "No." * * * As Rita Noble picked at the salad in front of her during the lunch break at her office desk, she heard a chime from her computer unit, heralding the arrival of a new e-mail. She recognized the sender to be Petal. The subject matter read "Portnoy Lineage". Rita's eyes widened as she turned her full attention to the computer monitor. The onscreen mouse cursor hovered over the attached .PDF file, and she double-clicked it. This should be good. Rita mused to herself. Hopefully, it was worth the wait. It was after Rita's last confrontation with Tamara in the park that the more vengeful debutante made the request to Petal to procure the lineage of her chosen quarry, Timothy Portnoy. Seeing the way Timothy developed as a female made Rita very curious as to who her descendants must have been. The results could also clue Rita in as to how Timothy's sisters...Shelley and Sandra...could be of use to her. Brock, of course, was the more recent entry. Deceased, obviously. Killed by Russian mobsters, while serving a prison sentence, over a post- divorce dalliance with a mail-order bride. For the torment Brock put Rita through, she occasionally seethed over how she wasn't the one to have pulled the trigger on that sadistic bastard. She went to the next generation. Mia Portnoy. Ruth's mother. A tailor, and a card-carrying member of the now-defunct International Ladies Garment Worker's Union. Mild-mannered nature, and in every way a far cry from Brock. Hmmm. One of Rita's eyebrows raised up. Married to a Russian mobster who used to be with the KGB. Interesting. Sonja Portnoi. KGB agent. A spy with a penchant for seducing men and women in order to extract secrets from them, or to assassinate them. A temptress with a naturally curvy and a very attractive body, particularly in the chest. With Gorbachev's Glasnost policies effectively bringing communism in the Soviet Union to an end, Sonja spent the rest of her life as an exotic dancer. After unexpectedly becoming pregnant through the forced advances of a drunken patron, she moved to the United States, and gave birth to Mia. Svetlana Portnoi. Equally well-formed in body, but sexually repressed under the oppressive eyes of the communists. Lived in Nishniy Novgorod. Employed as a garment worker. No records of sexual deviancy, but had expressed a dislike for Communism on more than one occasion. The only other item of interest to Rita took a couple of generations to get to. A man named Siergiej Portnoi, who was among the many Russian gypsies sent to Concentration Camps by the Nazis during World War II. He was among the prisoners left to die when the Nazis abandoned the camp prior to V-E Day, and got his second chance at life when American soldiers...who found the camp during a routine patrol...liberated the dying prisoners. In his youth, Siergiej was apparently a very flirtatious and effeminate man whose charms attracted many of the fair sex. On his deathbed, he shared his dying wish with his daughter Nadja. Choose life...and above all, embrace love. Unlike Svetlana, Nadja was able to honor her late father's dreams without letting communist oppression get the best of her. The lineage continued without notable occurrences for three generations before getting to Svetlana. With each generation, their spite for communism's oppressive tenets grew. So that's why you're so rebellious, my little slut. She mused to herself as her eyes scanned these points. It's in your damn genes. Rita figured that the dominant ones...Brock and Shelley, and perhaps Sandra...inherited Sonja's dominant propensities. In becoming female, Timothy had gone from a male Mia to someone a little more like Sonja. Or perhaps a combination of the two. If I ever do manage to make Tamara a she-male again, Rita mused to herself as she clicked on a surveillance camera picture of Tamara sitting on a bus, speaking with Lois Fryer and her friend, Lena. I think I'll re-name her Mia. "Mmmmm...she big! Rita snapped her head behind her, the familiar voice startling her. "Oh...hello, Vije," She turned her head back to the picture image on the monitor. "Yes, this is...a friend of mine. Her name is Tamara." Rita noticed that Vije was staring. "She big curve. Huge ass!" Her head craned closer to the picture now. "Vije no like." Rita giggled at this. "You always like 'em skinny, eh? Well...Tamara does work out, but she apparently likes to keep herself this curvy. She often reminds me..." The debutante looked down at her own, radically- shaped figure. "...of me. This one's more of a pistol, though," Turning to the monitor screen, she closed the images out, and then turned back to Vije with a more serious face, fixing a stern gaze upon the taller European woman's eyes. "While we're on the subject, there's something very important that I need to tell you regarding Miss Portnoy." "Vije listen." Rita's face then turned sour. "Stay the fuck away from her. She's mine. I intend to do everything in my power to make that former boy my personal slut, and I am prepared to do whatever I can possibly do to make that happen. I'm pulling confidential little strings here and there with a lot of the Madames in Bullchester to make this happen. The more of a lusty trollop I can make her through her experiences with others, the closer she comes to me, and when I have her? I'll put a tiny, worthless penis back between her legs and have her on a leash while she licks at my feet like a loving pet." Vije tilted her head curiously after a tense moment. "She hurt you?" Rita sighed. "No. But he's related to someone who did. His father bullied me around at a summer camp when I was younger. I had wanted to use the power I had amassed after becoming the CEO of Loris to have him brought to Bullchester so I could get my revenge on him, but Brock was killed in a Russian prison." "And...Tamara...was boy? Son of Brock?" Rita nodded. "If it weren't for that so-called 'Devil of Bullchester' ...Maggie Katzhoff...I would have made Timothy Portnoy the she-male slut I wanted him to become. Big tits, big ass, wide hips, hourglass figure...with a blond unisex hairstyle...and always hungry for sex. Always ready to serve me. Always ready to crawl around at my feet. Always willing to clean up my home. I wanted to make a sexual beast of that boy because fate denied me my fair shot at revenge on Brock Portnoy. He's got Brock's blood in him no matter how meek and innocent he was. But then Maggie took him away from me just when he was blossoming the kind of femininity I wanted him to have. She didn't just get him a full sex change, either. Through Maggie, Tamara became...difficult. But she knows I can still press her buttons, and even now, I do press them from time to time. She can't resist me. I know she still lusts for me. I conditioned her to be like that, after all. I also know that if I keep pushing and prodding at her like I've been doing, she'll crack...and when she does, I'll work my own little black magic on her and turn her into the Tammy Porntoy that I want her to become." Vije looked confused. "But...if...boy not like Brock..." "Whenever I look into Tamara's eyes, I see Brock," Rita tersely interjected. "I want those eyes beneath me. Sucking at my toes, like he once did when I was feminizing him. I planted enough conditioning in Timothy during that time to give me complete power and control over him. Maggie would have to lobotomize Tamara before she could ever be truly free of the power I have over that bovine-breasted harlot of mine." "Bovine?" Vije looked confused. "What is...bovine?" Rita giggled. "It means Tamara is like a cow. She has a formula inside her which makes her breasts produce more milk than the average woman. All you have to do is...suck on her nipples. Within minutes, her breasts engorge with very nourishing milk. Tamara is actually the prototype for the formula. It's something they developed for the city's Fertility Clinic. "Mmmm." The tall, European woman smiled a bit. "Vije like milk." "And when I get my little Porntoy back...and I will get my Porntoy back..." Rita rose from her seat and approached Vije, stepping in close to her. "...Vije can draw as much milk as she wants from her." Vije smiled down at Rita as she looked up at her. "You need be tall. Like Vije." She then wrapped her arms, affectionately, around the debutante. "Wish you be like Vije." Rita's response, as they embraced each other, was an amused giggle. In the back of the waif-bodied woman's mind, however, Vije wondered if the 'magic touch' her Rona seemed to have would be more effective at making Rita the thrall she still wanted the scheming, Marilyn Monroe- like debutante to be. For now, it was enough that the smaller woman and her were more or less on the same page in their longterm goals to become far more powerful than they currently were as business entities dwelling within the City of Bullchester. * * * The sparring session between the rubber-clad Lori Bunton and Scottie Griggs was certainly a spectacle worth watching for the self-styled Devil of Bullchester. As the stolen feminizing catalysts continued to widen their hips, split their chests into two firm, round mammaries and soften their faces, their rigorous workouts had hardened their bodies significantly. They were becoming a pair of genuinely tough-looking women. This fit right in with Maggie Katzhoff's plan to make personal bodyguards...and even assassins...out of her captives. By night, their conditioning was always reinforced. By now, neither of the formerly male ex-Marines had any desire to leave the basement they were confined to. And such was their association with one another...with Lori being the more dominant of the two...that they would be inseparable. It was just a matter of re-acquainting them both with the kind of instincts they developed as marines. So their benefactor...the 'Mistress Voce'...had them begin sparring with each other. Exchanges of lethal blows...roundhouse kicks, forward punches, leg sweeps, even scorpion kicks...were expertly blocked. It seemed that Lori and Scottie were evenly matched as they continued exchanging blows. Maggie's grin grew bigger as she continued watching. Scottie's head of hair had grown, and was now a feminine mullet. Apparently, Lori didn't approve of how her hair was growing and requested a razor to shave it all off. As the conditioning was still a bit unstable, it was the Mistress Voce who carefully applied the razor to Lori's head, creating a smooth, hairless surface which obviously reminded Maggie of Xavier. Lori definitely looked tougher with a bald head. Particularly given her tattooed, and well-toned physique, which carried over from her former male appearance. The two former men locked up at one point, with Lori hovering over Scottie, who was grinning. As Maggie watched, Lori's hand began to rub at Scottie's developing right breast. Within minutes, their sparring session had become an impromptu moment of wild passion. The raven-haired hellraiser shook her head amusedly... ...and then jerked her head to the right as a dart, fired from behind her, whizzed past. Quickly slamming the monitor side of her laptop computer down, Maggie stayed low. Amateur move. She mused to herself as she took careful steps away from the table the laptop was on. Did you finally find me, Xavier? After all this time? Another nimble evasion, and a backflip, prevented two more darts from striking her. Obviously, whoever was trying to hit her wanted her alive. She was even able to see where one of the darts had landed. In her next tumble, she was able to grab it. Behind a hardpoint, Maggie was able to confirm that the needle did indeed look moist. Tranquilizing agent, no doubt. She went from hardpoint to hardpoint as the area went quiet. Always moving slowly, always vigilant. All the windows in the room were closed. None of them looked broken. Whoever her assailant was had managed to get in cleanly. No apparent traces, either. He...or she...was good. Maggie now wondered if Agatha had decided to finally throw her kid gloves away. If she had decided to get a little more serious in acquiring her. She knew that wicked temptress...that primary conspirator, and the Queen Bee of the Sisterhood...wanted Maggie alive as well. Wanted her to be nothing more than a loyal bodyguard, given the self-styled Devil of Bullchester's own lethal skills. Maggie continued to move around very slowly. She considered alerting Lori and Scottie, but the raven-haired woman hated the idea of calling upon her own prisoners to help her out of a situation like this. That would technically give them power over her. She had to deal with this on her own. Coming close to the basement door, she heard no passionate moaning sounds. In fact, there was no sound at all. Probably darted...both of them...by our unexpected guest. Maggie mused to herself. She was alerted to the sound of disturbed branches. Her head whipped to the direction of the noise. Through the window, she saw a branch was indeed waving back and forth as if it was provoked by a passing person. Staying low, Maggie approached the window. When she was near it, she began to raise herself up. She expected someone to crash through the window. But nothing happened. Her peripheral vision, however, betrayed the assailant. There was a blackness against Maggie's right arm. A blackness that was too perfectly-formed to be a shadow. Maggie's visitor was hiding directly behind her, perfectly mimicking the Devil of Bullchester's very posture! Maggie whipped around in the blink of an eye, attempting to land a solid punch, but the blows struck nothing at all. She was able to discern a few things from blocking a few of her assailant's quick blows. She was wearing an all black outfit, and her face was covered by the kind of concealment worn by Japanese ninja assassins. The mask did, however, reveal the eyes. Not only was her combatant asian in nature, but a very well-trained female as well. She turned out to be a bit more nimble than Maggie was, however, which made it possible for the masked woman to land a hard strike on a portion of her body that completely disoriented and dizzied her. Maggie's shots became clumsy as she stumbled to the ground. She felt the sting of a needlepoint next, and a numbness crept over every limb of her body. As Maggie's eyesight blurred, her victorious, black-garbed opponent stood over her. She also heard the basement door open up. Their words were in Chinese, which was thankfully among the many languages which Maggie was fluent in. Two more black-garbed female intruders joined Maggie's opponent, flanking her. "What do we do with the two downstairs?" one asked in a hushed tone. "Leave them," the center figure replied. "It is this one we want." That was all Maggie could comprehend before everything went black. * * * Chester Callahan...the youngest son of Simon and Delilah Callahan at 14 years old, with a head of short brown hair parted to one side...was in a knot of worry as he finished his school day at Feetham's. He noticed that his classes had been mysteriously changed, and without explanation. His first day with the new school schedule would begin tomorrow. There was also the matter of his concerns for his father, who he had not seen since he had buried himself beneath bedcovers on the day Rita Noble came by to handle things. She had asked him to call a number once she had taken control of the situation, and an ambulance came by to pick him up while Rita took Chester into the house's kitchen. His memories of what he had been asked to do as they took his father away was a blur, but he at least remembered that it had something to do with demonstrating his ability to clean up around the house. Sweeping floors, fixing bedsheets...these were chores Delilah had her children do on a rotational basis. One week, Chester would be sweeping floors, while he would be on garbage bagging and disposal the next. Sometimes, his brothers would try to trick their mother into having Chester do their scheduled chores, but Delilah was not the sort to be fooled so easily. Delilah's methods of establishing discipline, however, were harsh. Chester certainly remembered that Rita's requests were much more pleasant by comparison. He just felt so compelled to respond to her voice...or was it the uniquely stimulating aroma Rita was emulating whenever Chester came within at least five feet of her? It was hard for the young man to figure out what kind of creature Rita Noble was. A surrogate mother? She was old enough to be that. An incredibly attractive woman? Rita had the radical curves for that too. Perhaps it was because she was both, and maybe a lot more, whenever she came around. She was certainly the kind of woman that Chester could not say 'no' to. On the bus ride home from school, Chester imagined that he could at least put all of his concerns behind him, temporarily, and lose himself in another tension-relieving game of Enforcer's Will II. He was halfway through the challenges and a couple of chapters away from the single player game story's ending. Getting the best ending required Chester's double-crossed badass mob enforcer character to complete all of the game's challenges prior to beating the final chapter's last boss: a computer virus-augmented behemoth of a character named Silas Ustinov, who was armed with a pair of miniguns. Beating him required a pattern of dodging and shooting his weak points at the right times. Chester figured that he would be blown away about fourteen times or so before he would be able to get the fight pattern down. He just hoped his salty rage wouldn't compel him to destroy his own game controller. With his father pretty much incapacitated for the moment, he would not be able to convince him to get a replacement controller. The chubby young man stepped off the bus when the vehicle reached his stop, and he hurried down the path that would take him through two blocks before arriving at his home. He hummed the dramatic theme music to Enforcer's Will II as he climbed up the three steps to the wooden foyer that preceded the front door. Silas, he thought to himself, you're fu... His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar scent that caught his attention once he closed the front door behind him. The clacking of heels became louder as the source of this captivating pheromone scent approached him. "Good afternoon, Chester." Rita Noble flashed a pleasant grin, still clad in her business suit, which was a shoulderless white blouse covered by an unbuttoned, deep red bolero jacket. A figure-hugging black lycra skirt was at her waist, while her exposed legs were covered in the light brown sheen of a pair of stockings. "How was school today?" Chester's expression looked the way it did when he first encountered Rita. His jaw hung open a bit as he stared up at the taller woman. He was completely enraptured in her lovely scent as she stepped close to him. "Well?" Rita amusedly added. "Answer me, young man." "Uuhh...good," was all that emerged from Chester's mouth. "You didn't get into any trouble, did you?" Rita asked. "You should be well-behaved during your classes." Chester, still a little slack-jawed, just shook his head slowly. "Mmm. You look tired," Rita amusedly observed. "Ah well...just sitting around, listening to teacher lectures will do that, but I know a great way for you to relax and concentrate on something much more fulfilling." "Me too," Chester responded. "I was just gonna..." he gestured to the stairs leading to the second floor. "...go up, and...y' know..." "...and do what I tell you to do," Rita interjected, moving closer to the boy. "This is how it's going to be when your father is not around. In fact, he called me at work and told me to have you keep this place clean while he was away. Now before you begin, let me ask you something. Do you know how to make a cup of tea? Does your mother drink tea?" Chester blinked. "Yeah, but...she makes her own tea. I only...I only like iced tea." Rita giggled at this, and then gestured for Chester to follow her. She led him into the house's kitchen, where she had her spellbound host locate a drawer where his mother usually kept her box of teabags. She then instructed him to fill a teapot with water, and had him place it on a glowing stovetop that Rita had Chester activate. "Very good," Rita cooed. "Now turn to me for a moment. Your face looks a little dirty." With that, Rita began applying a layer of foundation on Chester's face which was close to the boy's skin tone. By the time the teapot began to whistle, Rita rose back to her feet, having finished applying the foundation. "There. Now fetch a cup and a saucer, and place the teabag you got from the box into the cup." The gentleness of Rita's tone kept Chester from attempting any back talk as she had him pour the hot water into the cup, and then had him bob the teabag up and down within the hot water. Gradually, the tea leaves within the bag gave the water a dark brown tone. As he did this, Rita had settled herself upon a seat at the kitchen table. "Serve it here now, maid," Rita lightly tapped the table space in front of her. The tea spilled a bit as Chester placed the saucer in front of the crafty debutante. "Very good. Now wipe all the wet spots and the stains clean. We always want this kitchen to look spotless, after all." As Chester took a washcloth and went over any spills he had made, Rita sipped at the tea as she recalled the information she had pulled up on Chester after she had perused the file that revealed the Portnoy lineage. Apparently, the females of the Callahan bloodline were mostly round-bodied and heavy-set, with large chest dimensions. She knew Chester was far too young to be subjected to anything as perverse as the kinds of deviant activities she had conditioned Timothy Portnoy to become acquainted with, but the Sisterhood had conditioned young boys before without turning them into sexual creatures. Even Agatha deemed such a thing inhuman. But seeing the kinds of bodies Callahan women developed as they got older served to build on the ideas Rita had for Simone's son. Once she had Chester begin sweeping the floors, the debutante contacted the municipal sources necessary to feed the age-advancing pink bath formula to the Callahan household. "Madame Noble..." she heard Chester ask. "...what did you put on my face? It feels weird." "Oh, just a cleaning agent," Rita replied. "Trust me. Your face looks a lot nicer. When you finish sweeping, I'll give you another reward." The 'reward' came in the form of more facial decoration. Pink blush was applied to his cheeks, and a makeup pencil traced delicate lines around his eyes. "Isn't this...girl makeup?" Chester wondered aloud. "I work for a business that specializes in cosmetics, dear," Rita explained as she continued to work on the young boy's face. "These are new products, and I want to see how they look on someone. Don't worry...you can wash it all off later. Would be a shame if you did, though...your face is beginning to look very attractive." "But I'm a boy!" Chester whined. "So? There are boys out there who wear this kind of stuff," Rita calmly rationalized. "Transsexuals, transvestites, crossdressers...those are people too, after all. No different from you or me aside from their interest in female lifestyles and fashions." "You're not gonna have me wear a wig, are you?" Rita giggled loudly. "Oh, no, no, no. I promise. No wigs. Besides...your hair looks cute just the way it is. Can I ask you something, though? Why don't you like wigs?" "My brothers put me in a dress when I was younger," Chester answered, which confirmed the information Rita had already collected about the young boy's childhood. "When Mom found out, she kept me in those clothes for the rest of the day." "How did it feel to wear them?" Rita curiously asked. "Weird," Chester replied. "They were old clothes, too. They were smelly." "Did you wear anything else besides the dress?" Rita inquired. "Like...pantyhose, maybe?" Chester slowly shook his head as Rita painted a deep red color onto his lips using a lip brush. Even with his lucid responses, he remained held to the allure of the pheromones Rita had applied to herself prior to her visit. "Oh, this looks much too good on you," Rita admitted as a different- looking brush decorated Chester's eyelashes with its makeup. "I don't want you to wash all of this off. Honestly...you look so much better with all of this on compared to the kind of face you had when you came home from school. "Can I...can I see it?" An amused smile was now on Rita's lips. "Polish the furniture in the dining room, and I'll give you my hand mirror." Chester frowned. "But...I've never done anything...like that...?" "Polishing furniture was never part of the chores you and your brothers were given?" Rita shook her head. "Shameful. I told you. You need to make sure everything is spotless. That includes the furniture. For now, just use a damp cloth and go over everything, but when you go shopping, I want you to buy some furniture polish and start using it." Chester's eyes widened. "With my money??" "No, maid. With your father's," Rita answered. "You do know how to use a credit card, don't you?" The young boy shrugged. "I guess. I mean...I've seen Mom use one." Rita nodded, stepping in close to the young boy once again so the pheromones she emitted would overwhelm any urge to resist. "And now it's your turn, because the responsibility of keeping this house clean, and keeping your father fed and clothed, will fall to you, and you alone, because she will be too much of an airhead to do it on her own." The debutante could tell that these instructions were being solidly imprinted on young Chester's mind just from the look in the unblinking eyes that were staring up at her. He was transfixed, and his exposure to the pheromones were making him fully compliant to Rita's spoken wishes. Smiling sweetly, Rita lightly placed her hands at Chester's cheeks. "Isn't that what you want to do, maid? You want to work. Working is a wonderful thing. When you're not at school behaving yourself and doing your schoolwork, you're doing your housework here. There's always something that needs cleaning or a meal that needs to be made, and as you work, you're going to grow into your role. In fact, since you've been so willing to learn, I'm going to come by tomorrow with a little something that you can change into when you get home, and it will always remind you of the work you'll be responsible for while you live here with that silly little bimbo." Rita punctuated her words with a gentle kiss on Chester's foundation- covered forehead. She then gestured to the sink. "Now go get a moist washcloth, and start going over the furniture pieces in the dining room." The crafty debutante kept her eyes on Chester the entire time as he complied with Rita's request. Rita stepped over to give instructions from time to time as the young boy worked. And as he did, Rita imagined seeing the face of Timothy Portnoy in the place of Chester's own pudgy face. It's not too late, Rita Noble. Rita reminded herself as Chester went down on his hands and knees to wipe over the legs of a wooden chair. Tammy can still be yours. She can still be your slut. She can still be your maid. You can still make her your she-male again. Rita's hands covered Chester's eyes as she led him towards a mirror following the completion of his 'polishing'. Being as close as he was to Rita...her soft, shapely body pressing and rubbing against his as they moved...made a certain sexual organ between his legs hard. But when her hands came away from the young boy's eyes, Chester finally got an eyeful at his own reflection, and those eyes widened with awe and amazement. Given how perfectly the makeup was applied, and how well it went with the way he commonly wore his hair, Chester was practically staring upon a female version of himself. His deep red lips particularly accented the incredible illusion he was now gazing upon. Rita had also added a brown shade of mascara to go with Chester's hair, and she had added a visible black dot to his right cheek as well. Rita had Chester pucker his lips as he stared at himself, and this made him feel particularly girlish. "See?" Rita cooed. "You don't want to wash all of this off, do you, Millie?" Chester frowned in his sudden confusion as he turned his face to Rita. "Huh? Millie?" "Mm-hmm! Short for 'Millicent'," Rita explained. "When I look at this beautiful face, it just seems to bring that name to mind. There's nothing wrong with that name, is there, Millie?" "No, but...I'm Chester," the young boy reasoned. Rita shrugged in her pleasant relent. "Okay...just a thought. Never mind, Chester dear. You have homework to do for school tomorrow, don't you? You go on and get to that before I teach you how to make dinner." But she knew that when she applied the Tear Duct she would have with her on the following day's visit, any manner of resistance that persisted in this young boy's mind would be forever shattered... ...and from then on, Chester Callahan would lapse into a brand new life, and the brand new name Rita had chosen for him. * * * Kelly was in the midst of polishing a furniture piece within the Pierson-Hardcastle household when the doorbell rang. Hefting herself off of the floor with a grunt so she could get back to her feet, the plus- sized maid approached the front door. She heard Evangeline and Leonard come up behind her as she pulled open the door. Standing on the other side of the door was a tall Caucasian man with a wavy, greasy-looking mullet of gray-flecked dark brown hair that shoulder-length. The mustache on his upper lip had been shaped into straight lines, giving his face a somewhat wicked and aristocratic appearance. His black and white outfit was entirely Victorian in appearance, but also had the scent of leather about it, perhaps emanating from the corset he wore around his torso. A bit of billowing white cotton fabric served as a cravat, stuffed at the bottom into the v-neck of a crimson-colored vest. The lower half of a pair of black trousers was buried within a pair of knee-length black leather boots, and two fetish implements were attached to the sides of his waist. One was a coiled, black leather whip, the other was a black riding crop. His hands were also covered in a pair of tight black gloves. Kelly just stared up at him as the visitor...who held his chin egocentrically high...glanced down at her with a somewhat contemptuous gaze. Behind her, she could hear the subtle tittering of Evangeline Pierson. She was clearly amused by Kelly's hesitant reaction to the man in front of her. "Mm-mmay I...help you, sir?" Kelly began. The visitor now fixed a more severe gaze upon the nervous-looking maid in the black and white uniform in front of him. "Is your maitresse here?" "Uhh...y-yes," Kelly stammered. "Yes, she...she is." "Step aside then, soumis," The man moved in and quite literally pushed Kelly to the side as he went into the home's foyer. Kelly nearly stumbled to the floor as she staggered from the shove. Behind Kelly, Leonard Hardcastle and Evangeline Pierson...both of them smiling, and dressed just as extravagantly, and in the Victorian style...acknowledged their visitor very humbly. Leonard bowed low and at the waist, while Evangeline performed a perfect curtsey. "Ravi de vous voir, mes amis." The Victorian-dressed visitor bobbed his head once as he stopped in front of Leonard and Evangeline, who smiled back appreciatively. "Bienvenue, Vicomte LeCroix," Evangeline replied. "Bienvenue a Bullchester." The visitor, LeCroix, then turned back to Kelly, who also curtseyed low. It was academic by now that whoever this person was was of considerable importance to Leonard and Evangeline. "Maid, this is the Vicomte Francois Sebastienne LeCroix," Evangeline remarked, gesturing to their guest. "He is the current figurehead of the Aristocracy group I told you about the other day." Having been educated in the frightful things surrounding this shadowy and powerful group of hedonists, Kelly gasped, and immediately dropped to a knee, keeping her head lowered before the Vicomte, who she knew to be the highest authority within the Aristocracy. Someone who could quite literally ruin her life...or even have her killed...at the slightest hint of disobedience. Having seen the D-ring of the collar Kelly wore, the gloved fingers of the Vicomte reached inside the cuff of the white blouse he wore, and then pulled out a metal clip which was attached to a polished steel leash. "Lift your head, serviteur," LeCroix calmly remarked. The moment Kelly's chin raised to the point where the D-ring could be seen, the Vicomte immediately attached the clip to it in one motion. He then gave the taut chain a tug, causing the round-bodied maid to stumble forward a bit as the European visitor turned back to Evangeline and her husband. "Magnifique," LeCroix nodded as he spoke. "This place is...agreeable. Well-kept, too. I can smell the cleaning agent." "My husband and I are training potential maids here," Evangeline explained. "There are two others here which are ready to be sent to other households. They're currently upstairs, tending to the second floor rooms." "You might find one of them of interest, Vicomte," Leonard noted. "and for reasons which will become quite obvious once you meet Mavis." "You know my tastes well, Monsieur Hardcastle," LeCroix responded. "I look forward to meeting this...Mavis. For now, let us see how well this one..." He gestured to Kelly. "...can provide me with a meal, and a cup of tea." Evangeline nodded, smiling. "Permit us to guide you to our kitchen then, mon Vicomte." Kelly felt another tug at the leash as she followed behind the tall European man, who in turn followed Evangeline and her husband out of the foyer, through the lavish Sitting Room, and then into the house's large kitchen. Once they were all in the kitchen, Sheree and Mavis emerged from the staircase landing and stepped into the Sitting Room to quietly continue their cleaning work. Once the Vicomte was in the kitchen, he quickly turned to Kelly and began slowly pacing around her. Kelly just kept her head down, trying to keep from looking nervous. She wasn't doing a very good job, however. "I find it difficult to believe that a woman with a body as...bloated... as this..." LeCroix observed as his eyes continued to scan the former fraudster. "...could ever capably cultivate food, let alone clean a house as large as this." "Respectfully, mon Vicomte," Evangeline countered. "I am certain, given her training and the demonstration of all we have taught her, that she will not disappoint you." As Evangeline spoke, the European visitor's eyes came close to Kelly's face as he lifted it up, then kept his grip on her chin as he turned her face to one side, and then the other. He then released Kelly's chin, and after a moment, his right eyebrow raised up. The Vicomte's right hand then grabbed Kelly's crotch, and he squeezed at the diminished organ her maid clothes were concealing. His grip was so firm that Kelly had to wince from the pressure. "As I suspected," LeCroix mused. "I also found it difficult to believe that this woman is a woman to begin with." He then released Kelly's crotch and raised his upper body back up, his eyes returning to Evangeline and Leonard. "How long has this one been on hormones?" A sly grin was now on Evangeline's face. "She was given to us. I know she used to be a self-serving, womanizing fraudster, but she was the by- product of an association of women who have seized control of this entire city. You would need to ask Agatha, if no one else..." "Agatha??" LeCroix's face suddenly lit up as he interjected. "Of all who have earned their place in our Inner Circle, I can think of only one who bears that name," He looked away thoughtfully. "Very interesting." Frowning in his curiosity, Leonard's head tilted to the side. "You know Agatha?" The Vicomte slowly nodded, a slight smile on his lips. "She is an old friend." XX: Renovations Danny Dilton had no desire to remain in school, given the things that had been going on as of late outside of his classes. He feared he would wake up, and a crossdressed Brad Rollins would be sleeping next to him. He couldn't even sleep a wink. Racing thoughts kept him from lapsing into a slumber. Especially when he heard Brad come in and get into his bed. At around 7 a.m., Danny finally gave up. He figured that the shut-eye he had been doing would suffice for anything remotely resembling sleep. Fortunately, Brad was still fast asleep. As quietly as he could, Danny began to slip on a clean set of clothes, and it was then that he heard Brad let out a moan that sounded distinctly feminine. Brad then rolled on his bed until he was face up. As Danny quietly stared, he saw the bulges on Brad's chest subtly grow... ...or was Danny's sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on him? His effeminate roommate's writhing, and lusty moaning, as this happened seemed to suggest otherwise. He had thought Brad's eyes would open a crack, but they remained closed. Silently, Danny opened the dorm room door, and then carefully closed it. He waited until he was about ten feet or so from the entrance to his dorm room before he relaxed himself, and headed for the entrance to the dorm building. The halls were quiet and unoccupied. It sounded like he was the only one in the building who was up and about as he stepped outside. Already, his eyes seemed to lower of their own accord. Danny's first thoughts were to at least get some breakfast in him, if only to give him a bit of energy so he could stay mobile and upright before passing out somewhere. Heading back home was not an option. In fact, if his parents knew that he had decided to play hooky for at least one day, they would most certainly give him hell for it. His attendance record had been sterling thus far. It was perhaps because of this flawless record that he was prepared to shoulder the burden of a day's blemish. Anymore than that, he had thought to himself, and his stuck-up parents would probably disown him. Boarding a bus, he opted to step off on a busy block of the city. Danny figured he'd head down the street until he found a diner of some kind. Someplace that had a menu with affordably-priced food on it. As he walked, he passed a popular pub called the Bottom of the 9th. Newspaper pages were overlapped and taped to the windows from the inside, concealing the lit interiors completely. Seeing moving shadows within indicated that there was some kind of activity going on. Danny also noticed a note on the door which read the following: Please pardon our A P P E A R A N C E We are RENOVATING! Danny's eyes began to drift closed, forcing him to keep them open wide. He continued down the road, keeping an eye out for any manner of eatery. Most of the businesses were still closed, seeing as how it was still early in the morning. It would only be another hour or so before those businesses that opened up around midday would pull open the ribbed metal shutters which capably protected them from overnight intrusions. A couple of blocks down, he found a small stationery store which also served meals. It was an old place he had never been to before. The sign above had a yellow tint to it, and looked to have once been white. Its quality rating was a 'B'. The young man didn't care. As long as the food was edible. Walking in, there were a couple of gruff-looking old men...Danny surmised them to be truck drivers...at the cushioned, old-school stool seats within the store. Nice-looking pastries were covered in ages-old plastic on the counter, and a plastic sign above provided not only a soft drink-branded clock, but also a menu which flanked the clock. Behind the stools were ages-old greeting cards presented in rows. The air was thick, and the faint scent of mold was evident. An old TV, which was apparently retrofitted with the capability to play HD channel signals, had the morning news on. A burly, sweaty, and balding man with a pair of glasses and a white outfit stepped over to where Danny chose to sit. "Mornin'," he began. "What can I get ya, young man?" "Uhh...got any chili dogs?" Danny asked. The man frowned. "This early in the mornin'??" "Yeah, please," Danny countered. With a chuckle, the man nodded and turned to get to work on Danny's order. As the young student waited, he idly listened to one of the headlines that was read by the onscreen female anchor. "Mayoress Julia Stroud was confronted today with allegations of an apparent tampering with the beverages served at a local tavern in the city. Citizens claim that the drinks served at a Sports Bar called the Bottom of the 9th contained toxic chemicals which infected those who drank them. At a Press Conference a few hours ago, Mayoress Stroud assured that the drinks served were tested afterwards and were shown to be free of any life-threatening chemicals. As a precaution, however, the bar's current proprietor, Shannon Riley, chose to shut the long-running establishment down for the sake of making radical renovations. As this is a breaking story, investigations aimed at finding the culprit of the tampering is ongoing, and all those affected by the tampering are in the process of being examined at area hospitals." "Place was a dive anyway," One of the three truckers, a burly man in a heavy plaid coat flecked with fuel stains, grumbled aloud as he sipped at his black coffee. "Whaddya tink dey'll turn it into, Murray?" the trucker next to him asked. "Fuck if I know, Alvin." Murray waved a hand dismissively. "I just drive a damn truck, I don't keep no tabs on th' city. Too many fuckin' sissies around anyway." The third was a graying black man wearing a pair of brown-framed glasses who had the same burly build as Murray. He spoke in a husky voice. "Got dat right. Ain't no real men 'round here no mo'." Amusedly, he turned his head to Danny and wagged an index finger at him. "Don'chu let dem bitches out dere make a sissy outta you, boy." The completed and steaming hot chili dog was then pushed in front of Danny along with the drink order he added as the truckers were talking. "Heh...sissies don't eat no chili dogs, Dwight! Not fa' breakfast, anyway!" Alvin...a slim-bodied man with an Elvis-like pompadour and a nose like a hawk's beak...amusedly remarked as he gestured to Danny. "Dere's hope fa' dis one yet!" Danny just offered a slight smile as he began consuming his meal. "Wish I could say th' same fo' dem ol' coots up at dat ol' 'Gold'n Homes' r'tirement place," Dwight noted. "Dey say da wat'r went bad down there." "Ain't you a plumber, Dwight?" Murray wondered aloud as his spoon scooped up a dripping portion of oatmeal. "Why don't y' go down there an' fix it?" "We ain't got no calls t' do so, dat's why," Dwight responded. "Told us not t' ask n'mo' questions 'bout it. I ain't doin' no job dat's gon' git me fired!" "Damn city's gone screwy since we got stuck wit dat 'Mayoress' bitch," Alvin griped. "Not everyone agrees," a female voice...belonging to someone sitting at a table further into the stationery store...calmly countered. Danny curiously peered over, but the truckers were blocking his view. "Pfft! Easy fa' you t' say!" Alvin shot back. "Yer part a' th' problem, babe!" "Why?" The woman kept her voice calm, but ice-cold at the same time. "I wonder if you realize how much safer the streets are without your manner of caveman savagery dominating the streets, Mr. Mancini." Danny noticed that Dwight and Murray were eating a little faster, as if they suddenly wanted to finish their meals sooner. They both looked strangely nervous. "Least we were men back den!" Alvin defiantly countered. "Not dose girlymen y'see all over dat fuckin' mall!" The woman calmly giggled as Murray rose and hurried out of the stationery, having finished his bowl of oatmeal. "Gotta go. I'd say 'give it up', Al, but I kinda doubt ya'd listen." "Naw, fuck dis shit!" Alvin growled, compelling Dwight to abandon his half-finished meal as he also quickly rose and left. "We got our pride! We don't need no stuck-up bitches tellin' us how shit should be!" "And you prefer that we all live in a vicious circle?" the woman mused. "That may have worked in the Stone Age, but this is the modern era, Mr. Mancini." "Dat's anodda ting...how da fuck do you know my damn name??" Alvin stepped over a little closer to the woman as Danny idly listened. "I've neva seen you b'fore...don't know where ya live...In fact, I don't know jack shit about ya, an' yet, you know my last fuckin' name?? What kinda bullshit is dat??" "Makes you wonder what else we know about you, Alvin." She paused to sip from what Danny surmised was a cup of coffee. "Maybe I should tell the young man at the counter eating that chili dog about how often you go to the Gentlemen's Club. Do you think I should tell your wife how often you buy private lap dances from that woman called...Cupcake, was it?" Alvin went quiet. Danny glanced to him curiously as he chewed on a mouthful of his chili dog. This obviously gave the woman the opportunity to twist the knife. "I could send the security camera footage to your wife, if you wish. If we know that much about you, you'd think we also know about your wife's e- mail address, don't you think?" The old man behind the counter stepped in close to Danny. "You'd better finish your meal quick, kid," he confided. "This could get ugly." Fortunately, Danny was almost finished. The woman just kept bringing up more evidence of Alvin's apparent extramarital affairs as 'Mr. Mancini' kept quiet, obviously in a state of shock. With a bit of the sauce residue from the chili dog dripping down his chin, he didn't bother to wipe his face as Danny calmly rose from his stool and walked to the stationery store's reinforced glass door. The door shut behind him just as Alvin began yelling his furious retort. Danny proceeded in a straight path for a couple of city blocks, just gazing at the tall buildings and the storefronts pulling open their shutters and metal barriers. On the other side of the street was the bank-like building that was actually the Gentlemen's Club the woman in the stationery had mentioned. His eyes lingered curiously on the building as he passed it. If that woman has a problem with men, Danny thought to himself. how come places like that still exist in the city? A few blocks down, the idle young student came near Bullchester Park, where he chose to slow down and settle into a bench. Obviously, the fatigue that came from a deficit in actual sleep was catching up to him. He figured that if he were going to pass out, he might as well do it on a park bench. Sure enough, he began to nod off a few times. Yet, he was still able to stay awake. The chili dog he had eaten helped to keep him as lucid as possible despite his lack of sleep. The sound of a pair of clacking heels got louder as Danny idled. His eyes unconsciously closed in that moment as the clacking heels stopped next to him, and the person wearing those heels...a woman in a tight white outfit, with a fashionable jacket and a tight, knee-length skirt...settled into the space next to Danny on the bench. "You know..." The female voice sounded very familiar, having heard it in the stationery store he had come from. "...the cops don't look too kindly on people using public benches as beds." Danny's eyes went wide in his surprise. "Sss-sorry, I...I couldn't sleep last night." "Mmm. I can see by the matching luggage under your eyes," the woman observed. "You weren't kicked out of your home, were you?" "Huh? No," Danny answered. "I'm a College student. Feetham's." "Ah, yes." The woman nodded in understanding. "Don't you have classes to go to, though? Classes are usually in session around this time." Danny shook his head. "I had to get out of there. Things were getting way too weird in my dorm." "Really?" The woman, who had a head of short, teased red hair, turned to Danny more. "How so?" "My roommate's gone all...weird," Danny explained. "I can't be around him. Or his friend. They're getting all...you know, weird." "No, I don't know," the woman countered. "How are they weird? Tell me why you think they are weird." The words of the truckers came to mind as he thought on his response. There was no escaping this. He felt her gaze go right through him as she waited. He somehow knew that the blunt truth would upset this woman judging by the way she responded to Alvin Mancini's misogynistic words. "Is it because...your roommate started..." She shrugged, convincingly feigning an off-the-cuff guess. "...crossdressing?" Danny shrugged back. "He's just...he's just...weird! He's gotten all weird!" "We're not getting anywhere with this," the woman observed, making an effort to look helpful. "Let's put this another way. Why is it that you feel your roommate has gotten weird?" The young student sighed irritably. "Why are you so interested in this?" The woman giggled. "It's my work habit." She then extended a hand, still smiling. "Dr. Melisandra Lush. Nice to meet you." Danny's own hand raised up and closed around the Doctor's, and he nodded in acknowledgement as they shared the handshake. "So you're...some kind of a shrink?" "Well...sort of," Dr. Lush admitted. "Don't worry, though...I don't lobotomize anyone that I've just met." He then gestured in the direction of the stationery store. "What happened wiiith...?" "Oh, Mancini?" She waved a hand dismissively. "He just shouted some more of his misogynist bullshit and left. I don't let idiots like that get to me." "And then, you followed me?" "You looked like you had something on your mind." Dr. Lush leaned in closer to Danny with a stern gaze. "I gave you my name. Give me yours." "D-Danny." He recoiled a bit, feeling intimidated by the Doctor's expression. "Danny Dilton." The Doctor kept the tone of her voice firm. "Whatever reason you have for cutting classes is ridiculous. You should go back. Now." "No!" Danny quickly rose from his seat, frowning. "It's too crazy down there! I'm not..." He stopped to let out a yawn. "...I'm not getting mixed up in...whatever Brad's going through! He kissed me! He kissed me on the lips! On the lips! Guys don't do that to each other!" "Oh, yes they do," Dr. Lush calmly countered. "Don't you know anything about homosexuality? There's nothing wrong with that, you know. It's a perfectly natural thing that a lot of guys...like yourself...are afraid of. But all the fears in the world are for nothing. You'd be surprised how many guys out there have boyfriends, Danny." "I know, I know..." Danny irritably confirmed. "...but I'm not one of them!" "Have you ever kissed a man, Danny?" The young student went quiet. He didn't want to just come out and say it. "Would it make you feel any better if I promised you that this would be just between us?" Dr. Lush rationalized. Danny frowned in his confusion. "Out here in the open? You call this confidentiality?" The red-haired Doctor shrugged, smiling. "Think of it as a bold way of coming out of the closet, so to speak." The troubled young man sighed aloud. "Doctor...I'm not gay! I...I've never had any interest in men! Not sexually, at least!" Dr. Lush's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you. Do you know why?" Danny remained frustratingly dismissive. "No, and I don't care. I'm not interested in men, okay? I'm not...in..." "It's because you're getting so agitated at the question," Dr. Lush calmly interjected. "That tells me you're hiding something." Danny shook his head stubbornly. "No, no, no. I am not gay. I am NOT. GAY. I'm not a sissy! I'm a MAN!" "Why are you making these things sound so wrong, Danny?" The Doctor rose to her feet to stand in front of him. "Did something happen to you in your past to give you such a negative opinion of these perfectly normal and harmless lifestyle choices? Did your parents raise you on the belief that these lifestyles were bad?" "No, please..." He felt Dr. Lush's hands settle gently on his shoulders as he stubbornly protested, looking away from her. "...leave me alone!" "Where are you going to go from here, Danny?" The Doctor remarked. "You really want to risk your excellent attendance record over what you're doing? Running away from something which is honestly harmless? Running away from any natural attraction you might have to a man you kissed? Being so stubbornly opposed to men who enjoy bringing out their girlish sides?" "Oh, it's too late. They've already marked me as absent," Danny whined. "I don't care, though! I don't CARE! Just...just go!" "Danny, look at me." Dr. Lush's voice was firm once again. "Look me right in the eyes." Her hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his head as she stared right into Danny's eyes. "If I took you someplace where privacy would be assured, and you answered my questions honestly, I could write up a Doctor's note and when you go back in, you could show it to your teachers and your absence would be excused. What do you think?" Danny's eyelids began to droop, along with his shoulders. He started to nod off... ...but sharp slaps on his right cheek, from Dr. Lush's open hand, brought him out of it. "Answer me. Do we have a deal?" As he was falling asleep, he was hazy on the terms of the Doctor's deal, but he wanted to be done with this confrontation. "Yeah, yeah. Deal. Whatever," he responded wearily. "Okay, come on, then." She grabbed Danny's wrist with a firm grip and began to tug him in the direction she was walking. "Let's go." "Huh??" Danny nearly stumbled as he walked with hurried steps, provoked by the Doctor's tugging. "Wh-where we...where are we going?" "Hotel room," Dr. Lush responded as they stopped by the car she had parked nearby. "You're going to get some sleep for a few hours while I postpone today's appointments, and then, we're going to spend the rest of the day talking about you, and your pointless prejudices." * * * Rock-solid confidence seemed to emanate from the expressions of Shelley Portnoy and her sister, Sandra, as they waited next to each other in the elevator leading to their offices. Both were smartly dressed. Sandra chose a white-pinstripe gray outfit, complete with a matching knee-high skirt and a jacket which she wore over a white cotton blouse. Next to her, wearing a matching set of high heels, but wearing a solid black version of Sandra's outfit and a bright red turtleneck blouse, was her sister. Although Sandra had a slimmer build compared to Shelley, they both had identical-looking, tightly- wrapped sock bun hairstyles, and they also had matching shoulderbags. The men in the elevator looked upon them with a touch of fear in their faces as the Portnoy sisters waited for the elevator to stop on their floor. They courteously stepped to the sides for the sake of anyone needing to get off at floor stops along the elevator car's route. Their steps were practically in sync as their heels clacked out of the elevator. They held their heads high as they walked into the offices on their floor. "Good morning, Miss Portnoy," they heard co-workers say, often with a slight bob of their heads. The sisters could feel many eyes upon them as they walked the routes they needed to take to get to their respective offices. Once they got to the office Simon Callahan used to occupy, which now had a nameplate on the door with Sandra's name on it, the younger Portnoy sister turned to Shelley and lightly pecked at her cheek with a dark red-colored pair of lips. "See you at lunchtime," the grinning Junior Executive chimed. "Wanna try Upscale?" "Only if you're buying," Shelley answered, smirking. Sandra nodded with a smirk of her own before turning away. "Maybe next time then." She then disappeared into her office as Shelley continued down the lane towards her much bigger office, where a very colorfully-dressed Leigh Krystal awaited her. "Good morning, Lee-Lee," Shelley chimed as she began to settle at her desk. A cup of freshly-brewed coffee sat idly upon her desk surface, waiting for her as per the daily pre-work routine Shelley had ordained her secretary to follow. "Have you got anything for me?" Leigh dutifully checked at her yellow notepad and began reading off her own notes in a light, squeaky voice. "Rita wants you to headline the meeting with the Holiday Inn executive arriving later today. She thinks that the company's waning profits should be brought up in the attempt to make them a Loris International subsidiary." Shelley smiled amusedly at this. Always the shark, aren't you, Rita? "She's also asking us to help her push the Karelian Cosmetics merger," Leigh added. "She needs ideas on a name through which to emphasize the merger. She wants to avoid the ideas Vije gave her. She needs an identity that would be neutral rather than giving one side seniority," She looked up to Shelley with a puzzled expression. "I'm not really sure what she means by that." Shelley raised a hand amusedly, nodding her head. "I do. Keep going." "The entertainment software division finished development on the first gaming app that's part of the new Loris product line," Leigh reported, her eyes returning to her purple ink-colored notes, which were written in a handwriting style far different from the penmanship of the male CIA operative Leigh used to be. "They want to know if we will be placing subliminals in there." Shelley giggled. "I can't see the harm in gradually turning toxic gamers into effeminate sissies if the game is good enough, buuuut...have them wait until I've gotten clearance from Rita herself. We'll get back to them tomorrow, at the latest." Leigh wrote in the additional notes as Shelley spoke them, and then proceeded to the last notation. "This last note is from Vije Nastassje. She wants to talk to you about...Tamara." She looked up to Shelley again. "I don't know who that is, and...she wouldn't explain when I asked." Shelley, however, raised an eyebrow, knowing full well who Tamara was. This was the woman who was once the brother she once wished had never been born. With Rita apparently obsessed in ruining Tamara as much as she herself was, she had to wonder why the debutante's newest business partner had an interest in the woman who was once Timothy Portnoy. After the long moment of contemplative silence, Shelley slowly nodded in acknowledgement. Leigh lowered her pad. "That's everything." As Leigh stood there, Shelley stared at the slim and very girlish former man's figure, which was absolutely a far cry from the more athletic and manly frame Leland Hall had when Shelley first laid eyes on the deep cover agent. He had undergone a frightfully complete transformation from head to toe. Nothing about her new secretary reminded Shelley of Leland Hall now. He had been erased, and a seemingly adolescent and colorful girl had replaced him. It made Loris International's newest member of the Executive Board feel divine. Godlike. It was Shelley, after all, who had put Leland on the path in the first place. A potentially dangerous Central Intelligence agent, laid low and subservient by Shelley Portnoy's words. "Step over here, Lee-Lee." She gestured to Leigh accordingly. A little confused, the pastel-colored secretary with the cute pixie hairdo moved next to her boss... ...who promptly opened a bare hand and slapped Leigh's posterior with it, causing her secretary to gasp a bit. Leigh tilted her head to the side. "M-Madame Portnoy?" Shelley giggled. "I've always wanted to do that, Lee-Lee. Women like me should always expect that kind of thing from men, right? How does it feel to be on the receiving end this time?" Leigh lowered her head, blushing deeply. She shrugged in response. "I want you to start wearing skin-tight, one-piece dresses. I don't care how colorful they are," Shelley instructed. "I want to see every curve of that figure of yours every day. I want an ass to slap when I feel like it. I want you to be reminded of the kinds of selfish, demeaning demands men make to women in the workplace, because I know you used to be one of them. That is all, Lee-Lee." "Yes, Madame Portnoy." After a slight dip of acknowledgement, a habit which was part of the conditioning that made Leigh who she was, the colorfully-dressed secretary returned to her nearby desk, where she began touching up on her makeup as Shelley thoughtfully gazed upon her creation. Mmmm. 'Madame Portnoy'. Shelley mused to herself as she watched Leigh run a tube of lipstick over her lips at her desk. I like the sound of that. * * * - DaHBIC '< : You wanted to chat, Katerina? - KateRUBE '< : Have you watched the news, Grace? - DaHBIC '< : You referring to that drink-tampering thing at that sports bar? Yeah, I've been curious about that. Can you give me some idea as to what kind of a fallout we should be expecting? - KateRUBE '< : Basically, an uptick in feminized men throughout Bullchester. The bar was packed that night. A LOT of civilian men were in there, and they were all drinking the hard stuff. Whatever formula was used, it was tasteless, colorless, and odorless. - DaHBIC '< : And it obviously had Agatha written all over it. - KateRUBE '< : No doubt. Should I have Zaracez try to find out what formula was used? - KateRUBE '< : Grace? - DaHBIC '< : No. I have a different set of marching orders for you and him, seeing as how you're finishing up with Benny and Randy. Excellent work with them, by the way. Given the way they've turned out, you're the clear choice for your next set of targets. - KateRUBE '< : Set? As in, more than two? - DaHBIC '< : Is that too much to ask of you? - KateRUBE '< : No, no. It's just...more than I thought is all. Who are they? - DaHBIC '< : I want you and Zaracez to go after another group of hackers. These jerks are a little more dangerous, though. Anarchists. Rabid misogynists. Apparently, they're being led by a Bullchester Senator. They're called 'Misogunia'. - KateRUBE '< : I need raw data. - DaHBIC '< : Uploading as we speak. - DaHBIC '< : You should be hearing your e-mail server ding in a few minutes. - KateRUBE '< : And there's a SENATOR leading them? - DaHBIC '< : Yes, but the Senator is a whole different beast. He's already been targeted by the Sisterhood. I just want you to concentrate on the others that are a part of Misogunia. Mostly teenage anarchists. - KateRUBE '< : How did you want them to end up? More whores for the Gents Club? Mistresses employees? Maid trainees for Evangeline Pierson? Drag Queens for Erika? - DaHBIC '< : Hmmm. How about...a hivemind approach? - KateRUBE '< : Hivemind? - DaHBIC '< : Well, I figure that you could come up with some subliminal stuff for these bums to look at. Get them all on the same femme page rather than go after them individually. Sissy hypno videos or something, but with a little more potency. Something that grabs them, and takes hold before they realize what's happening. - KateRUBE '< : That's an interesting idea. I think I'll look into it. - KateRUBE '< : I just heard the ding. If you don't mind, I'd like to start looking at these files. - DaHBIC '< : Go get 'em, Kat. ----===*CHAT TERMINATED*===---- * * * The analogy that immediately came to mind for Maggie Katzhoff, given her current situation, was that of a cocoon. In this case, a cocoon made of tight rubber. Because she could not move. She also knew that she was suspended above the ground. She was able to hear, and to speak, but she could not see. She had been trained to know the folly of panic. A lesser person would have been immediately stressed out. He or she would break quickly. Maggie, however, was terribly curious. A part of her wondered if this was the work of the sniper that was apparently in cahoots with the Sisterhood. Perhaps this assassin had a flair for kink? In the dead silence of the moment, Maggie heard faint voices speaking in asian languages. She also heard the steady breathing of a nearby presence. She tried the Mandarin dialect of the Chinese language first. "I have to pee." Three quiet minutes later, her patience was rewarded with a female voice responding in the Cantonese dialect. "Go ahead, if you wish to swim in your own piss." Maggie switched to the Cantonese dialect. "I can do that dialect too, sweetheart." "Indeed. We know you are multi-talented," the responding voice shot back, in the Mandarin dialect. "You also do not break very easily." "I'm the Devil of Bullchester, honey." Maggie maintained the Mandarin dialect. "The word 'break' isn't in my dictionary unless I'm breaking someone else's bones." "Is that a threat, Miss Katzhoff?" Maggie's exposed lips formed a slight smile. "Depends on what you want with me. You the sniper floozy that killed the Misogunia guy?" "No," the female voice replied. "But she is one of us. She waits for our signal to strike. We pay her very well to play double agent." "And who is 'we'?" A couple of silent minutes passed before the voice spoke again. "You are no longer in Bullchester. You are among the people who are in need of your talents. You are becoming too well-known by now. You cannot always hide in the shadows for long. Eventually, they will find you. We feel you must hide in plain sight. We can help you with this, while sending a message at the same time. But you must agree." Another quiet moment followed as Maggie considered these words. "Mommy told me not to talk to strangers," the woman in the latex cocoon mused. "Let me at least know who you are. Otherwise, you can stick as many needles in me as you want. I won't tell you shit. For all I know, you're Sisterhood bitches trying to mind-fuck me." "We are at odds with them," the asian woman responded. "You are at odds with them as well, yes?" "Yes." "We can give you a new face," the asian offered. "This will make them believe that you are one of us. You would have a new name to go with this face. You may even generate fear in those who know of us." So they want me to become a china girl? Maggie surmised to herself. Very interesting. "You still did not answer my question," Maggie calmly reminded. "And if we choose not to answer this question," the asian woman countered. "you are in no position to compel us otherwise." "I guess you'd better get those needles then," Maggie challenged. "I'm sure you've heard how some people get a kick out of pain. I can't wait to prove to you that I'm one of them." Another long moment of tense silence followed. Maggie began idly humming a tune from within the cocoon. "Yes," the asian finally responded. "Sia would be proud." "Who's that?" Maggie curiously asked. "Your boss?" "We are the Xenshi," the asian finally revealed. "You will not repeat this name casually, or you must die. For now, we will explain nothing more. Our paths align. We have mutual enemies. You will help us as much as we will help you. You may even find our requests...fulfilling." Maggie thought on these words for another long and silent moment before she spoke up again. "I have allies," the restrained hellraiser noted. "Allies who cannot be hurt. They can help me.' "Your association with Grace Lees is how we learned of you," the asian voice replied. "She's not the only one," Maggie shot back. "The new secretary of the city's Mayoress is a friend of mine. She can be trusted to help us. She also gets to know that I've changed my appearance. If she comes to willful harm and the Xenshi is to blame, I rip your entire organization apart. You can gloat about how easy it would be to kill me, but I'll build up a pretty fucking big body count before I breathe my last." After another long moment of tense silence, the asian spoke one last word...in accented English...before the sharp stab of a single needle dissolved Maggie's consciousness once again. "Deal." * * * To: Denton Lowenthal, Director, Central Intelligence Agency From: Queen Bee Subject: Ultimatum Hello, Denton. Have you thought of a girl's name yet? I know you are thinking about it. I have to give you credit, Director. You're remarkably resilient in the face of my persistence, but as you can see, any attempt to render yourself permanently immune to my reach is ultimately fruitless. I always find a way. I always win. I am in the understanding that you suspect me of engineering a...what was the words you used? A 'terror act'? Did you raise the threat level just for me? I'd be flattered if you did, girl. I may be doing this. But then again, I may not. But I do thank you for giving me the idea in the first place. I think this mostly misogynistic world deserves a public demonstration of the kind of pacification men all over the world are in dire need of, don't you think? What gender was behind the Final Solution at the Wannsee Conference in Germany? Man. Who decided to kill thousands of people at Hiroshima and Nagasaki just to end a stupid world war? Man. Who started both of those wars in the first place? Man. Who crossed our glorious Sisterhood? Man. Who was suspected of killing all those prostitutes in Whitechapel, London? Man. I could go on and on about past atrocities the world has suffered from, and the answer would always be the same. Man. Man. Man, man, man, man, man. Now I'm sure you could bring up atrocities committed by women. Gertrude Baniszewski, right? She killed Sylvia Likens. Who drove her to that? MAN. You want diplomacy? Listen carefully: I WILL NOT BE SATISFIED UNTIL ALL MEN ARE NOTHING MORE THAN SIMPERING, WEAK LITTLE SISSY GIRLS SUBSERVIENT TO WOMEN. There is not a single fucking thing you can say to change my mind. I don't care how old they are, and I sure as hell don't care how young. When I'm ready to respond to the world, you will have brought it upon yourselves when it happens, girl. Where will it happen? When will it happen? You're sadly mistaken if you think you can get those answers out of me. But it WILL happen because you made the mistake of suggesting it. But you can stop me from doing this. Hence, the ultimatum. All you have to do is surrender yourself to me. No tricks, no traps, no snipers, no surveillance. You come alone to a location I designate. You drop to your knees when I come out. If you do this, and you help me frame someone in Bullchester for plotting the bombing, and I will call off my so-called 'terrorist act'. Oh...and don't trace me through the address I'm using, silly girl. That won't get you anywhere in trying to locate me. But...why bother? You envy the way I lowered the crime rate in Bullchester. That's right. You envy me. You envy my way of dealing with hardened criminals. That's right. You envy me. You envy hearing about men who found happiness as subservient women. That's right. You envy me. Envy. Isn't that such a yearning word? Do you yearn for me, girl? Do you envy those former men? Do you yearn for my advice on solving the world's problems? Do you yearn for me, girl? Yes you do. Does it excite you when I call you a girl? Yes it does. That's right. That's right. You envy me. You yearn for me. Your move, girl. - A * * * Denton Lowenthal let out a long sigh as he rubbed at his eyes, which made the mistake of going over the words of the e-mail twice. He wanted to deny the hard-on between his legs, but he couldn't. Closing the e-mail, he reclined in his chair at his desk in his office, a look of irritation on his face as he stared into the ceiling. "Shit," he angrily hissed. * * * "Send him in, Tracey," Julia responded, holding down the intercom button as she sat at her desk in the office of the Mayoress. In stepped Clark Howarth, the bespectacled, graying, middle-aged Medical Examiner assigned to the matter of the tainted beverages at the Bottom of the 9th. With a straight face, he stepped over to the Mayoress, who stood in her place, facing him with her arms crossed. In Clark's left hand was a tan-colored file folder with a small bundle of papers within it. "Have a seat, Mr. Howarth." Julia gestured to the seat in front of the desk as the Mayoress settled into her own seat behind it. Once Clark settled himself, he placed the folder on his lap and opened it up. "I'll...try not to go into percentages here, but...well, there were about nineteen men there last night. One of them was brought down by his father in recognition of his 18th birthday, which was the previous day." "And...all nineteen of these men were exposed to this...foreign chemical agent?" Julia asked. Clark nodded. "The dynamics of this agent are...quite frankly incredible. You won't have to worry about any life-threatening consequences, their vitals were all in the green. That doesn't mean, however, that they won't feel the more radical effects of this agent." "Radical?" Julia feigned confusion as she rose from her desk and began to step over to the Medical Examiner. "Do tell." "Well...in plain and simple english, they are all in the process of, well, transforming," he explained as Julia hovered over him. "Every cell committed to maintaining their masculinity is being altered. By the end of the week, their XY chromosomes will have mostly conformed to XX. In layman's terms? With the exception of their penises and their genitals, which are expected to diminish in size, these nineteen men are turning into women." Julia maintained her fa?ade as she nodded in acknowledgement. "Incredible." "Mayoress..." Clark looked up at Julia curiously. "...with your permission, I'd like to hold on to these men so we can conduct fur...fur-therrr..." Julia had placed a hand on his cheek as she stared down at him, smiling. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Howarth." Clark's thoughts became an incomprehensible jumble as Julia kept her hand upon the skin of his face. "You will be releasing those men so they can resume their natural lives, and with a clean bill of health. That is our only real concern," Julia instructed. "You will also want to keep the media in the dark when it comes to what is happening to them. Tell them what you told me. Their vitals were all in the green. Nothing more." "Vitals...i-in th...in the green..." "Right! Your words. Stand by them," Julia reinforced. "Say nothing else." By the time Julia was done speaking and her hand came away from the Medical Examiner's face, Clark's mind had been conditioned to effectively keep the world in the dark as to what was going on in Bullchester. The Sisterhood. Cresswell Industries. The great conspiracy they were engineering. None of these would become a part of the followup news stories relating to what happened at the Bottom of the 9th. Once she had dismissed him and he was out of the office, Julia heaved out a relieved sigh...but at the same time, there was also the impending fallout regarding the lives of the twelve families who now had to cope with their fathers becoming...mostly female. On her desk was a printout of the WordProc file she had Tracey type up which contained the last names of the nineteen men who was at the bar that night, all of them now the latest victims of Agatha's wicked mass feminization scheme. Asterisks had been placed next to the names of the men who had families. Ross *Bookwalter Benetti *Woods Prine *Hunnicut *Nesbitt *Mullins *Vandervelde *Upton *Roselli *Benitez Rooker *Claremont (x2) Lake *Esterhaus Silverman *Cooney At first, the list confused her, as there were supposed to be 19 names, but then she noticed the 'x2' next to the Claremont name. No doubt this was the father who had brought his young son with him that night. She now had to review their records and find out what kinds of lives these nineteen men led. Through this step, Julia would learn which one of these men were truly deserving of feminization, and which ones were more or less collateral damage. To her relief, most of the background profiles spoke of men who were not much different from Hank Fryer. Womanizers. Misogynists. They were practically an unofficial club. Julia couldn't help but to suspect that they were gathering for a kind of impromptu meeting. The sole exception was the only son of Joe Claremont. His name was Alex. Bullied kid in his youth. Before moving to Bullchester, he was the victim of the 'Knockout' game, which was the despicable social practice of delinquent youths trying to knock someone down at random...mostly old folks...with one punch. The delinquent involved...a guy named Tommy Stiles...was caught, but by then, the Claremonts had already moved away. In an interesting sidebar, however, Julia noticed that Stiles was to be transferred out of the penitentiary he had been sentenced to serve time in. His new destination would be Bullchester's Fertility Clinic. Good. Julia thought to herself. Tamara won't have any reasons to hate me for condemning these apes. Hell, she'd probably thank me. Opening a blank WordProc page, she began typing out a document dealing with an unrelated municipal matter. * * * Stepping out of an expensive-looking white Jaguar, Shelly Piper...a snow white-haired, pixie-styled, short-statured woman in a white dress...hurried over to the address she had been given by the Sisterhood. Piper was currently the promotional agent for the rising superstar Pamela Merryweather, whose morning variety program The Merry Weather Show was consistently high in ratings for a syndicated show. The CW Network was currently in negotiations to pick up the show for the forthcoming Fall season. If a deal could be struck, the show would go global. Shelly...who was among the former men the Sisterhood decided to make use of...had been tasked to pay a visit to a place which had once been known as the Bottom of the 9th. As she approached, she saw that the signs identifying the notorious sports bar had been taken down. Newspapers were still concealing the large windows looking into the bar. As per the instructions she had been given, Shelly pulled her smartphone and tapped the contact she had programmed in, identified only as "Shannon". When the line opened, an authoritative female voice spoke. "Is this Shelly Piper?" "Yes indeedyyyy!" Shelly chimed back. "Be right there," The woman remarked before the line went dead. Humming the cheesy, but catchy music piece which opened The Merry Weather Show as she waited, she heard the jingling of keys, followed by the unlatching of a lock. Pushing open the door was a conservatively-dressed businesswoman who had her head of long, dark brown hair bundled into a hairnet behind her. Stern, intimidating-looking eyes fixed upon the smaller visitor as the woman gestured for Shelly to enter. "Come in. Quickly." Shelly hurried in, and saw that the interior of the place was in the process of being given a radical makeover. Flowery wallpaper dominated the walls, and the place was apparently being given the appearance of a giant boudoir, albeit one with a bar on the far wall. A raised platform was at one corner of the interiors, and a single individual...an adolescent man wearing a full, feminine maid outfit...was in the process of applying glue to a white-painted wall. A roll of wallpaper was below his white stockings-clad feet, which wore a pair of slippers. Shelly's mouth was agape in awe. "Woooooow! This place is looking like one, big, gigantic sitting room! VERY Victorian! Oh, darling...you are a shoo-in for the Business Innovation Award for suuuuure!" She then cut loose with a girlish giggle. "I do confess to this being a radical change from what it was," The woman, who observed the maid's work, idly remarked. "but if I learned anything from my father before he moved away, it's that different is interesting. That usually translates to big bucks." "Oh yes. Dear, I TOTALLY agree," Shelly cooed. "So you're...Shannon?" "Shannon Rafferty," She turned to Shelly to shake her offered hand. She then gestured to the crossdressed maid. "That's Riley over there. We have more contractors coming in tomorrow, but we did at least change that awfully drab yellow color. For now, Riley is demonstrating his dedication to me, and what I want out of this new place." Shelly nodded. "Does this...new place...have a name?" "Welcome to the only Caf? in a metropolitan city that offers full maid service to its patrons," Shannon replied. "Welcome to Totally Maid. When the sign goes up, there will be an exclamation point at the end." Shelly gasped aloud, and her eyes boggled, clearly reacting as if this were the most amazing idea she had ever heard. "Totally Maid! That is such a GREAT concept!! Everyone on staff will be dressed as maids, right?" "And all food served will be made fresh," Shannon added. "The food will be 'totally made', so to speak." "Oooh, Shannon! Double meaning?? You are definitely getting a shout-out on The Merry Weather Show as ASAP as possible! Hmmm, wait a minute..." She then pulled Shannon to the extreme rear of the place, making sure Riley could not hear them before she continued. "...you're going to exclusively have trained maids working here, right? Uniforms and all?" "Of course," Shannon confirmed. Shelly then pulled out a card and handed it over to Shannon... ...but Shannon raised a hand, effectively rejecting the card. "I already have one...and yes, I did leave a message on Evangeline Pierson's answering service. Seeing as how her specialty is training people to be maids, I figure she could provide me with employees." "You should talk to Irene Moore, as well," Shelly wrote a phone number on the back of the Evangeline Pierson business card. "She also trains people in domestic servitude." Shannon took the offered card, nodding. "Will do." They walked back over to observe Riley as he began to measure out the required lengths for the wallpaper, now that the glue was in place. "Are you going to keep him like that, orrr...?" Shelly wondered aloud. An insidious smile was on Shannon's face. "He's been booked for a Salon visit this weekend." * * * The Butterfly Salon, Rubie's Mall, Bullchester - 6:00 p.m. Constance James waited patiently once Donna Brent placed Brad Rollins in the dermis machine. Although his body had been radically changed through Judith Newlington's needle jab, there was now the matter of his mental conditioning that needed to be addressed. Constance had just finished her own turn in the dermis machine, as per the impromptu Salon visit her Auntie Agatha had arranged for her and Brad. During her time in the machine, her mind had been subjected to the kinds of sexual enticements and temptations that would make her more of a temptress in mind, as well as in body. She now had a perpetually wicked look on her face. The former Connor James was very much looking forward to testing her new knowledge once she was back among the students of Feetham's. It was just a matter of getting Danny Dilton into the fold. She no longer had any doubts about Brad, as the dermis machine was busy stripping away what little was left of his masculinity. Once Danny was theirs, the Three Little Bitches would be ready, and on the prowl for the socially awkward students of the school. As Constance waited for Brad's procedure to finish, she pulled out the plastic-wrapped packet containing the item Agatha had left in the mail for her: a tear duct. All the femme fatale needed to do was to find a vein on Danny's body, and push the duct's small needle into it while squeezing the tan-colored liquid the tear duct contained into the unaware freshman's bloodstream. From there, Danny would begin his dissolve into femininity. As Donna waited for the procedure to be completed, her experiences with Evangeline Pierson lingered on her mind. A part of her was expecting the tall, blond amazon to once again step into the Salon so she could tempt her once again. She reminisced upon the wild fetish session they had, wondering if Suki's own attentions could be quite as fulfilling. The red light on the machine suddenly switched to green, indicating that the dermis routine was done. Donna slowly lifted the upper lid. Brad's bare, naked, and hairless body quivered as the limbs began to move. Feminine moans could be heard from Brad's mouth as his hands...which looked more femininely slim...rubbed along his bare body as he writhed upon the cushioned bed of the machine. Donna smiled. "How do you feel, Miss Rowland?" Brad turned his more femininely-shaped head to the smiling attendant. "R-Rowland?" "That's your name, isn't it?" Donna reasoned. "Bibi Rowland. That is your name. Bibi Rowland. There is no Brad," Knowing the words of the conditioning program that had been set up for Brad, Donna knew that repeating the words of that conditioning would help settle it more into Brad's mind. "Bibi. Mmmm. Oh yes," Bibi confirmed, her femininely low voice sounding much more seductive as she purred. "I feel like my head's been fucked six ways from Sunday." Donna helped Bibi come out of the machine, and back onto her feet. "Let's get you back into your sexy dress, dear." Once Constance laid her eyes on the wildly attractive and sensually curvy woman Brad had become, she rose up out of her chair in the lobby and hurried over to her, giggling sweetly. They then wrapped their arms around each other, purring as they squeezed their soft, feminine bodies together. "You look like you'r-r-re r-r-ready to r-r-r-run your-r-r-r thick lips back and for-r-rth over-r-r a har-r-rd, six-inch cock, my little Bibi bitch," Constance cooed into Bibi's ear as the fingers of her right hand lightly stroked over the flat, straight head of dark brown hair, parted to one side, that was on Bibi's head. The moist-looking hairstyle made her forehead look prominent. Bibi wants to play. Her mental conditioning reminded her. It was to be the former Brad Rollins's first urge upon emerging from the dermis machine. The words repeated in her mind mercilessly as she stared upon Constance's face. "Bibi wants...t-to plaaaay..." she sensually repeated. "Mmmm, I can see that," Constance purred. "You want to feel a set of lips pr-r-r-ressing against your-r-r own fat lips, don't you?" The femme fatale Connor James had become then pressed her ruby red- colored lips against Bibi's, and the two of them began moaning passionately as they kissed. The sound of someone audibly clearing her throat interrupted their moment of passion...and when they turned to see the source of this sound, they saw a tall blond woman smirking at them both with her arms crossed in front of her. "If you're both done with your procedures," the woman remarked. "you need to make room for other customers. I can't have you clogging up the lobby with your little moment of passion." Donna stepped over to them in their defense. "I'm sure they both understand that, Suki. It isn't against the rules, though, for them to express their initial satisfaction the way they're doing right now, don't you think?" "Fine. Just as long as they're not suddenly fornicating all over the ground right here in the lobby," Suki reasoned. "Awwww," Constance pouted cutely. "Such pr-r-r-r-rudish behavior-r-r-r." "You can join us, if you like," Bibi grinned lasciviously. "You and Donna. We could have a little...four-way," She giggled at the thought. Suki just grinned, and then gestured to the exit area. "Have a nice day, whores." "Mmmm, Suki." Constance stepped up to the taller woman, grinning up to her. "How you flatter-r-r us." Giggling, the two scantily-clad women...Constance wearing a deep red one-piece dress, Bibi wearing a peach-colored, skin-tight, armless one- piece lycra dress that hugged his accentuated curves...stepped out of the Salon, their wide hips swaying sensually and rhythmically as they left. Donna suppressed her own amused giggle. Suki just shook her head, sighing, as she watched them go. "Give them a third, and I could call them the three little bitches." * * * "You're kidding, right?" Chester stared, dumbfounded, at the black and white outfit a smiling Rita Noble held up for him to see. "You actually want me to wear that?" "You're going to be cleaning up around this house, so yes," Rita answered. "Unless...you'd rather be out on the street, penniless and homeless?" Chester sighed out heavily, hanging his head in obvious defeat. Of all the things to be told upon coming back home from school. For once, he felt like turning around and going back to Feetham's. Falling asleep in class was preferable to the crossdressing he had clearly been asked to do. By now, the effect of Rita's pheromones was obviously wearing thin...but Rita was prepared for this possibility when she had arrived at the Callahan household after leaving the Loris building. With her surprise guest in tow. "Come now, dear." Rita stepped in closer to Chester. "Look...it's just us. No one else will see you looking like this. Besides...I'm a fashion mogul. I just want to see how this fits on your body type. Now come on. Let's get those clothes off. They look dirty anyway. You need to wash them." Chester's eyes widened in his shock. "You want me to take my clothes off in front of you?? Can't I go to the bathroom or something??" "How do I know you're not going to use that excuse to try and get out of this? To try and...'escape'?" Rita reasoned. She switched to her more authoritative voice. "Take your clothes off. Now." Still a little hesitant, the pudgy young man finally began to pull off what he was wearing. The striped T-shirt. The faded brown slacks. His thick white socks. As much as he wanted to stop there, Rita had him remove his underwear as well. Once he was completely naked, Chester covered his crotch area with both hands, blushing deeply with embarrassment. Rita just giggled, seeing how cute this embarrassed young boy looked. "Start putting the maid outfit on, dear. Start with those black panties there, since you obviously want to keep them covered." The panties did not do a very good job, obviously, of concealing his nether region. They strained, in fact, to keep what little of his cock could be covered in place. Awkwardly, he began slipping on the black portions of the maid uniform. If Vinny and Ted ever see me with this shit on, Chester thought to himself as he tied on the white apron piece. I will totally kill myself. I'll drop out of school, and kill myself. Once the entire maid outfit was on Chester's body, he presented himself to Rita with a clearly irritated expression. "There. Happy?" "Not yet." A straight-faced Rita then held out one more light brown garment, which was obviously designed to be pulled up and onto his legs. "Oh, COME ON," Chester griped. "PANTYHOSE??" "Gather each leg length up," Rita instructed, "and then roll them out onto your legs as you pull them up. Do it carefully, though. You don't want them to rip." But what if I WANT to rip them? Chester protested to himself. Rita was on him as he began his first attempt to pull the sheer feminine garment up his pudgy legs. The debutante gave him a light slap when he seemed to be pulling too hard on the pantyhose. Eventually, he was able to get the pantyhose settled in a manner that did not cause them to rip. "Now stand up, and give me a twirl, maid," Rita commanded. The twirl was hardly of the feminine variety as Chester complied. The outfit felt very, very weird on him. He already wanted to get the accursed thing off of his body. "Hmmm." Rita thoughtfully stared upon the young boy. "I'm going to need a second opinion, I'm afraid," She then turned around. "Simone?? Come on out here." After a moment, another unexpected occupant of the house bounced out towards where Rita and Chester were standing, and Chester's eyes boggled in shock and awe over what he was seeing. Clad in white lingerie was a platinum blond woman with an hourglass figure, pale skin, pillowy E-Cup breasts, wide hips, and a vacant stare. Upon the head of 'Simone' was a head of short, wildly-teased hair. A cherry red-painted index fingernail was at her full, pouty lips thoughtfully as that vacant stare looked upon Chester. "Is...is this my maidy-poo, Madame Noble?" Simone asked in a high and breathy voice. "Yes, dear." Rita maneuvered behind the dumbfounded Chester as he continued to stare. "It is." Although the face looked very feminine, and covered with makeup, Chester could somehow see the man this woman used to be as his shocked gaze lingered. The name Rita identified the woman as was another hint as to who this person had once been. "Dad??" Chester was able to blurt out. "No way. No WAY! Y-you can't be...?" Simone tilted her head to the side. "Who's Dad? I'm...I'm Simone!" Her eyes went to Rita. "Right?" "Of course you are, dear," Rita had his hands on Chester's shoulders now, and she very carefully slipped the needle end of the tear duct into a vein she found on the young boy's right shoulder. She was quick to squeeze the life-changing serum into his bloodstream. Fortunately for Rita, Chester hardly noticed the pinch. He was too shocked at the sight of the bimbo standing a couple of feet away from him that had once been his father. Simone smiled. "Wow...I've got my own maidy-poo. She looks cute!" Chester frowned. "'She'??" "Now, now..." Rita quickly placed the spent and empty tear duct into a pocket of her bolero jacket. "...you have to expect that a woman like this is...a little slow to understand things. I think you two will get along very well." But Chester fretfully turned to Rita. "You told me it was just us!" "I did, dear." Rita shrugged amusedly as Chester's eyes began to blink rapidly. "You, me, and Simone there. When I leave, however, it will be you and Simone. Just you, and Simone. And you cleaning up after her. And seeing to the upkeep of the house. And being a good student when you're at school, and getting right to work on the house when you come back home. Because you want to be the best student, and the best maid for Simone." "B-best...student..." The serum was already beginning to have its initial effects on Chester's mind, rendering it once again susceptible to suggestions, this time in a much more potent manner. "...best maid..." "Shopping. Cleaning. Cooking," Rita noted. "These are the only things that will be important in your life from now on. Shopping, cleaning, and cooking. Say those words for me now. Shopping, cleaning, and cooking." "Shopping...cleaning...cooking." Chester's eyes went half-lidded as he gave up the fight to resist whatever was compelling him to say these words. "Shopping...cleaning...c-cooking..." "Good girl, Millicent," She stroked at Chester's short hair. "That is your new name, by the way. You are Millicent Chesterton. You have always been Millicent Chesterton." This lady's...crazy... Chester's mind seemed to fight this. ...I'm Chesterton...no...I'm Chest...Chesterton...what? "Mm-millic...? Millicent...?" "You are Millicent Chesterton," Rita repeated. "You have always been Millicent Chesterton." No...I...I have always been...Chesterton...no...Chesterton...Millicen...Chesterton?? "Millicent...Chesterton..." "You are Millicent Chesterton," Rita repeated again. "You have always been Millicent Chesterton." Iiiii...I...Chesterton...m-my last...first? No...Ch- Chesterton...Millicent...always been...huh? NO! I...I'm Millicent...no...Millicent... "Milli-Millicent..." The conditioning was beginning to take hold. "...Millicent...Ches...Mmmillicc..." "You are Millicent Chesterton," Rita once again repeated. "You have always been Millicent Chesterton." Whatever was inside his young mind fought back with a jarring dizzy spell which effectively reprogrammed him. He shook his head a bit, and then stared forward. "You are Millicent Chesterton." Rita continued to stare upon him. "You have always been Millicent Chesterton." I am Millicent Chesterton. I have always been Millicent Chesterton. Chester turned his head to Rita, staring blankly at her. "What is your name, dear?" Rita asked. "Millicent Chesterton," The young boy replied. "I-I'm Millicent Chesterton." Rita rubbed at the back of his head, smiling. "Good girl. I knew you would remember your name." "I wanna call her Millie!" Simone chimed, her voice a veritable squeak. "Sounds more cute!" Rita turned to Simone, shrugging. "You can call her whatever you wish. She's your maid, after all." "Wheeeee!" Simone threw up her hands in elation, and then giggled her way over to Millicent to give the entranced young maid a hug. Rita then turned Millicent to face her. "Now why don't you make something for Simone tonight? After everything she's been through, she deserves to have a freshly-made meal." "Uhh...s-sure," Millicent replied. He then went to the kitchen, with Simone following behind him, her breasts jiggling as she moved. Now, all he needs to do is to take a few baths. Rita mused to herself as she stepped towards the kitchen to bear witness to the new maid's cooking skills. That should put a few more years on him. * * * "Please..." Larry Hanel gestured to the guest chair facing his desk. "...have a..." He stopped a moment to clear his throat after feeling his voice crack a bit. "...have a seat, Miss Claremont. Would y' like somethin'..." Another pause to clear of his throat as his voice cracked again. "...somethin' t' drink?" "No thank you, Mr. Hanel," Nora Claremont then settled herself in the comfy seat as Larry sipped from his coffee cup. "It...seems that not only my husband, but my son were among those affected by what happened at that bar. I'm...not quite sure how to deal with it. Things just don't seem the same at home with those two feeling so...sedate all the time. It hasn't affected Neil's schoolwork, though...he goes to Feetham's. A couple of my girlfriends tell me I should end the marriage if I feel too weirded out over it, but...another part of me is saying I should try to, well, adapt." Larry idly scratched at the left nipple area of his chest as he listened. The feeling was...a bit stimulating. "Well...if y' ask me," Larry began. "I would be a proponent of th' idea of adaptin'. 'Specially in a city like ours," His voice broke a couple of times as he spoke, but he chose to ignore it as hs continued speaking. "If anythin', you'd stand th' chance o' actually makin' yer marital bond all th' strong'r for it." Nora giggled at a thought. "I'm surprised you're defending that idea, Mr. Hanel. As a divorce lawyer, I would think you'd push for a court case for all the money it could bring you." Larry just shrugged, smiling. He had stopped rubbing at the nipple area, but the itch was still there, and it was getting a little worse. "Maybe I should switch practices, eh? Start bein' more like a marriage couns'lr than a lawyer," Larry uncomfortably shifted a bit. "Seriously, though...I honestly don't mind givin' that kind of advice 'cause I'm a b'liev'r in fightin' for marital affections. Shouldn't really put a price tag on true love, don'cha think? I mean...how long y' been married?" "Sixteen years," Nora answered smiling. "If it were sixteen months, there could be justification for separation. Goin' into wedlock too soon, so t' speak," Larry rationalized as he pushed a long lock of gray hair out of his eyes. "World's in th' era of tolerance an' inclusiveness. If y' ask me, I think you an' yer husband...an' yer son...should beat to that very same drum, an' make it work for ya. Jus' find some kinda middle ground, if y' can." Nora was looking away thoughtfully, but she was nodding as she listened, clearly absorbing Larry's words. "You're right. Maybe...I should just sit everyone down and just...just talk it through." She then stood up. "I can't help but feel like I've wasted your time, Mr. Hanel." "Not at all! I'm happy t' help y' think this through," Larry replied, subtly squirming from the torturous itch at both nipples now. "'Course, if...things go bad, at least you know y' tried t' make it work. Jus' come on back here, an' we'll talk 'bout legalizin' a divorce action." Nora beamed, feeling hopeful about salvaging the marriage as the conservatively-dressed, curly-haired woman rose from her seat. "Thank you so much, Mr. Hanel. I really appreciate the advice." Larry grinned back, trying to hide his clear urgency to rid himself of the itchy sensations at his nipples. He offered a wave as he spoke. "Anytime!" Once Nora was gone, Larry rushed to the in-office bathroom...and felt the waistline of his slacks sink, forcing him to stop long enough to pull them up. He still felt a sinking feeling as he ran into the lavatory. Quickly unbuttoning his shirt, and pulling up his undershirt, he confirmed that the areolae of his nipples were larger, and the nipples themselves were looking a little more plump. There were visible bumps present at both of his areolae as well, making them look more prominent. Given his subtly slimming body, his slightly longer hair and his softer- looking face, it was clear that somehow, he had been dosed. His worries melted, however, as he began to itch at his nipples... ...and he sighed out softly, closing his eyes as he savored the pleasurable sensations the rubbing gave him. Out front, his new secretary...Jemima Poulson...had to stop typing for a moment to look down at her larger bust, still finding it a little difficult to grasp that he was now, officially, a she. It felt even weirder to not have a bulge between her legs, either. * * * Evangeline Pierson and her husband stood side by side as the authoritatively-dressed Vicomte of the enigmatic Aristocracy...Francois LeCroix...circled around Evangeline's former prototypes, Sheree and Mavis. Standing next to Leonard Hardcastle was Kelly, whose round, effeminate body was completely naked save for the collar around her neck. A leash was still attached to it, which Leonard held on to as Francois continued her silent assessment of Evangeline's first two fully-trained maids. Kelly's posterior was still red, which was a direct result of the bungles she had committed, all of them the result of her being terribly nervous around the Vicomte. She was still panting lightly in her recovery from the vicious impacts that were dealt by the Vicomte's bare right hand. Initially, she felt that the punishments were unfair. Now, however, she felt a strange yearning to feel another round of smacks from the trained hands of Francois LeCroix. Sheree had an incredulous look on her face, as if this whole big deal about this stuck-up eurotrash looking them over was being taken way, waaaay too seriously than it should. What's th' big fuckin' deal?? Sheree thought to herself. Either we good or we ain't! Boy had plenty o' time t' look at th' merchandise! Daaaaaamn! Unfortunately for Sheree, Francois seemed to linger more on Mavis, the maid that had once been Donnie Blatz. He even went so far as to grab her chin, and turn it in one direction, and then the other. Mavis offered no resistance. "My abode is large, and extensive," Francois warned. "You will learn to clean it all to my satisfaction." Mavis offered a slight dip of acknowledgement. "Yes, Vicomte, sir." Francois nodded appreciatively, and then turned to Evangeline. "I will take her." Evangeline grinned, knowing that her husband now owed her $50 over the bet they had made. Leonard just smiled. Although Mavis smiled in response to this decision, it was a nervous one, too, having seen what would happen if she made even the slightest error. Kelly's current condition was in clear evidence of this. The eyes of the Vicomte then went to Evangeline's husband. "Remember, Monsieur Leonard..." He gestured to Kelly. "...she is to remain unclothed for a week's time, counting tonight, at all times of the day." The tall black man bobbed his head respectfully. "As you wish, Vicomte." Francois then stepped over to Kelly. "Were it not for the want of your Master and your Mistress, serviteur, I would have taken you as my pet. Think about me regardless. This will not be the last time you see me." Kelly kept her chubby head down. "Yes, Vicomte." LeCroix turned his attention to the married couple. "Adieu, for now. Remember what we have been talking about, and expect to see the Aristocracy begin arranging social gatherings in Bullchester." "We look forward to them, Vicomte," Evangeline responded. The European man then stood rigidly, holding his head high. "Tendez la main..." "...possedez le doux," Evangeline and Leonard replied in unison. Smiling with satisfaction, the imperious-looking Vicomte turned, stepped away from the Foyer, and headed for his parked car, which was an expensive-looking and well cared for antique automobile. Once Francois was gone, Kelly turned to Leonard. "Master...I'm sorry, I...I don't know any French. What did he...?" Leonard just chuckled, and then unclasped the leash. Without another word, he joined his wife as they retired to their home's Sitting Room. Kelly was left mystified as Sheree followed behind the couple. Walda wandered over to Kelly, wearing another sinful-looking outfit. A grin was on her face. "Someone's been naughty." The naked, pudgy former man just lowered her head, blushing. Then it came back up looking more curious. "Walda...d-do you..." The flirtatious she-male raised a hand. "That's the Aristocracy's motto. Leonard explained it to me when I saw the 'A' mark on his lower back," She then pulled Kelly over to an area where she could reveal the secret more discreetly. "Extend The Hand..." Walda translated, grinning lasciviously. "...Own The Meek." * * * The young man's eyes opened. His nose wiggled. Rising to digitigrade legs, he took awkward, but upright steps towards a nearby mirror. Staring back at him was young Timothy Portnoy. Only he had a mouse's nose, whiskers, round ears, and legs. His blue jeans fit him weirdly, as if they were made to accommodate a set of digitigrade legs. A light coat of flesh-colored fur dominated his body, and his two front teeth were prominent. Confused, he tilted his head to the side...but upon sensing the presence of something nearby, he turned his head away from the mirror and began to hurry away from the mirror. The environment was a much larger version of Tamara Portnoy's kitchen. Everything towered above him. The chairs, the table, the refrigerator, everything. These were all human-sized. While he was the size of a mouse. The low growl of a cat could be heard nearby as Timothy attempted to flee. He heard another low growl as well. And another. He had fled out of the kitchen and into Tamara's dining room, where it was strangely silent. Timmy's nose twitched nervously as his head darted around in all directions. As he quivered, paralyzed with fear, a single, shapely humanoid cat stepped out behind Timothy. She had blond hair, with radically accentuated feminine curves. White fur covered her body and the cat ears on top of her head. A furry tail writhed sensuously behind her. Over the tight, crimson red one-piece latex dress she wore over her body fur was a black bolero jacket. A jacket Timmy knew Rita Noble liked to wear. "Pur-r-r-r-r-fect timing..." Rita cooed as she began to slowly and sensuously pace around him in a clockwise direction. "...slut." "Mmmmm..." Yet another catlike semblance of someone Tamara had become acquainted with...this one also bearing a radically shapely figure, with a head of black hair gathered in a top-wrapped ponytail...began pacing in a circle around Timmy, this one moving in a counter-clockwise direction. "...have you got any milk for me, cow? I don't like being kept waiting." Those parts of her body not covered by her revealing one-piece dress was covered with black-blotched white fur as she continued to pad hungrily around Timmy. And as only Olivia Tench had regarded Tamara as her cow, it was clear who this particular cat resembled. A third humanoid cat joined the ones already walking around Timothy in a predatory fashion. This one had a head of short, platinum blond hair to go with her fur, which was in a brown blotch pattern. "Soooo many huntresses out there, little Timmy dear," This one purred. "Are you sure you don't need a little...counseling?" Lois. Lois Fryer. Her face looked particularly attractive as a cat as she began circling Timmy in a clockwise direction. All Timmy could do was to look around him helplessly, shivering with fear. Just outside the circling cats was another feline presence. This one was of adolescent age. She had brown fur with white stripes, and was staring accusingly at Timmy as the other cats kept circling him. "You should have come with me," The spiteful cat with the long brown hair scolded as her tail whipped angrily around behind her. "We could have escaped Bullchester, you selfish bitch!" The voice was unmistakably Charlene Merrywether's. This was a girl who, in her fear over the resident conspiracy, had come to Tamara for aid, and an opportunity to escape, only to be told that the plus-sized secretary preferred to remain in the city. "Now, now..." Another cat, this one looking a little more regal in her furry appearance, began pacing around Timothy. "...Maid Mara wouldn't do that to her Lady Rosemary, would she?" "She wouldn't do that to me, either," Another catwoman, this one with a head of blond hair and a body covered in white fur, sat on the edge of the table above Timmy, looking down upon him. "After all...I know what's best for him." Grace Lees. Timmy wondered if she had the best chance, of all of them, to catch him. After all...she had the high ground. A voice behind Timmy, from outside the encircling cats, caused him to snap his head over in that direction. This stationary catwoman...which resembled a Maine Coon in its very furry breed, with a familiar red human hairstyle...had a particularly prominent pair of breasts. "As long as he gets his fill of Mommy's milk...and we all know who you go to for that, right?" Barbara Walsh. The very sound of her voice made him want to come closer. It was so nurturing. So inviting. The cats surrounding him suddenly stopped pacing. They now had their eyes firmly on Timothy. There was nowhere he could go without being caught. All he could do was stand there, fearfully, and wait as they closed in, their hungry eyes filled with lust, and perhaps even blood. He was a mouse, after all, and cats don't exactly take mice for pets. They kill them. As they closed in, the air was filled with the loud screech of an angry cat, perhaps a tiger... ...and a black-striped, orange-furred tigress indeed leaped in front of Timothy, roaring out angrily in challenge as the cats yowled with sudden fear. As the tigress was facing away from him, he could not tell who this particular predator represented. He could only guess that it was... ...oh yes. It HAD to be Maggie Katzhoff! It made sense! At the Halloween party, she had decorated herself in the stripes of a tigress! The orange-furred predator paced around Timothy now, but had her eyes on the surrounding cats. Some of them hissed angrily, but these hisses were answered by a loud roar from the tigress which forced them to flee. Lois, Barbara, Charlene, Olivia...even Rita were effectively scared off by Timmy's unexpected protector. The tigresss particularly gave chase to the feline semblance of Rita, and they raced out of sight. Timothy was alone now. Alone, as a mouse boy, in his own oversized Dining Room. The cats were gone. Even Grace Lees had disappeared. To the north, an inviting mousehole beckoned, and Timmy began to scurry towards it... ...but the menacing growl of that tigress could be heard behind him, causing Timmy to go faster. In a single leap, however, the tigress was on him. She had pounced upon his furry back. He then felt a rough tongue run along his back repeatedly, effectively ripping the T-shirt he was wearing. A paw of the tigress flipped Timmy over... ...and to his surprise, he was staring into the tigress-aspected, furry face of Elizabeth Zambrano. As she continued to stare down at him with feline eyes, their bodies began to slowly revert to human forms as Elizabeth's head lowered, her lips approaching Timothy's. When they finally touched, they were both lying in Timothy Portnoy's bed, in his bedroom. The kisses were light on Timmy's lips as she continued to hover over him. She was also dressed very much like an attractive hooker. The sexy one- piece dress was tight, shoulderless, and white, with a skirt area that stopped above her knees. They smiled to each other when she pulled away. She continued to stare down at the now-human Timmy with a contented smile. She then began to speak, in a voice that was not that of Elizabeth Zambrano. "You'll always be ours..." The voice was unmistakably that of Rita Noble. "...slut." * * * Tamara Portnoy's eyes shot open as she woke with a start from the vivid dream. As per her own instructions, her face was still covered in bandages save for the mouth, and her eyes. She heard another gasp from a nearby presence in the room, who had apparently been preparing a pair of scissors. "Oh! Tamara, relax. It's just me!" Dr. Parker Drake smiled, holding up a hand in restraint. "I'm just preparing to get these bandages off. All your procedures are done and all the augmentations are settled in. Are you ready to see the new you?" Although the memory of that wild dream lingered on her mind, Tamara nodded. "Yes." "Okay..." Dr. Drake positioned the scissors at an area of the bandages. "...here we go." EPILOGUE Bullchester International Airport, Bullchester - 9:00 a.m. Among the many names and faces going to and from their destinations within the passenger area, a single woman confidently walked beyond the wind tunnel connecting the interiors of the waiting area to her flight, and pulled a piece of luggage that was on wheels behind her. High heels clacked upon the ground as she walked. Her hair was in a fashionable, attractive updo. The peach-colored dress had only one shoulder strap, and the skirt area stopped just above her knees. She regarded no one as she approached the baggage carousel area. She had far too much on her mind. There was no place other than where she was now that she could go to. The die had already been irrevocably cast. Unlike the last time she had been in this city, she had a plan this time. A very carefully-laid plan. She knew that there was a chance that she would need to make modifications owing to circumstances, but such things would certainly test her ability to adapt, and to improvise. Things will be different this time. She told herself. A few pieces of unfamiliar-looking luggage passed her on the carousel once it started up. She was lost in thoughts of the past as she continued to wait. She had to wonder if anyone would recognize her at all. A few minutes later, emerging from the thick plastic strips which concealed the back area, the woman finally spotted a familiar-looking piece of luggage, which was followed by two other similar-looking luggage pieces. She knew her name tags were on these, as she had hastily bought identifying tags before she got on the plane and filled them out. She confirmed that the tags were still on there as she pulled them off the carousel, and to be fair, she looked upon the name area, and found that this particular name clearly and accurately identified her. Ruth Portnoy. * * * To Be Continued!