# A Perfect Fit (mc tg mdom)

## by Optimizer

My dreams are always surreal, but very rarely involve sex of any kind. So, when the image that inspired this story cropped up for a few seconds one night, it stood out in later recollection. I decided that it just might be worth fleshing out... so to speak.

As he carried in his carry-out dinner, he immediately noticed the glow coming into the darkened kitchen from the living room of his condominium. Many people would not have been sure if they had left a light on, but his career demanded meticulous attention to detail. The fact that the alarm showed no signs of tampering was another bad omen.

Silently placing the boxes of Chinese food on the counter, he glanced at the phone. The line appeared to still be live; it hadn't been cut. As expected, the message light wasn't blinking. He had little contact with his family and the nature of his work discouraged socializing.

All this had taken scant seconds. He drew the gun from his shoulder holster and advanced to the doorway. Flashy home ambushes were vastly more common in fiction than reality, and any operative sent for assassination would be unlikely to be clumsy enough to make his presence so obvious... but that was no reason not to be careful. He hadn't been in this kind of situation in years, but it was like riding a bicycle. The muscles remembered.

He quickly peeked around the corner, and jerked back to review what he'd glimpsed. One man, sitting casually in the recliner, a book held open on his lap. No obvious weapons or backup.

"I am unarmed, Mr. Harper," came the voice from the living room. "Please, come in. I am anxious to finally meet you." A rich, cultured baritone with a faint accent; Portugese, or maybe Spanish. Latin American, certainly. But it had been close to a decade since he'd been stationed in South America...

He stepped in cautiously, eyes roving, gun at the ready. After a rapid survey of the room, he moved to a secure point with a view of all entrances and adopted a classic two-handed Weaver stance, targeting the intruder's chest. "All right, you have sixty seconds to explain why you should live."

A slight, Mona-Lisa smile had appeared on the man's face. He was middle-aged; probably in his late forties but in excellent shape. Dark hair, slim moustache, a Latin cast to the skin; the suit he wore was impeccably styled. He seemed entirely at ease; either he was running an impressive bluff or else he was supremely confident. "My business will take rather longer than that, I fear."

"So far, you're not convincing me. Fifty seconds."

"I suppose introductions are in order. You, of course, are Stephen William Harper, former field operative and current intelligence analyst at the CIA. My name is Vinicius Filinto Henriques Ferreira. Does the name remind you of anything?"

"Nothing in particular. Thirty seconds."

"Perhaps you recall my neice, Juilia Carmina Melo Ferreira?"

A split second to look up the name in his memory, then he squeezed the trigger - the muscles never forgot. But nothing happened. It dawned on him that his hands were empty. The gun was gone. No... he grabbed for the weight at his shoulder, and found the gun back in its holster. The handle felt cool as he yanked it out again, as if he hadn't been holding it at all. Alarmed, he re-targeted the man one-handed and tried to fire.

Again, his hand was empty. Thoroughly confused, he saw the gun, holster and all, sitting on the end table next to Vinicius. He began to feel actual nervousness. Whatever else was going on, Ferreira was clearly an amateur; professionals avoided such drama. A frightened operative was dangerous.

"I see you do remember. Excellent reflexes, by the way." The smile was full and condescending now. "They are, however, quite useless against me, as you can see."

Steve was understandably unnerved, but a former Army Ranger didn't give up easily, whatever the situation. He stalled for time. "What exactly is your game here?" he asked as he shifted his weight.

"My 'game' is perfectly..." He stopped short as Steve made his move, leaping forward and swinging the base of his hand in a short arc calculated to snap the man's neck. It failed to connect and he struggled to keep his balance. He numbly registered that he was back on the other side of the room, and Ferreira was well out of reach.

There was a pause as the two men regarded each other, displaying equally startled expressions. Then Ferreira burst out laughing.

Steve felt a flicker of panic this time, but he clamped down on the emotion with long-practiced surety and maintained control. Clearly there was something going on here he didn't understand. Until he could sort things out, he'd allow Ferreira to think he was in charge.

Cooly, he bit out, "That's a neat trick. How's it work?"

Ferreira, too, had regained his composure - though his eyes still twinkled. "Magic, of course," he stated matter-of-factly.

Hearing, out loud, the word that had been rattling in the back of his mind was oddly calming. Now Steve was sure it was an angle, a con. An impressive effect, to be sure, and he was definitely in trouble... but that would make it even more valuable after he'd turned the tables, somehow. "Riiiiight..." he drawled.

"Your disbelief is quite understandable, even under the circumstances. Most 'mystics' are fools or madmen or charlatans. Only a few, a very few, know how to contact the... entities that lie beyond this plane, and fewer still dare to face the terrible risks and costs of such contact. I myself would not have attempted it..." he trailed off, and favored Steve with an icy stare. Steve had been a ruthless handler for over seven years, and a soldier and 'wet-work' field operative for nine years before that. He still felt a thrill of anxiety at that stare.

"...but you and your people... inspired me."

Again, stalling for time was called for. "It was nothing personal. I wasn't even..." Steve began.

"Spare me," Ferreira interrupted. "I know she meant nothing to you. But I am here to make it personal."

It had been a minor incident midway in Steve's career with the agency. He doubted he'd even thought of the operation three times since then, but now he wracked his brain for details. He'd been acting as station chief in Brazil at the time; he'd assigned one of his operatives seduce and turn a young secretary at the then-newly-formed ABIN (Brazil's current intelligence service). They'd been able to intercept and cut off a mole from an allied country with the information she'd turned over. There had been no way to hide where the tip had come from, however, so he'd transferred his agent to another country and cut the secretary - Julia Ferreira - loose.

"Do you know what happened to her after you monsters played with her heart? No, you never bothered to check. She fell into despair, still pining for your snake of an agent. Then she took to drugs, and came apart quickly. She was killed on the street by her pimp, less than a year after your little triumph." The bitterness and venom in his voice confirmed that Ferreira was definitely not going to be professional about this.

He paused for a moment, reflecting, sadness and regret writ large on his expressive face. "Julia had been very dear to me. I could not have loved her more had she been my own. When I returned from my travels she was gone, and my brother, her father, was a broken man."

His attention returned to the present, as he looked up at Steve. "I swore vengeance that day. It has taken years to prepare, years full of dark deeds and fearsome bargains. But I gained the power to find those who had wronged my blood, and give to them my wrath."

"I know you're angry," Steve said, placatingly. "But as I said, I wasn't personally involved. I never even met..."

Ferreira cut him off. "What is the phrase? 'The buck stops here?' You approved it, oversaw it. You are responsible."

"I'd think you'd be a lot more pissed off at the guy who actually carried out the..."

Another brusque interruption: "He has already been dealt with. Simply to get the attention of what are commonly called 'demons' requires... certain sacrifices." He radiated grim satisfaction. Steve had always been good at reading people; it was a vital part of his job, and indeed a survival skill in his profession. Very few people, even pros, could lie to his face. Ferreira was not a pro; obviously a passionate man, he wore his heart on his sleeve.

Steve knew now that he wasn't lying. This man really believed what he was saying. Given what had already happened in the past few minutes, he couldn't be sure the stranger was actually insane. Of course, if he weren't, it might be worse...

Ferreira was speaking. "I give to you now my curse. You shall know what Julia knew, feel all she felt. You, too, shall betray your country for love." He smiled. "And I shall be the instrument of your downfall. The beings I have bargained with are far beyond the human. They do not fit in our little categories of 'good' or 'evil', they are truly incomprehensible. But I have met their price, and they are not without a sense of humor. Together we determined a punishment exactly tailored to your crime. "

He gestured, and Steve felt a fleeting moment of dizziness; his vision blurred for an instant, then resharpened. It was almost too short to recognize. He stood for a few heartbeats, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing else happened. He exhaled, only then realizing he'd been holding his breath.

"Fuck, you almost had me..." the rest of the words died in his throat as he focused on Vinicius. The stranger with the jet-black hair and firey eyes suddenly seemed larger, more powerful, more threatening, more compelling. He wanted to look away, and yet he found himself staring, fascinated and frightened, as Vinicius laughed out loud. The sound seemed undefinably different, confusing and absorbing in some new way...

As Vinicius spoke, Steve was transfixed by stirring overtones in that deep voice that he had missed before. "You do not even yet realize your fate. Go, examine yourself. Your manhood." He chuckled again.

Steve turned away slightly, still furtively glancing at the disturbingly striking intruder. His manhood? What did that... In a flash, his hand was at the crotch of his trousers. For several seconds he probed, terror mounting. Something was wrong. Where was it? His hand plunged under his waistband, reaching down. He didn't find what should have been there... but further down, he found something else, something his brain refused to process for what seemed a very long time.

There was a pussy there. He had a pussy. The thought floated on the surface of his mind, unmoored and alien, refusing to sink in. He fled Vinicius's mocking laughter, racing to the bathroom. He knocked the door closed and tore his pants down.

Sight did what touch alone could not, driving understanding home. There in the mirror was a slit between his legs, partly concealed by his bushy pubic hair... and nothing else. His form seemed otherwise unchanged; the same clean-shaven, chiseled face, the same toned arms and legs. But the one difference outweighed the others. He was a man with a vagina. The world wobbled. He recognized the sensation from when he'd been shot early in his career... he was going into shock.

After a while - he wasn't sure how long - he tentatively reached down to feel it. His fingers reported the usual sensations he recognized from countless sessions with women in the past. But the data coming directly from his crotch was impossible to integrate, nonsensical at first.

Vinicius pushed open the door, his cruel amusement unmistakable. Again Steve was struck by something newly unsettling about his tormentor, something gripping that further strained his already barely-held composure. He mustered his courage and barked out, "What the fuck is going on? What kind of bullshit trick is this?" But he couldn't keep all the hysteria he felt out of his voice, spoiling the effect.

"It is all real, I assure you. All that and more. As I shall now demonstrate." He stepped forward and stood behind Steve, so they were both facing the mirror. He took hold of Steve's face, turning it forward. Steve saw Vinicius's reflected eyes boring into his own, and could not look away. Some part of himself wondered why he wasn't even trying to attack Vinicius, but the idea was somehow... impossible. He could no longer make himself believe he could ever overpower the commanding gentleman, even without the protective magic. Vinicius reached around and began unbuttoning Steve's shirt, unhurried. He slipped it off and dropped it onto the floor. Then he pulled the t-shirt up and over Steve's head; he unthinkingly lifted his arms to help. Resistance never even occurred to him.

Another change was apparent now; his nipples were larger, and the areolas around them had greatly expanded. It was bizarre seeing those erect feminine nipples on his hairy, muscled chest. Dread filled him as Vinicius's hand reached up and approached one. He gasped involuntarily as his strange tormentor began to gently stroke and tweak the rapidly-stiffening nubs.

It felt incredible, amazing. He looked at Vinicius in the mirror and was again captured by those striking, arresting eyes. He could not even think of looking away, though the contempt he saw in them made him feel small and helpless. His knees trembled. His breath came faster now, and when Vinicius pinched a nipple it pushed a low moan from deep in his throat.

Vinicius's other hand reached around at waist level, its target unmistakable. A wild mix of terror and anticipation shot through Steve's heart, which was hammering in his chest. The world slowed to a crawl as Steve realized what was about to happen... and realized how powerless he was to prevent it... and realized how darkly exciting he found it to be so utterly at the mercy of this cruel, powerful man.

Then fingers grazed teasingly across his vulva, and he inhaled sharply, hissing. He could sense how wet he was, how his newly-traitorous body ached to be touched there, and much more forcefully. His hips bucked forward slightly, involuntarily, but he couldn't bring himself to move more than that. He wondered how he could feel so weak and so frozen in place at the same time.

A digit glided along his moistened slit and he openly whimpered. He wished he could push it away but he simply leaned back into the firm arms of his captor, and allowed himself to be felt up. The well-lubricated finger slid over his clit and he yelped with pleasure, his head rocking back and his eyes closing unconsciously. His world narrowed, centered on the new chasm at his groin. His nipples sent random sparks of pleasure as he opened his legs as wide as they could go, limited by the pants around his ankles.

He could hear himself moaning and whining like a bitch in heat, though he was not truly conscious of anything but the ecstasy being forced on him, growing exponentially. But then he felt a moustached face rub against his ear and his eyes snapped open. He saw himself draped across Vinicius, as his iron hands mercilessly roamed across Steve's strangely mixed new flesh. He saw himself writhing, excited... wanton. The musk of an aroused female filled the air, and the understanding that it came from him somehow added to the excitement. He felt so naked, so exposed. But most of all, he saw Vinicius watching, dominating him in every way, making him into his plaything. It was Vinicius' proud face that triggered his orgasm.

It was far more intense than any he'd had before. It swept him away utterly, carrying him in wave after irresistible wave until they receeded enough for him to be aware of his surroundings again. He discovered himself collapsed, panting desperately, bent over the counter in front of the mirror, legs wobbling, barely managing to remain upright. His pussy (there could be no denying its reality now) was still quivering in erratic little spasms, forcing hitching gasps each time, as the fingers withdrew. They slid around his hips, leaving a wet trail of his own juices.

He raised his head with effort. Vinicius was there in the mirror, triumphant, gloating. Steve felt utterly humiliated, conquered. Before, the few times he'd made a mistake or been outmaneuvered, it had filled him with rage. Anger would not come, now; only despair, and - doubly hateful - a strange and confusing acceptance, even satisfaction.

All these emotions flashed through his mind in a whirl, before Vinicius' had fully stood up. Steve watched his violator survey his victim, clearly enjoying the helpless expression he could not suppress on his face. He felt himself blushing - blushing - but he could not look away from those enthralling eyes.

Alarm filled him as Vinicius ran a hand down his ass and began exploring his lips once more, now from behind. "No, please, no more..." he pleaded, hating the submissive, supplicating tone in his voice - but unable to sound, or even feel, more assertive.

A stern look from Vinicius and he no longer dared even beg. Firm digits teased and probed anew; more swiftly than he would have believed possible - faster than any man could ever recover - he was groaning uncontrollably. He'd seen women have multiple orgasms before (or, at least, he was as sure as a man can be that they weren't faked), but experiencing one was entirely different. His second orgasm was as devastating as the first. He wasn't able to remain upright this time, and he fell to the floor on hands and knees.

As he knelt there, panting, he felt the tears come. He hadn't cried since childhood but everything was racing out of control. He looked up wildly at Vinicius and was no longer able to deny what was so upsetting about him - he was gorgeous, breathtakingly handsome. Steve was observing everything about the man in an entirely new light. The proud, aristocratic features; broad shoulders; strong hands (his new nether anatomy twitched at the sight, almost yearningly); trim waist and belly without a hint of paunch; long legs...

He let out a sob, despair mixed with unwanted but undeniable longing.

Vinicius watched him cry for a time, an appreciative grin on his face. "Now I think you see. At least, a little." His voice sent chills up Steve's spine. It was beautiful, mesmerizing. Sexy.

"Ate amanha," Vinicius said, mockingly. He walked out of the room without a backward glance, but Steve's eyes were riveted on his firm, tight rear. Moments later, he heard the front door open and close.

Steve lay on the cold bathroom floor, weeping quietly, for a long time.

Eventually he recovered enough self-possession to get up and pull on his clothes; he didn't look in the mirror. He robotically checked the house. Everything seemed secure - though he wondered if he'd ever feel secure again. All that he'd ever believed about reality, about himself, seemed to be crumbling. He found his dinner sitting in the kitchen where he'd left it, a lifetime ago. He sat down heavily on a stool and began mechanically eating the cold noodles, trying to think.

He'd gone through training to resist many forms of torture. He'd been in combat several times, and he hadn't cracked then. Sure, he'd been rattled and off-balance by the gun disappearing and... such, but he would never have just surrendered like that, not for anything. Obviously the changes were more than physical.

The physical was bad enough. He didn't need to touch himself to notice that things were... off. His shirt rubbed his new nipples in an odd way. Even as he thought about it he could see points rising, visible under the cloth. And his briefs were disturbingly loose. Just walking around pointed out a conspicuous absence.

But when he thought about what had happened in the bathroom... the shock was immediately mixed with a resurgence of excitement, of lust. Some new part of him had liked it, had fed on the delicious helplessness. And thoughts of Vinicius himself sparked an even more chaotic flurry of emotion.

As long as he thought in the abstract... if he thought about someone stealing his dick, and toying with his mind, and finger-fucking him, he could be properly indignant, even outraged. But if he thought specifically that Vinicius had done so, his fury collapsed.

Remembering the man's hands, so surely and confidently reducing him to jelly, caused his skin to flush and his breath to come more rapidly. He was scared to be angry at Vinicius. (Steve finally, absently noticed that he wasn't using the man's surname anymore, even in his thoughts.) He was commanding, intimidating, and alluring... and each fed into the others. He knew that it was wrong, but it didn't feel wrong to be aroused by, and attracted to, his sheer animal power.

Steve finished eating and made his way to the living room, intending to sit on the couch. Before he'd arrived there he'd changed his mind. He had to understand his situation, figure out what was going on. Unknowns were dangerous, and his own body was now a critical unknown. He went upstairs, closed the blinds, and took off his clothes. There was a mirror over the dresser.

Aside from the nipples and his crotch, things seemed the same. He was a bizarre mix - a fit, lean man with women's genitals. He walked about in a small circle and confirmed a suspicion he'd developed - his gait had changed slightly, his hips were subtly reconfigured - not wider, just shaped differently. A quick, experimental snap-kick revealed unexpected flexibility, it reached inches higher than his previous limit. He wasn't unusually hairy for a man, but his legs looked strange beneath that clearly feminine groin.

Reluctantly he examined the... vagina between his legs. The task proved to be more difficult than he'd anticipated; he ended up laying on the bed with a hand mirror. Aside from its terrifying location, it proved to be a disquietingly normal example of the type. Pert, symmetrical lips; a cute clitoris demurely hiding beneath its hood. A short distance within there was even what had to be a hymen. He would have found it attractive, placed in other surroundings.

The attention of his hands, however, was causing it to stir alarmingly. He bolted off the bed with alacrity and wiped off his fingers. He moved to the mirror, shifting attention to his nipples. Again, except for their placement, they were entirely typical out to the edge of the areolas: at that point his normal chest hair reappeared. They were by now erect and firm, and sensitive to his exploratory contact. Somehow they seemed connected to the awakening flesh below, bestirring his arousal further.

It felt so good. In his imagination, Vinicius' magnetic eyes watched him as one hand descended and began to rub his new lips and clit. His back arched, almost involuntarily. He began to picture himself putting on a show, displaying his submission, affirming what Vinicius hade made of him... his toy, his pet, his... his slut. Steve's sighs waxed into moans and then shrieks as he came again, almost as violently as before.

As the pleasure faded he came to a sick realization of how thoroughly the hooks had sunk into his very being. Gathering the scraps of his willpower, he pulled his hands away from his still-eager, throbbing flesh and fought to calm down. It took time, much time, but eventually he'd restored some sense of equilibrium.

As noted, Steve was not one for surrendering. He assailed the problem from many angles as the evening wore on, but it was like there were now trapdoors scattered across his mind. Considering certain aspects or specifics of his situation would drop him down a slippery ramp toward shuddering lust, and only immediate and frantic effort would keep him from entertaining dangerous fantasies... and succumbing to them. His pussy's appetite and aptitude for pleasure displayed no apparent limits as the night wore on. It took a firm and careful rein on his own thoughts, consideration of the issues only in the most general terms, to retain his self-control.

He went to bed, very late, demoralized and without even a vague idea how he could proceed. Even that was disquieting; normally he slept naked, but he found that he needed a shirt to protect his... chest from unwanted stimulation. He feared what tomorrow would bring... but the despised new parts of his psyche felt a cloudy anticipation, too.

Steve woke at the sound of his alarm and sat up. There was no confusion about his circumstances; it had been a restless, fitful night, and from the few snippets he could recall it was perhaps a mercy that he didn't clearly remember his dreams. But the bed was wet where his crotch had lain.

He showered, briefly and unthinkingly; he could not risk devoting too much attention to his altered body... but he also couldn't go to work smelling like he did. He pondered calling in sick but he didn't want to stay home where it was clear he could be easily gotten to. He chose a stiff, thick shirt, hoping it would hide the nubs on his chest if they awoke. The rest of his morning ritual was comforting in a way, but tension underlaid the whole proceedings. He wrestled with the decision he had to make all along his drive to work. Presenting his credentials as usual, he was admitted to the secured areas and he sat down to go over his morning briefings and case reports.

In the end, he couldn't do it. He came close, several times, to alerting his boss that he'd been compromised. But he never quite made it to Edwards' office. It wasn't just that it was career suicide; he had a strong sense of duty and patriotism, and was willing to put that over his own ambitions... if only barely. But acknowledging what had happened... exposing his complete humiliation to others... it was just too much. Telling his superiors that he'd been magically castrated - telling anyone - well, no man could face that without pause. He'd be probed, studied, examined. Treated like a lab animal. And snickered at...

Work, too, was reassuring. He was incredibly relieved to confirm that he wasn't looking at other men in a sexual way. Thoughts of Vinicius' appearance had to be quickly stifled for the shivers they brought, but his co-workers were just other guys. Just as happily, he still found women attractive... though if he went too far in that vein, he started to feel his fantasies and desires warp in unfamiliar directions. Still, he could function on a business level. In many ways his day went entirely normally.

But he felt like an imposter going into the men's room, walking past the urinals and sitting at a toilet to pee. Wiping was emotionally but not physically excruciating.

He took a chance and did some digging on Vinicius, striving to adopt a mindset of abstract research, though it was hard to maintain; his interest was more than academic, after all. Still, there was little to discover; mostly travel records. He'd apparently never attracted much official attention. A Brazilian citizen from a well-off family. Studied anthropology and history abroad in several countries. Well-travelled since then, too - he'd been on every continent, including Antarctica. It wasn't clear where his money came from, but Steve didn't dare initiate a more thorough search that might be noticed. No known ties to any organizations of interest.

He stayed later than usual, putting off the inevitable. Deviating from routine too much might draw attention from the internal agency watchdogs, however, which he could not afford in his current predicament. He ate dinner out, dread and excitement mounting simultaneously. When he pulled into his garage, his stomach was churning with the volatile mix of desire and fear. He was mentally rehearsing what he'd say and how he'd react if Vinicius was there... but he had little confidence that he'd actually be able to follow through.

He entered the kitchen gingerly, and when he saw that the living room was dark he was pierced to the heart with relief... and disappointment. He recognized that he was psyching himself out, but the rigid grasp he'd always kept on his emotions was getting rather frayed.

A quick tour showed that the ground floor was as he'd left it. He felt more reassured still as he went up the stairs and saw that the lights were off. Again, a survey cleared the area. He stood in the bedroom, glad to be spared a confrontation... or mostly glad, at least.

He almost screamed when the voice came from behind. "Good evening, Mr. Harper." Displaying the reflexes he'd been complimented on last night, he whirled around in a flash.

Vinicius sat in the chair in the corner, casual and relaxed. Once again Steve was transfixed by the man's handsome appearance, even as his mind frantically tried to account for his sudden presence. The Brazilian had not been there when he'd swept the room seconds ago.

"You... I don't... Please, leave me alone..." It was hard to talk, to think; he just wanted to drink in that amazing face, that lean body. He knew that he should be shouting, cursing, but he suddenly felt so confused. All of the strong words he'd planned had dissolved, vanished. His nipples were perking up, so hard and sharp that his shirt couldn't conceal them. It was embarrassing, but part of him wanted Vinicius to know how turned on he was becoming.

"Hush." At the word Steve's feeble protests ended and he fell silent, abashed. "I promised I would come today, and I am, as they say, a man of my word." The white, even teeth flashed by his grin were captivating. "Are you truly so sad to see me?"

Given leave to speak, he cried "Yes!", his voice breaking. He remembered the root of the term 'hysteria' and almost despaired. "You... changed me... attacked me..." He could feel himself flushing, lubricating, at the images in his mind.

A mock frown wrinkled his brow. "Indeed? I don't recall spirited opposition." He almost leered then, but somehow even that was... sophisticated, coming from him. "It must have been terrible."

The warmth he felt on his face... he must be bright red. "I didn't... You... I wouldn't have..." He didn't know what to do with his hands.

"What did I do that was so upsetting?"

"You... touched me, held me... felt me..."

"That doesn't sound so fearsome." The feigned puzzlement gave way to a serious expression. "Show me. What did I do that offended you so?"

"Please, don't make me..."

"Show me," he ordered, in a tone like steel.

Steve collapsed inside. He could not stand up to Vinicius, he was like a physical force. Where had his willpower gone? Yesterday he had been a cold-blooded killer. Now he was timid and bashful... and his blood was anything but cold.

With trembling fingers he reached up to his chest and pinched his nipples through the shirt. "First, you squeezed my... my chest..."

Sternly: "No."

It took him a second. He quailed within, but he felt his still-alien clitoris swell when he understood what Vinicius meant. The holster slipped off and was cast away; slowly, he began to unbutton his shirt. "You... you took off my shirt, like this." It fell to the floor.

"And then?"

He looked away shyly. "You took off my undershirt." Slowly he pulled it over his head and dropped it softly to the ground.

"Did I? What did I do after that?"

"You squeezed my nipples." He began to play with the strange, stiff nubs on his chest, marvelling at the sensations they evoked. It was like an erection, but more concentrated, and there were two of them, and they seemed to be connected to everywhere. His pussy was flushed, straining...

Vinicius allowed this to go on for some time. Steve was moaning softly; he'd never made much noise during sex before, but the feelings swamping him demanded expression. Eventually, his audience queried, "You find this unpleasant, then?"

Lying was out of the question. "No," he whispered.

"What was that?"

Compelled, he spoke in a loud, husky voice. "No."

"How does it feel?"

The delay was brief, barely perceptible. "Good, oh God, so good," he panted. "I like it." Why had he added that? It was true, but it felt so... naughty to admit it.

Vinicius' frown had retuned. "We must explore further, then, and find what upset you so." He seemed so casual, and yet Steve couldn't imagine refusing him. "What happened next?"

"You... you touched me. Down there."

"Where?" Like a schoolteacher, eliciting the proper answer.

"On my... my pussy." Oh, God, why did it feel so good to say it?

"How could I?" The accent was so charming... "You are still wearing pants."

He was suffused with embarrassment; he hadn't been reenacting things properly... and then, as he became aware of that thought, he was embarrassed by how thoroughly involved he'd become in Vinicius' game. But it couldn't shake him loose of the control; indeed, his breath came faster as he began to unbuckle his belt. "I'm sorry, sir." The honorific just slipped out, naturally, without a conscious decision.

He kicked off his shoes, one by one, and eased the pants down; slowly, flirtatiously. He realized he was doing a striptease for the man who'd stolen his maleness. Where resentment, where rage should have been, there was only shame... and a growing, dazed wonder at how erotic it all was.

He stepped out of the pants and turned slightly as he began to slide off his briefs, gradually. It was indescribably exciting, so sexy. His reservations meant nothing anymore, they hardly registered; he was in another world now, where other rules applied. The only anxiety he felt was fear that Vinicius wouldn't find him attractive.

His audience simply regarded him, infinitely superior, a lord surveying a peasant. Steve kicked the briefs away with a flair and ran a hand down his belly toward his...his snatch, his twat. It was on fire, he was on fire. It didn't feel alien now; it was too powerful, too deeply rooted to be anything but part of his being.

He fell to his knees, legs spread. He plumbed the strange and wonderful new convolutions of his crotch, feeling the delicious slippery friction, hearing the slurping wetness, smelling his own new musk. All for Vinicius, who had ignited this glorious conflagration within him. He gave voice to passionate moans and whines; he had no control, it was was if his pussy was crying out directly.

It was so much like his fantasy of the night before that he wondered if Vinicius could read his mind. As he raised his head and gazed into those oh-so-compelling eyes, he felt as if they were peering into his very soul, that every secret within him was laid bare before this irresistable presence. He felt tiny and humble... and unbelievably hot.

A hint of a smile on that face; he knew, he must know. "Oh, oh God, oh please, oh my Gooood!" Again his climax was intense and cataclysmic and unmanned him, completely and literally.

As a man an orgasm had been a final thing; once he had come, arousal dropped precipitously, and didn't return for a time. His new parts didn't have that limitation; arousal receeded somewhat, but came nowhere near zero. He was still hungry, starving for more.

It was enough for him to remember how degrading this all was, though... or at least, how degrading it should have felt. There was barely a flicker of resentment, however. He was ashamed... but eager.

Vinicius was smiling broadly. "That didn't appear so upsetting. Tell me, how do you feel?"

He didn't even want to lie. "Hot," he panted. "Sexy."

"You enjoyed that, did you?"

"Yes," he admitted coquettishly. He was flirting!

"Do you wish me to leave now?"

"No!" he anxiously and unthinkingly exclaimed.

"Well, then, I appear to have done you a favor. It is only right that you repay my kindness," Vinicius admonished sternly.

Steve suffered a thrill of terror. He thought he knew where this was headed, but he realized that he was too worked up, too far gone, to refuse Vinicius now. He'd do practically anything... and understanding that, he felt himself become even wetter.

The man stood up from his chair. "Come, approach me."

Steve began to stand, but the words came sharply. "On your knees."

He crawled forward, face burning, but whimpering with lust. To Steve, Vinicius looked... magnificient from down on the floor. His submission was total. He reached Vinicius' feet and stopped, trembling. Unbidden, he bowed his head. He could feel juices running into his pubic hair, onto his belly...

The moment stretched... and then he called down. "Remove my shoes."

He reached forward. "Yes..."

Viciously: "Yes, what?" Steve paused. It was appalling how little resistance he could mount, how the words were squeezed out of him.

"Yes, Master." He shivered. The cool air running over his naked skin, perking his nipples... it did nothing, he was still so hot...

The shoes came off, one by one. The pungent smell should have been off-putting... but it was arousing instead. It was his Master's smell.

"Now, the pants."

He reached up, fumbling for a moment, unhooking the belt, pulling it free. His hands grew surer. The pants had a single button, easily undone. The sound of the zipper descending made him shiver again. He wanted this. It didn't feel like the desires were being imposed from without. It was like he was awakening to parts of himself that had always been there, latent, waiting for the proper time to stir and bloom. It felt natural, right, and wonderful.

He pulled the pants down. Vinicius wore boxers. That struck Steve as more manly than briefs... and that was somehow more sexy. He was gratified to see that, despite Vinicius' affected detachment, he was sporting a prominent erection, stretching the sleek fabric. Steve wanted desperately to please him.

There was something else he wanted desperately, too. He leaned forward and took hold of the boxers with his teeth. The smell was intoxicating, the feel of the smooth cloth against his cheek was delicious. It had to be real silk. Slowly he descended, slipping the undergarment to Vinicius' ankles to join the pants. He sat up again and regarded his Master's cock.

Intellectually, he knew he should have been disgusted, repulsed; that awareness was purely abstract, however. In reality, it was concretely fascinating. It was somehow more immediate, more impressive, more real than any he'd seen before. He'd never inspected any prick so closely or intently in his life, not even his own. It was... not beautiful, exactly, but... enticing. Stimulating. Suggestive. It was uncircumcised and the head glistened slightly, extending out past the retracted foreskin. Master's pubic hair reminded him of nothing so much as the mane of a proud lion. The balls hung low in the scrotum, too masculine for words.

"Touch it." Was Vinicius' voice just a bit throaty, a fraction strained? Steve hoped so. He needed no further encouragement, and gently took hold of the member. It felt amazing, strong, powerful. It might as well have been electrified for the tingling that ranged through his whole body at the contact. He stroked it gently for a time, marvelling at the feeling, and at his own enthusiasm. Admiring the naked lower half before him, he wondered what an entirely unclothed Vinicius would look like, and hoped to find out soon. He was ready to do more, much more, but despite his straining anticipation, he could not dream of proceeding without permission.

Permission was not long in coming. "Suck it," Vinicius instructed. There was no doubt the voice was husky now, despite the authority in the inflection. Quickly but deferentially, Steve took the head into his mouth and began to gently suck and lick. He wracked his brains for tricks that women had used on him before. Odd, he hadn't thought of his own erstwhile member until now... it seemed absurd, silly, to miss it when he had this spectacular penis to play with now.

The tastes and smells were delightful, ambrosial. The feel as he took in more and more was... fulfilling, in a way he'd never imagined before. No tongue had ever reached so deeply, had ever stimulated so many senses at once. Everything simply... fit. Clicked. He wondered why he'd never wanted to do this before. It was sexy, and fun!

He could feel it get harder as he worked, and he heard Master breathing deeply. He opened his eyes and was presented with a view of a blowjob he'd never expected to see, but which was profoundly erotic. He realized he was gasping and moaning himself as he slurped with unabashed pleasure. He ran his hands up Master's legs and placed his hands on the ass he found, pulling himself as close as he could, trying to get that majestic prick as deep in his throat as possible. Master let out a gasp, and then he began to come.

Steve had heard that some women could orgasm without direct stimulation, by emotion and fantasy alone. Tasting Vinicius' cum, feeling his cock pulse in his mouth, knowing that he had succeeded, drove Steve wild. He drew as much joy from the knowledge that he had made his Master come as he did from the waves of heat and pleasure radiating across his body as he wriggled his hips. He greedily swallowed every last drop, and for the longest time felt nothing but a glow of satisfaction and perverse pride.

Vinicius, for his part, was silent - apart from heavy breathing - for almost a minute. He watched mutely as Steve tenderly licked and milked his wilting penis, ensuring that not a drop of semen spilled. Steve couldn't tell what he might be thinking. His normal sensitivity was overwhelmed by his powerful emotions, his ardor to please and to submit. He took the lack of countermanding orders as tacit permission to keep kissing and enjoying his Master's delightful cock.

Unexpectedly, without warning, Vinicius shoved him down. Steve, taken by surprise, fell onto his side. He looked up, shocked. He'd been trying so hard to make Master happy...

Vinicius glared for a moment, then turned away, reaching down to pull on his clothes. He didn't look at his victim for what seemed a long time. Steve simply lay where he had fallen, unsure. Eventually Vinicius sat back in the chair and regarded him coldy.

The game was over, clearly. Steve was disappointed - he was still very aroused - and confused. But he was far too intimidated to do more than collect himself off the floor and wait - kneeling, head bowed - for Vinicius to say something.

Finally, he spoke. "How does it feel? To be so humiliated? To be a cocksucker?" The word could have been wickedly sexy, but the tone robbed it of any pleasure. His voice was spiteful, poisonous. He glared; hateful, furious. Steve quailed inside.

"Please, I'm sorry, I don't... I didn't mean to..." He felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He was so frightened; what could he have done to upset Vinicius so?

"Enough!" his tormentor barked. He was silent a few seconds more, and then he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Having regained his composure somewhat, he spoke again. His voice was more controlled, but still cold. "It would appear your reluctance was more feigned than real."

With his lust dwindling, Steve found himself able to think a bit more like his usual self. He had recovered a tiny amount of indignation. "It's magic making me do this. What's your excuse?" He wished he could sound accusatory instead of merely petulant.

Vinicius smiled indulgently, his good humor apparently restored for the present. "True, those of us driven to explore the limits of reality often go beyond conventional strictures in other areas. I freely admit that my sexual tastes are unusual, but the beings I... 'contracted with' care nothing for what humans consider 'normal'. They took my proclivities into account when crafting my revenge."

He reached forward and ran his fingernails up Steve's chest. The former man arched into the caress, letting out a soft "mmmmmm," almost a purr. "I see your own objections are fading," Vinicius teased.

"No!" Steve cried. "I don't want this!" But even as he said that he could feel his nipples crinkle anew. "What do you want from me?" he cried out, frustrated and confused by the man's whipsawing moods and his own helpless reactions to them.

Vinicius was positively beaming now as he stroked Steve gently. "I want exactly what I said. I want you to betray your country. I made certain contacts when I was searching for particular texts and sites in China: they were necessary if I wanted to secure permissions for my journeys there." He smiled vindictively as he pulled on his shoes. "I care nothing for the affairs of nations, but it will amuse me when you select the most damaging nuggets of information for me to relay to the PLA's Second Department."

Steve was horrified. He'd never hand over state secrets! But then, he'd done so many things in the past few minutes he'd never imagined doing...

"That is enough for tonight." He stood and nodded his satisfaction at Steve and the gaping expression on his face. "Adieu, for now." Steve looked away, but couldn't help listening intently as Vinicius strode from the room and down the stairs.

For the second time in as many days, Steve wept uncontrollably.

The next morning was much as the previous one had been, only filled with even more despair. He tried to lose himself in his work during the day, and mostly succeeded. But leaving his office that night, he impulsively decided to at least try to do something about his situation. It was Friday; he always kept a small 'escape kit' in the trunk with cash, a change of clothes, and other useful items. Instead of going home, he went to a random hotel and checked in. He had dinner in the hotel restaurant and went back up to his simple twin-bed room.

He was almost surprised that Vinicius wasn't waiting for him. He ignored the flash of disappointment and sat down at the desk to think. He forced himself to remember what had happened last night, to consider everything as dispassionately as he could. He told himself it was a problem to solve. Steve was very good at puzzles, at finding answers with incomplete information. At determining the why from the what. At understanding people's weaknesses...

A few pieces clicked into place, all at once. Vinicius had been furious immediately after the blowjob. (Steve wrenched his thoughts from dwelling too fondly on that subject.) He had been enjoying things up until then... as he should, since the situation was designed to appeal to his 'proclivities'. Steve had been doing everything to please him...

It had gotten to Vinicius! He had forgotten his drive for vengeance for a moment, because of Steve's sincere enthusiasm. Vinicius was not truly ruthless, not professional. He was sophisticated and intelligent, but also firey, passionate - he let his emotions get in the way. Revenge itself was unprofessional. Steve didn't think Vinicius was instinctively cruel. He had become angry because he had - if only for a moment - stopped thinking of Steve as a victim and had thought of him as... not a lover, perhaps, but at least a person. Vinicius might enjoy domination during sex, but that was not the same thing as cruelty.

It was an interesting theory. He thought it held together, but he was also aware of how little objectivity he possessed regarding the man. He was obsessively attracted to the dashing Latin adventurer. He wanted it to be true, he wanted Vinicius to care for him. It also pointed out, to his agent side, a way that Steve might gain some power over Vinicius... but only by becoming a more perfect sex slave. He blushed at how tempting that prospect was.

No further revelations came that night. He ended up watching the cable news shows for a few hours, half-expecting Vinicius to appear each time he turned around. (He always kept up on current events; sometimes the most surprising connections could be made.) Eventually, around eleven, he decided to sleep on it. He was both relieved and somehow vaguely saddened that the warlock had been evaded so easily.

Unfortunately, slumber proved difficult to capture. Tossing and turning in the dark, he finally admitted to himself that he was quite horny. Here away from home, though, perhaps he would be safe in exploring himself a little...

His fingers ranged along the unfamiliar geography of his loins. He tried to distance himself, pretend he was feeling up some woman and not his own anatomy, but it was no use. The idea just didn't have the charge it should. He knew what would get him off, and in a mortifyingly short time he was applying that knowledge.

Picturing Vinicius' face and form brought immediate results. In his fantasy, Vinicius was there, naked and glorious, running his hands along skin that ached for his caress. Moisture gathered swiftly between his lips, and he could feel blood rushing there, swelling his pussy and making it ready... for him, for that gorgeous, irresistible man.

"Oh, Vinicius... oh please... mmmmm... oh, god..." He could not remain silent. The tension climbed by degrees. What would it feel like, to kiss him with that moustache? Would it taste as good as his cock? He drew forth and pictured every moment of last night's oral service, now wishing to do it again, all that and more. His nipples were so hard, his pussy so wet...

"Oh god, oh Master, oh... oh fuck me, please, oh god Vinicius, fuck me! Oh fuck oooooohhhhhhh!" Picturing that superb prick inside his eager vagina was the last straw. He screamed, heedless that others in nearby rooms might hear. His hips bucked as he climaxed triumphantly. It lasted much longer than any he'd had as a man, fading gradually, leaving him panting but almost at peace. Perhaps he could actually sleep now.

"That sounded rewarding." The voice was unmistakable, the tone was playful. For several seconds Steve fumbled clumsily for the light switch, and finally got it. He and Vinicius blinked at each other, eyes adjusting. In his dazed state, halfway between excited and befuddled, Steve wondered if he was dreaming. He was very quickly coming to not care, however.

Vinicius was nude and semi-erect; he sat casually at the near edge of the other bed. No discarded clothes presented themselves to Steve's quick inspection of the room. Part of the reason that inspection was quick was that he was an experienced operative whose life had depended on rapidly sizing up a situation. Mostly, however, Steve's eyes were magnetically drawn to Vinicius' stunning body.

He was, as Steve had already concluded in an entirely different context, in excellent shape. Not fat-free like a bodybuilder, not polished and artificial like a model, just... fit, healthy. His body looked lived-in, with several interesting scars here and there, adding character like beauty marks. Steve's heart was pounding as he drank in his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his legs, his arms... everything he saw was thoroughly sexy. He'd believed he was wet and excited before, but he was reaching new peaks in just the few moments since the light had come on.

He could not speak, he was dumbfounded. The surprise, the embarassment of being caught masturbating like that, the sudden rush of lust... it was too much. He could only stare, helpless. Vinicius' lazy smile told Steve that his confusion was obvious. He realized with some corner of his mind that he'd instinctively pulled up the sheets to cover his chest.

"I would apologize for intruding, but it seems I am invited," he drawled. Steve blushed and looked down, but he could not deny it. Longing filled his soul. It wasn't fair, him appearing now, when he was so worked up... Vinicius continued, "Please, don't stop. Now that the light is on, I'm curious to see."

Steve had thought he'd been mortified earlier... "Yes, Master." Tentatively yet ineluctably he pushed the covers away, exposing his nakedness. He'd never been exhibitionistic before, but now the idea of playing with himself under Master's supervision was irresistably sexy. Despite himself, he still felt flattered to see Vinicius' erection rising. He moved, changing position, making sure that Master would have a good view.

His new hips were indeed more flexible than the old. He was grateful the changes had been so thorough; his legs would never have been able to spread so wide before. He snaked a hand down to the exceedingly moist flesh below while the other gently rubbed and pulled his nipples. It seemed natural and obvious to pleasure himself that way, as if he'd always done so.

Having Master watch was indeed electric, exciting. It was unspeakably hot, being so naughty, and him seeing it all. He was so wet now, so inflamed, as he moaned deep in his throat, animal, bestial. He was an animal - but tamed, desperate to please his Master. Vinicius' erection was at full mast now; the image was sexy by itself, but the fact that he was the reason for it stirred the new blazes within Steve that much higher. It was like he could feel Master's eyes on him.

He was rubbing his clit with his middle and index fingers, hard and fast; it was smaller than a penis but so concentrated, purified; it was for nothing but pleasure and it was very good at its job. He wriggled and writhed, muscles tensing, until at last he looked into his Master's eyes and release arrived. As ever now, he was uncontrollably vocal, screaming his ecstasy. It was as if the pleasure was coming straight from Vinicius' beautiful brown eyes.

As he lay there panting, Vinicius stretched out on the bed and gestured, beckoning Steve forward. Eagerly he leapt up and settled over his Master. He knelt on the edge of the bed, to Vinicius' right, and bent forward, taking the inviting hardness into his mouth and beginning earnest worship. In seconds he was deep-throating, and idly reflecting that he'd never enjoyed pubic hair in his face quite so much. For that matter, the hair on Master's legs was somehow exciting to touch...

He jerked with surprise when he felt the hand begin probing the folds of his pussy, but he caught himself quickly and resumed fellatio with scarcely a pause. As time passed he found it increasingly difficult to focus, however; his attention kept switching between the delights in front and behind. It was a wonderful dilemma to have, though; and it was touching that Master should devote some attention to Steve's pleasure, too.

Perhaps it was the magic, or Vinicius' skill, but his next orgasm arrived simultaneously with his Master's. It was a remarkable experience, climaxing while so many senses were being stimulated at once. He'd never been religious, but his novel submissive impulses and emotional state made swallowing cum almost like a communion.

It was in that frame of mind that Steve turned and laid himself next to a panting Vinicius, wanting nothing more than to be close to him. Tentatively, timidly, he leaned forward but no rejection was forthcoming. Kissing him was at least as good as he'd fantasized. The strong, agressive tongue explored the inside of his mouth, driving him wild. He reached forward, pulling his Master close, losing himself in the wonderful intimate contact, the smell and taste and feel. He groaned and squeezed, needy, surrendering completely to the moment.

Just humping Vinicius' leg, he came one more time. Then they lay next to each other, Steve running his hand up and down Vinicius' returning erection. After a time, Vinicius reared up and laid Steve out on his back, and deliberately parted Steve's legs with his knee. He moved his prick close to the opening there, and gave a meaningful look in Steve's eyes.

Steve qualied inside. If Vinicius pushed, even a little, he would acquiesce. He knew it, and Vinicius knew it - Steve could see it in his eyes. It scared him how much he wanted it. He stared at that cock, and knew it would split him open, take him over. He would ride it to his ruin, but oh God, it would feel so good...

Some small part of him that was still Steve held back. Somehow he intuited that that, at least, was still his choice... but if he freely gave himself in that way, it would seal Vinicius' ultimate victory.

He was not willing to concede that defeat... yet. Gazing at that lordly shaft, however, he was not sure he could hold out forever. He was seriously wondering if he'd last the night. He wasn't quite able to say "no"... but he didn't say "yes." Vinicius hovered there a moment longer, then smiled and laid back down on the bed. "Not tonight? Well, all in good time." His confidence was frustrating, maddening... but totally sexy, too.

"Still, what shall we do with this?" he mused, indicating his prick. Steve, with a mix of relief and regret and returning arousal, rose to the task and brought his hands forward, intending something different this time. Somehow he felt guilty about not letting Vinicius fuck him, and he wanted to try to make it up to him. He began to massage and stroke the beautiful member, only occasionally using his mouth for brief licks and kisses. It took time, but Steve was in no hurry. He watched at close range, with unabashed fascination, as the cum emerged from the meatus; everything about sex with Vinicius was compelling. By now he felt no trace of reluctance as he licked up the spilled semen.

They lay together again in the afterglow, still in contact but without quite the same urgency. Eventually Steve whispered, "I hoped you'd come." It just slipped out. Part of him was ashamed that he'd admitted it, ashamed it was true. But there it was.

Vinicius smiled complacently. "And so I did. There is nowhere you can hide from me." It should have sounded terrible, threatening, but it was somehow... comforting, and heartwarming, and thrilling all at once. A new feeling, one he couldn't think of the word for...

Vinicius continued, smiling. "Still, this place is amply suited for an assignation. I commend your choice." Steve looked away shyly; he knew he was being teased, and he'd never liked that before, but from Vinicius it was cute.

"How do you do that? How did you get in here?" He wanted to deflect conversation from himself, both in defense of what little self-respect he maintained and out of curiosity about Vinicius - professional and personal.

"With the power I have purchased, it was trivial." A bit of Latin machismo showed, then, as he hastened to add, "Not that I haven't made my way into some difficult places on my own, of course."

"Like where?" Steve asked coyly, his turn to tease a little.

"Well, I do recall a wealthy collector who was churlishly unwilling to grant access to certain stone tablets..."

Fortunately, the Brazilian seemed to be in a talkative mood. Steve was glad, partly for the gratification of his curiosity... but more importantly, he never wanted him to leave, he wanted only to lay next to this amazing man and bask in his presence. Steve had been a good interrogator once, and he applied that skill adeptly to keep Vinicius rambling. He was a charming storyteller, full of anecdotes and tales from his many and varied adventures.

"...so I worked my way around behind them until I was literally a foot behind their mounts."

"But what did you do? You didn't have a gun or anything!" He felt like one of the adoring girls in Indiana Jones' classes. But then, the word 'dreamy' applied to Vinicius on so many levels...

"It was no trouble. I shouted and struck both horses on their flanks. The beasts startled, threw their riders, and galloped off. Once I'd snatched their rifles away they were much more polite."

Steve listened, entranced, until it was quite late. When Vinicius discreetly yawned, Steve immediately moved to lay him back and make him comfortable. The bed should have felt crowded but Steve relished the closeness as they drifted off to sleep.

Waking the next morning, Steve was confused for a moment. It was the first time he'd slept so deeply since Vinicius had appeared in his life. The man was gone. He knew what had happened last night should have bothered him deeply, and yet he could not but remember it with fondness.

His incongruous happiness did not fade for quite a while. He showered and packed, then went down to the restaurant for a hearty breakfast. It was only when he arrived at home that his normal personality managed to start reasserting itself.

It was a bit like waking from a dream. Actions and circumstances that had seemed perfectly reasonable and rational were suddenly, obviously bizarre. He had been an exhibitionistic cocksucker and had drawn nothing but pleasure from it! His previous contentment melted into a queasy horror.

He needed to clear his head, to feel like a man again. His first attempt failed badly, however. He didn't make it to the end of the street before turning his motorcycle around and fleeing back to his garage. His new anatomy responded very differently to the thrumming bike between his legs.

Instead he got in his car, drove to the firing range, and ran a couple hundred rounds through his pistol. Cleaning the gun afterward at his kitchen table was familiar and reassuring. Then, he went down to his basement and got his old free weights out of storage (he knew he wasn't going to be using the agency gym for a while). He fired up the 'workout' playlist on his iPod and wore himself out exercising to the metal and grunge. He went for a jog as the sun set.

By the time he returned home, he was feeling more like himself than he had in days. The whole situation was just a problem to work out. He'd been in tough scrapes before and pulled through, he'd managed to salvage some botched operations when others would have given up. Admittedly, this was a very tough problem, but there was always a way.

All these thoughts were running through his mind as he walked in through his front door. They all vanished instantly as he caught sight of the flowers in the living room.

He scampered over at once to see. A dozen long-stemmed red roses in a beautiful crystal vase. Leaning against the base was a small envelope. He opened it excitedly and found a brief handwitten note:

> I enjoyed last night very much.
> Thank you, V.

The script was elegant and sophisticated, as he'd known it would be. He felt the goofy grin spreading across his face and didn't care in the slightest. It was so sweet of Vinicius to do this! Last night had been wonderful indeed; not just the sex - though that alone had been mind-blowing. It was laying in bed afterward with him, talking; the cuddling, the intimacy...

The intelligence analyst inside him finally made a another connection, one he should have made days ago. He wasn't just reacting to Vinicius like a girl, physically and emotionally. He was reacting like a specific type of girl; a young woman, shy and perhaps who'd been a little sheltered, but with a flowering sexual curiosity and a romantic streak. Such women were prime candidates for subversion in the proper circumstances. Julia had been one...

He tried several times that evening to throw the flowers away, but every time he got near them, he fell under their spell anew. No matter how strong his initial resolve, he'd end up admiring the blooms, and smelling them, and thinking how thoughtful and endearing it was of Vinicius to bring them. He couldn't bear the thought of parting with them! Each time he'd find himself deciding to dry and preserve the roses once they started to wilt.

He started avoiding the living room, and sat in his bed upstairs, despondent and fearful of every noise in the house... and at the same time eager, avid. His earlier confidence was gone.

He awoke, bleary and not at all rested, early the next morning. It took a few moments for him to realize that he had not been visited - at least in person - at all the day before. He tried to ignore the part of him that was unhappy about that and worried about what it might mean all through breakfast. He came to no conclusions, however. He just didn't have enough data.

He noted, not without significant distress, that his psychological changes were ongoing. Any time he thought of Vinicius, or got even a little bit horny, he turned into a giddy, swooning teenage girl. He was falling in love with him! In truth Vinicius was a remarkable, even admirable, man. In other circumstances, had he been assigned to assassinate the man, he'd have felt a bit of regret. But the girl inside him was tripping head over heels. The emotions were incredibly difficult to fight.

Trying to watch the news was useless; he simply couldn't concentrate. He flipped around the channels, ending up watching a series of mindless action movies. He went up to bed early, listening for any signs he was not alone. His breath caught when he saw his bedroom light was on... and it was eagerness that sped his pulse. Just like that, his feet were light and his heart was soaring. He suddenly recognized the feeling he'd been unable, unwilling to name last night - the whole situation was romantic.

At the door he paused, dumbstruck. Vinicius reclined in the bed, the covers up to his waist but no clothing covering that manly chest... "Good evening," he smirked.

Steve rushed to his side without a second thought.

Eating a toasted bagel and wracking his brain, Steve sat at the kichen table. Memories of last night danced across his mind, maddeningly difficult to dismiss. Again he'd managed to avoid actual penetration, but only by the narrowest of margins. Vinicius never brought it up, but Steve had been so tempted...

He realized he had to do something. The entire situation was completely out of control. But he could not imagine what action he could possibly take that would be of any use... except one. He could alert his superiors. The problem was, it might already be too late. He didn't want to betray his country... but he didn't want to betray Vinicius, either! He was helpless when Vinicius was present, and even thinking about him was dangerous.

In the end, he dealt with it the way so many others who'd been afflicted with unwanted sexual obsessions had - by rigidly compartmentalizing his mind and life. At work, he made himself be Mr. Harper, intelligence analyst: reserved, efficient, and cold. At home, he was Steve, the complaisant, loving toy of Vinicius.

There were variations over the next several days, of course. Once, Vinicius was waiting for him as he arrived home, and they quickly pleasured each other before he disappeared. Other times he popped up later, and twice he did not appear at all. The upredictability was at once frustrating and thrilling.

He found himself enjoying the chase. Being prey instead of predator, pursued instead of pursuer. He worked to be seductive when his Master appeared. There was a strange power in being the object of desire; the power to arouse the delightful beast, to be enticing.

Ocasionally, however, these considerations intruded onto his workday. If something reminded Steve of his dashing paramour - and he was terrifyingly easy to recall - well, he discovered that it was easy for a woman to masturbate anywhere. But he had trouble keeping quiet.

One day, driving in to work, he learned he could no longer listen to the radio. It was too dangerous. Pop music was impossible - almost every song was about love or infatuation and seemed to have something to say directly to his now-girlish heart. The classic rock station worked for a couple of songs, but then Heart's "Magic Man" came on and he got so hot and bothered that he had to pull off the road and calm down. Heavy metal was about all he could safely hear anymore.

His skin blazed where the moustached lips grazed and suckled. He opened himself, offering his secret heart to its rightful owner. Vinicius' manhood began to part the lips there, the gates to his very soul...

"Steve? Uh, Steve?"

He snapped out of the daydream. With a chill he realized that he was in the middle of a meeting. Everyone was staring at him, waiting for a reply to a question he hadn't heard.

Quickly he improvised. "I'm sorry, I was still thinking about the situation in Pakistan. Somehow it bothers me. I've got this feeling we've missed something."

"Well, worry about it later. The rest of us were hoping you might have the figures on Taiwan troop levels?"

He recited the numbers he'd prepared with minimal attention, focusing covertly but intently on the reactions around the table. He couldn't be positive - the 'poker face' was so necessary among his colleagues that it was second nature - but he thought his gambit had been successful. His secret was safe for another day. More than than that, however...

The 'compartmentalization' was breaking down; it was increasingly difficult to keep the two worlds separate. And the encroachment was entirely in one direction. He never felt like a detached intelligence analyst with Vinicius... but more and more often in his normal life he was thinking and behaving like a young woman in love. The trapdoors in his mind were becoming sinkholes, expanding their reach.

That very morning, he had gone to take a shower but was overcome by a naughty impulse. He drew a bath instead, and luxuriated in the warmth. When he shaved his face, it felt so smooth that he had to keep going. The next thing he knew, he'd shaved every inch of skin he could reach, even standing in front of the mirror and getting the hair at the small of his back. He was so slippery in the soapy water! He imagined how it would feel against Vinicius' hairy chest and legs. Then he had to try something he'd heard of girls doing - he started the water flowing, and positioned himself in the tub on his back, with his pussy directly under the faucet.

It was divine. He experienced three spectacular orgasms before he finally realized just how late it was. He dressed frantically and rushed off to the agency.

It had been a stupid thing to do. Coming in late would stand out, and if his recent behavior changes hadn't attracted attention yet, they soon would. The smooth skin under his clothes kept reminding him all day of what he really was now. Concentration was immensely difficult, and by the time he arrived home he was wet and inflamed and halfway to a sexual frenzy, but his lover was nowhere to be seen.

He ate alone, frustrated. He needed Vinicius! But the man kept his own schedule, and Steve couldn't influence or even predict it. He went upstairs right after he'd cleaned the dishes and stripped off his clothes. Standing in the bathroom, his body hairless but for a neat patch around his pussy, he put himself through different poses, trying to look as sexy as possible, trying to be ready should Vinicius manifest himself.

"Come here, mi chula. I have a present for you." The voice came from the bedroom. Heart pounding, Steve dashed down the hall. Vinicius was clothed this time, sitting in the chair as before. An ornate and old-fashioned full-length mirror now stood in the corner of the room. Steve beheld himself, panting, nipples peaked, and blushed at how eager he looked.

"What were you doing in there, my sweet?" he asked, teasing as usual.

The heat in his face intensified... but so did the heat everywhere else. "I was... looking at myself. Posing." He glanced away, fidgeting.

"I must say, I'm certainly struck by your... much less hirsute appearance." Steve was pierced with sudden anxiety. What if Vinicius didn't like him shaved? He'd only said he was 'struck' by it...

Vinicius let the moment linger, obviously enjoying Steve's tension. Again he wondered just how much the wizard could tell about what he was thinking - not that he would even need magic now. Steve had no facility for hiding his feelings anymore, not around Vinicius.

Then, a lazy smile. "Well, perhaps I should get the whole effect. Please, continue." He gestured toward the mirror. Steve stepped forward, shyly. He stood before the glass, not at all surprised that he could see Vinicius as well as himself from where it was placed, and commenced to 'vogue' again. It looked odd - a fit, muscled man with female genitals and smooth skin, positioning himself for display like a pinup girl. But it felt erotic, and he thought he saw Vinicius shift once in his seat, adjusting himself like a man with a rising erection. He felt a burst of satisfaction from that, renewed confidence in his attractiveness.

He was leaning forward, his rear pushed out; a pouting mouth and lazy eyes. Vinicius had watched attentively for some time, but now he stood and motioned Steve to him. He leaped forward with excitement of his own, almost pouncing onto Vinicius. He wrapped his arms around the man who had reshaped his flesh and mind, kissing him passionately, pressing close.

Hands voyaged across his naked body, meeting a joyful welcome everywhere. Fingers played with a nipple, and Steve moaned unselfconsciously and leaned his head back. A kiss on his neck made him shiver, and then strong arms clasped and pulled him near again. He felt almost drunk on the sheer sensual input as their lips met; the musk, the taste, the texture of his clothes and skin...

Vinicius broke the embrace gently, and commenced removing his clothes. Steve rushed to help; it was like unwrapping a present, the way his majestic body was sequentially revealed. Vinicius was at full mast and Steve was filled with pride that he could inspire such a response. As insistently as he dared, Steve pressed his skin against his Master's and found that his hairless flesh indeed felt marvelous contacting Vinicius'.

A strong hand probed his pussy, asking no permission, claiming territory by right, and Steve's knees grew weak. His breath hitched and his body shuddered at Vinicius' skill, but truly, after the day of frustrated lust he'd undergone, almost any erotic stimulus would have set him off. The dextrous actions upon his sopping twat pulled forth a gargantuan orgasm. He was limp after the spasms had eased, and Vinicus almost tenderly guided him to the bed.

Steve lay back like a rag doll, able to do nothing but work to catch his breath. He knew it was wrong to feel so happy, so content with the situation, but that was an abstract, academic thought. It was quite outclassed by the emotions themselves, undeniably present and self-sufficient. Even Vinicius' amused examination of his subject felt only right and proper. There was pride in his eyes, and he seemed in fine humor as he waited patiently for the transformee to regain some strength.

Steve was momentarily very glad for his new tastes as Vinicius bent over and retrieved his pants; he would never have appreciated how sexy Vinicius' rear was, before. Vinicius pulled a small bottle of lubricant out of the pocket. "I would not dream of inducing you to do something you are not willing to do," he declaimed ironically, "so I thought perhaps you would be open to an alternative." At Steve's widening eyes, he grinned and said, "I can assure you that many, many Catholic girls do not consider it to threaten their virginity."

Steve had no doubt what was being proposed. Though it caused a certain amount of trepidation, it was far less fearsome a prospect than it should have been. And it would please Vinicius so, while not forming the ultimate surrender still feared by the dwindling part of himself that was still Stephen Harper...

Hardly able to believe he was being so brazen - impulsive spies had short careers - he rolled over onto his belly and, placing his feet on the floor, lifted his rump up into the air. Looking over his shoulder, he smiled sweetly at his Master and said "Okay!" as casually as if he were agreeing where to go out for dinner.

Apparently even Vinicus hadn't expected such ready capitulation, judging by his faintly shocked, quizzical expression. He hesitated a moment, then smiled and began to open the tube. As he annointed his tool, Steve impishly remarked, "It's nice to know I can still surprise you."

"You do so more than you know, querida." Vinicius was smiling, which pleased Steve greatly. "You can never harm me, but pleasant surprises are still within your grasp." The moment had arrived as he dropped his hand from his prick. It glistened with oil, looking magical, as if it glowed. "Now relax, my pet, and hold still..." Steve turned away and closed his eyes, but in fact found it unexpectedly easy to relax. He wasn't sure he'd ever trusted anyone so completely as he trusted Vinicius.

A hand settled on the side of his hips, and another gently parted his cheeks. Then he detected the tip at his rear gate. He took a deep breath as it began pushing inward, but then it came out in a sigh; Vinicius was indeed being gentle. He felt Vinicius's hips contact his own as the full length entered him; then he pulled carefully back. With due care, the rythym commenced.

The physical sensations of anal penetration weren't directly sexy, though neither were they particulary unpleasant. The very idea of it though, and the thoughts and emotions it sparked - those were sexy as hell. Caresses or kisses could be delicious even if they weren't on an erogenous zone, after all. And being so intimately and unavoidably aware of how hard he was, and how big, and how powerful... it was fantastic. Steve couldn't help but wonder; if this was so good, how much better would that cock feel in the receptacle designed for it?

With that thought, he opened his eyes and beheld the mirror on the far side of the room. He could see them both in reflection. Even in a world as strange as his had become, the image stood out. Himself bent over the bed, a slight sheen of sweat on the smooth skin he still wasn't used to. Panting, moaning, nipples erect, arching his back in ardent acceptance. And Vinicius behind; thrusting, carefully but inexorably, a king taking pleasure from his willing subject.

It was so raw, so sensual, and so deliriously erotic that Steve was dazed. He felt so hot he suspected he might faint. Vinicus' balls gently rubbed against his inflamed vulva with each thrust... Steve's juices were leaking freely. He wasn't sure if his cries were words or inarticulate moans, but silence was impossible. When Vinicius came, Steve knew it, and he screamed in a heady mix of pleasure and triumph and loving submission.

They both rested for almost a minute, as Vinicius slowly wilted before he withdrew. He sat on the bed; Steve, impassioned, almost tackled him onto the mattress and showered him with kisses, which were indulgently returned.

It wasn't terribly long before Vinicius' member showed signs of stirring anew: they retired to the bathroom for a shower. Steve took great pleasure in kneeling before him and washing it gently as it firmed up, and then tenderly sucking him off. After they had playfully toweled each other dry, Vinicius laid Steve down again on the bed and exhausted him with masterful cunnilingus. They fell asleep together in the bed, tired but very happy.

Mornings were a dark time these days. The enchantment of playing with Vinicius would generally have faded, and Vinicius himself always vanished before Steve awoke. He was most himself then. But that only emphasized the contrast between that self and the one being relentlessly imposed onto him.

He had happily cooperated with being butt-fucked last night. And even now, the only horrifying thing about it was how little horror he felt. It didn't seem like the humiliating degradation his intellect told him it should have been. Instead he remembered the whole session with distinct fondness. His ass felt... used, but not abused. He wasn't especially sore. Vinicius had been so sweet and gentle...

He shivered at how completely his whole sexuality had been warped, molded like clay. But that fear didn't make dallying with Vinicius any less seductive and alluring.

He was marginally more focused at work that day, by dint of supreme effort. The novelty of his shaved skin hadn't worn off much but he resoutely avoided reminiscing about the previous night... at least, insofar as possible. He was startled out of a naughty fantasy when a colleague knocked on the door and leaned into his office.

"Hey, Steve, good call on that Pakistan thing. They dug into some bank records and found one of the contacts was skimming our 'contributions' and sending a bunch to some Baloch insurgents."

"Oh, uh, I knew something was fishy there." He hoped he wasn't blushing.

"Edwards wanted me to tell you he'd like to hear more of your hunches. Just not in the middle of the daily briefing." Eric grinned to indicate that was only half-serious, then walked off. Steve felt a flash of relief. This was a lucky break - it might forestall suspicion a few more days. He'd take it; good news had been scarce lately. He returned to work with new resolve, and was actually productive until the end of the day, when thoughts of Vinicius crept back to the forefront.

By the time he had driven home, he was warm and moist and consumed with thoughts quite unrelated to intelligence and espionage. He ran into the house, hoping against hope that Vinicius would be there. To his surprise and delight, his Master stood at the door to the living room, nude and sporting an excellent boner.

With the same speed and grace that he'd once employed for inflicting harm, he bolted across the room to Vinicius, who seized him summarily and attacked with fierce kisses and grasping hands. Steve was swept away by the storm of Vinicius' ferocius need. Roughly, his clothes were torn away and his flesh was manhandled. It was just shy of actual violence; brusque and insistent and masculine. The new parts of Steve's psyche responded in a completely feminine style, drawing pleasure from being the focus of such desire.

They bumped and fumbled clumsily into the living room, minimally aware of their surroundings, absorbed in each other. They came to rest on the floor, nibbling and kneading and stroking and squeezing in a concentrated expression of lust.

Vinicius reared up and yanked a pillow off the couch, shoving it under Steve's ass, lifting it into the air. He interposed himself between Steve's legs and moved close. Steve wondered exactly what was in the offing, and, searching his feelings, discovered that no matter what Vinicius planned to do he was far more excited than reluctant about it.

The tip of that cock was right there, at his labia. It was an incredibly close call - had Vinicius hesitated even a moment, Steve would have been begging to be deflowered. But Vinicius thrust forward, heedless, and Steve felt a moment of shock.

Vinicius had laid his erection into Steve's slit. Rubbing up and down, the clitoral stimulation was so intense it was almost painful, despite the copius lubrication that eased the way. He stared, mesmerized, as it slid along the groove. The head disappeared and reappeared, over and over. The friction felt like it set his whole body to vibrating, like he was a stringed instrument and Vinicius's amazing cock was the bow. And the music was rising to a crescendo...

Steve moved his legs together in front of Vinicius' chest, enclosing as much of that prick as possible, giving him all the friction he could bear. An orgasm exploded through him, his white-hot clit radiating incandesent pleasure. It never really stopped, though it peaked again when Vinicus let out a throaty groan and Steve felt sticky cum fall onto his belly.

They rested for a time as the hurricane passed and the frenzy receeded. Steve breathed a sigh of pure contented peace. His lust was satiated for the moment, but Stephen Harper made no appearance. There was only Steve, worshipful servant, basking in the afterglow. Presently Vinicus kissed him, then stood, nodded his goodbye, and walked out of sight in to the kitchen. It could have seemed callous and rude, but no words were necessary. It had been a stolen moment, an 'afternoon delight'; it was sufficient unto itself. Steve drifted langourously for a time, smiling to himself, content and self-assured. Finally hunger came and convinced him to stand and go to make dinner.

Sudden, horrifying realizations were becoming such a common part of his life now that they were losing their ability to shock. He was almost numb as he noticed he hadn't closed the drapes in the front window. There wasn't a huge amount of foot traffic in his subdivision, but anyone passing by would have been able to see them in the throes of passion. He wasn't surprised that part of him didn't even want to hide their relationship...

But, the enchantment shattered, he quickly drew the shades and ran to the bathroom to wash himself off. Then, clad in a robe, he glumly ate a microwave dinner in front of the TV and moped, defeated.

In the business, love was regarded like any other addictive drug: as a threat and a tool. It made people vulnerable. Professionals avoided love for that very reason. But he was being forced to mainline on the pure, uncut stuff... and it was working. He was vulnerable now, in ways he couldn't remember ever being.

That night he stayed in front of the TV just to avoid thinking. Channel-surfing, he became engrossed in a romance on the Lifetime channel, a tale of star-crossed lovers. He didn't realize what he'd been enjoying until the credits were scrolling up the screen.

He wiped the mist from his eyes, terrified. The story had been so sweet, and the way they had kissed at the end had brought those tears forth. He knew that he would have been bored and annoyed at such a movie before, but he just couldn't feel that way anymore. He almost ran up to bed and didn't even try to catalogue his emotions as he laid down, hoping only for sleep that seemed far away.

She looked in the mirror. Her mom squeezed her shoulders, and said, encouragingly, "You look beautiful, honey." It felt good to hear her say that; she'd always had her doubts, before. She was narrow-hipped and flat-chested, and needed more hair-remover than any woman should. But Vinicius said she was beautiful, and his opinion was the only one that mattered. Looking at her reflection, wearing the simple white dress, she felt as pretty as Vinicius always said she was.

It was a small wedding. She had very little family and only some of Vinicius' relatives could make the trip. They had found a small, stately church outside of Langley and she was in a side room getting ready. She was giddy and nervous. She had no doubts at all about marrying Vinicius, but part of her still couldn't believe he would marry such an unworthy girl as herself.

A rap at the door. "It's time, honey." Her mother guided her to the door, handing over the bouquet, then went to be seated. Her daddy waited outside. He was beaming; Vinicius had throughly impressed him. He didn't need to say a word as he took her arm and they waited, just out of sight. The music swelled... and it was time.

As she walked down the aisle, hearing the wedding march, she was grateful for the strong arm of her daddy for support. Vinicius was so beautiful in his tuxedo that she thought she might faint. She could feel that her nipples were visible even through the thick fabric of her dress, but she didn't care. Who could blame her for wanting him in every possible way?

The lightheaded, dreamy feeling didn't fade; she felt as if she were floating through the ceremony, buoyed up by pure undiluted joy. "I, Stephanie, take you, Vinicius, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey till death us do part..." She meant every single word with every part of her being. She had specifically requested the traditional vows that included 'obey', and she had no reservations as she pledged herself totally - body, mind, and soul.

Vinicius's face seemed to glow as he recited his vows. "I, Vinicius, take you, Stephanie, to be my wife..." The blood rushing in her ears drowned out the rest of his words but the smile on his face made everything right. Then he leaned forward to kiss her; their lips met as husband and wife. It was sublime.

They proceeded back down the aisle past the smiling faces, and then there were pictures to be taken and other such trivia which barely registered through her happiness. She simply clung to her husband - her husband - and did as she was directed. Eventually they retired to the limo and she snuggled up to Vinicius, blissfully complete.

The reception was beautiful, and nothing about it was more wonderful than being introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Vinicius Ferreira. Everyone was so happy for them, and she tried to make sure Vinicius' family knew that she understood how lucky she was and that she would move Heaven and Earth to make him happy.

Their first dance was magical and romantic and she felt like a queen, almost good enough for him. The love in his eyes, his kisses, was all she'd ever need.

In due course they left the reception for a night in a hotel before they would embark on their honeymoon. Butterflies filled her stomach as the busboy closed the door to their suite. Vinicius looked to her and she trembled, weak with her need.

He stepped toward her, then grabbed her and yanked her into a ferocious kiss. It lasted several seconds, and then she was seated on the bed as he worked at the buttons on the back of her dress. Many tore, but she didn't care in the slightest. She shared his urgency as she fumbled with his pants, trying to get them down, off. Something tore and Vinicius was pulling the top of her dress away. She helped; a girl's wedding gown was supposed to be precious, and perhaps someday it would be, but right now it was in the way. She stood and wriggled it down off her hips. His pants and boxers were down too, now, and he tossed her onto the bed. Her white lace panties slipped past the garter - blue for luck - and she was exposed.

He wasted no time. Her legs were speedily knocked apart, and he was there, pushing in. It wasn't brutal, but it was forceful and ineluctable and only her copious lubrication kept it from being painful. There was some discomfort as he claimed her virginity, but it was nothing, insignificant compared to the joyous, triumphant orgasm as he claimed her. She screamed his name, giving herself over to him willingly and completely.

As the bliss finally began to recede, she opened her eyes... to darkness. Vinicius' weight was gone. The shapes in the room were at once familiar and alien. Groping, she managed to turn on the lamp and beheld her own bedroom in the condo. Confusion reigned for almost a minute. Where was her husband, and her dress? The hotel room... it had been so real. When she understood that it had only been a dream, when she recalled the true situation, and how thoroughly impossible such a scenario was, she wept brokenly into her pillow, wracked with sobs. It took hours to fall back to sleep.

Steve was more frightened that morning than he'd been even since the beginning of his ordeal. Stephanie wasn't just a dream self, he'd been her for quite a while after he awoke. Part of him was still her. He wanted to be the bride in a wedding, he wanted that dress, and he wanted his daddy to walk him down the aisle to Vinicius. (This despite the fact that he hadn't uttered the word 'daddy' for three decades, minimum.)

He zoned through breakfast and the drive to the office in his now-customary autopilot, trying to think as little as possible. Work brought only faint distraction, and barely diverted him from reflecting on the dream. Moreover, a new problem was starting to arise - he was reacting to his job the way a young woman would instead of a grizzled veteran. The bleak, vicious, and horrible aspects of tradecraft had never really affected him, even when he'd been starting out. His girlish side, though, was not so detatched, and recoiled at many of the things he reported on or, even worse, ordered. And he was having trouble interacting with his co-workers. They were ruthless, heartless, cold, paranoid. They were scary. And he was hiding something from them.

He had to take breaks from funding insurgencies and buying off useful dictators or he suspected he might cry. It chilled his soul. He was faintly surprised that he had a soul.... assuming it was really his. The only thing that helped his mood was thinking of Vinicius. But that only exacerbated the situation in other ways, as he soon discovered.

The alarm on his watch beeped; the ten-minute respite he'd allowed himself was over. He sighed ruefully, clinging for a moment to the memory of yesterday's torrid session on the floor. It wasn't really a sexual daydream; it was more about how Vinicius had seemed to sense how much she - no he, he told himself - had wanted him to appear... But now he worked to shift gears, to be Stephen Harper again.

The good feeling died utterly as he looked down at his desk. To his horror, he realized that he had been doodling. Little hearts with arrows festooned the cover of the classified briefing he was supposed to be reviewing. Inside many of them, "Vinicius + Stephanie" or "Mrs. Vinicius Ferreira" were written in his own handwriting. Based on how many there were, he must have been drawing for a while.

No, on closer inspection it wasn't quite his handwriting. It was very similar, but a touch neater, more fastidious. He felt sick when he noticed the other difference.

Instead of dots over the "i's", there were little hearts.

After work, on the drive home, he passed by a bridal shop that he had never before remarked upon. Abruptly, however, it brought back the dream. The feeling of wearing a beautiful dress... it was a powerful desire, almost a compulsion now. He stayed in the car, at war with himself, driving well past his condo. Eventually he realized why he was driving so far, where he was going. He came to a lingerie store that was well outside his usual territory, where the odds of being recognized were low. He parked in the lot, and sat for a few seconds, but he lost that final battle, too.

His knew his face was red as he walked into the store, but ironically, he was able to draw on his agent's experience to help. He had quite a lot of practice getting through unpleasant times with efficiency. It was humiliating, especially how a pair of other customers had stared and snickered, but he eventually arrived home with a few stockings and bras and lacy panties.

Altough he was starving, he fled upstairs to the mirror Vinicius had provided, and was naked in moments. He started to pull out some of his purchases, but then he remembered the stubble that tended to develop in the evening despite his morning shaving ritual. He went off to the bathroom and drew a hot bath; after a leisurely soaking his skin was soft enough to get a truly close shave. He masturbated once, thinking of his new apparel, but it barely took the edge off the tension.

Toweling himself off thoroughly, he returned to his bedroom, smooth and silky, worthy of the garments he'd bought. The red ensemble seemed to call out to him, and he slipped them on, feeling daring, naughty. Long net stockings, red thong panties with a heart motif, almost a bustier for the chest. He looked like a harlot, a walking invitation. He felt decorated, embellished, and emphasized. Revealed for what she... no, he... really was.

It was so easy to get himself off in that getup.

That night, Vinicius didn't appear. Steve fretted and paced and accomplished nothing whatsoever. What little self-possession he'd recovered was no comfort, since he dreaded sleep for what it might bring. He lay awake for a long time.

Going to the bathroom was always a trial now. More and more each day he felt like an intruder there. And each trip was a step closer to being discovered. Soon somebody was going to pick up on how he never used the urinals anymore; he worked in a field where people noticed details. It didn't help that he was wearing sexy lingerie under his clothes, of course. He'd opened up his underwear drawer that morning and taken out a pair of briefs... but he just could not bring himself pull on the drab things, not after he'd shaved all over, as was his morning habit now. Today he was by turns disgusted with himself and enjoying the delicious, sexy secret. Whenever they came to mind in the course of his day, he felt so feminine! And though there was shame, it was somehow weirdly empowering...

He forced himself to triple-check his clothes before leaving the stall. A mistake would be disastrous, and he knew his own concentration was frayed. He was feeling Vinicius' absence almost like physical withdrawl.

Getting back to his desk should have been a relief, a refuge from being confronted with his own transformation. Yet he dreaded the list of payments and weapons and drugs, more chilling for the antiseptic language they were described in. He felt a growing sense of oppression in his daily life, forced to be something he increasingly wasn't. With Vinicius he was free to explore himself and his feelings in ways he couldn't - wouldn't dare to - otherwise. The fact that those feelings might not actually be his didn't seem terribly important anymore.

He stepped into his office... and there it was, an envelope on top of the keyboard. It hadn't been there when he'd left. It couldn't be anything official - the paper was fine and white and was embossed with a delicate filigree. He closed the door and shot over to his desk. On the front was an elegant cursive S, in handwriting he would recognize anywhere.

Unable to stop himself, he held it up to his face and sniffed. He thought he could sense a trace of Vinicius's smell; earthy, manly. His heart swelled at the memories that aroma evoked. He opened the envelope carefully, knowing already that he would be keeping the note as a souvenir.

> S - I hope you may forgive my presumption, and my imposition on your schedule, but I request the pleasure of your company at your residence at 7:30pm this evening. I shall understand, of course, if you cannot accomodate my wishes, though I should be saddened if so.

> Hopefully,

> V

The message brought forth a tangle of overlapping emotions. He was literally of two minds about it. Stephen was resentful, furious at the condescension and sarcasm. Stephaine was excited and deeply moved by Vinicius' consideration and tact. Yet he was both sides at once - the conflict was paralyzing.

The familiar surroundings of his office helped the 'Stephen' aspects of his personality regain ascendancy for a time. He struggled mightily. He did not want to give in, to leap at Vinicius's whims like a schoolgirl with her first crush. But he couldn't concentrate on his work; the note still worried at the back of his mind, its influence growing. Vinicius had never given warning before. Why now? What did it mean? Was he simply trying to demonstrate his power over Steve? Or was it a sign that he was softening a bit toward his victim, that he might be showing some honest consideration...

Finally he glanced at the clock and was stunned to discover that it had been less than fifteen minutes since he'd opened the note. It had felt like hours. He gave up in despair; there was no chance he would get anything done today. It was only Tuesday morning anyway... He shut down his computer and went into Edwards office. He was in the middle of a conversation with another analyst; Steve was glad, it would give him an excuse to make his excuses brief.

"Hey, I'm really not feeling right. I was hoping I'd be better after some coffee but I think I need to go home. Eric can handle the Thailand briefing and the Khazakistan report isn't due until Thursday..."

His boss thought a moment, then replied, "Okay, but let me know if you'll be out tomorrow." Steve thought the odds were about even that he was suspicious, given the behavior changes lately, but he was too excited to be overly worried. He had enough sense to act a bit sick until he was in his car and on the road, of course.

Then he brightened considerably. Vinicius was coming for a date! They wouldn't be going out, but still... dinner! Of course! And Steve had been to Brazil, he could make a few dishes... He went straight to a grocery store and began shopping for the ingredients he would need. He passed by the magazine aisle, though, and was arrested by the cover of a bridal magazine. His dream from the night before came back with full force. And then she noticed another women's magazine, promising "Makeup Tips For Your Face!" Impulsively she grabbed a copy, plans already coming together in her mind.

Nearby was a specialty liquor store where she picked up another critical element. By then the day ahead had crystallized for her, and the logical next step was the mall. She chose one a good distance from both work and home, begrudging the extra driving time but recognizing the need for some semblance of security.

She found a few necessary sundries but then moved to the larger department stores, heading unerringly for the women's department. Just before she stepped up to a display counter, however, she had a sudden moment of clarity. She realized that she was thinking of herself as a girl, that 'Stephanie' had taken over. He tried to gain some control over himself... and then she decided she was being silly. She wasn't a he - she had a pussy, for goodness sake! That was the definition of female!

She confidently approached the girl at the makeup counter. It was the knowledge that she really was a girl too that let her ignore the amusement or disgust of the saleswomen that helped her. Besides, she simply couldn't bear the thought of disappointing Vinicius. She kept shopping until she had appropriate makeup, three complete outfits, and nearly a dozen varying sets of lingerie.

She rushed home; time was short. In, and then she dove into a frantic cleaning of the condo. It was almost 3:00 when she reluctantly concluded that things were as clean as they'd get. She rushed through a shower and another shave (she'd bought some hair remover for general use, spending razor time only on important areas), then began making dinner. Some parts of the meal would take a few hours to cook.

At six she left some pots simmering and went up to her bedroom. She had the magazine to refer to (Stephanie was a fast reader) and some tips from the salesgirls, but makeup was clearly a skill she'd need to practice. She stared wistfully at her eyebrows, wishing she could safely pluck them. Mascara, at least, lived up to her hopes, and some subtle eyeshadow and tasteful lipstick softened the hard lines of her face. Press-on nails made her hands look much more feminine. She hadn't had time to pick up a good wig; the ones at the mall looked too fake. All this took as long as she'd feared, though, and she had to race into her outfit and dash madly about the house for the last-minute touches.

She sat down at 7:28; there was more she could have done, but it would have to do. She didn't want to be flushed and out of breath when Vinicius arrived. Plenty of time for that later, she thought wickedly to herself. The doorbell rang at precisely 7:30 - he was perfectly punctual, as she'd known he would be.

She opened the door with a genuine smile and warm eyes, heedless of who else might be about. Vinicius stood on the small porch, impeccably clad and well-groomed as always. He too wore a smile at first, but it froze on his face as he fully absorbed Stephanie's appearance. "Won't you please come in?" she asked invitingly. She was suddenly terrified that he didn't like the changes she'd made in her look. She'd pinned her hopes on his remark about 'pleasant surprises' - if this was who she was now, and he'd chosen the form of the 'curse', why would she disappoint? But he looked so bemused... "I've so been looking forward to tonight."

"Clearly, you have indeed," Vinicius noted dryly as he entered. He glanced about, apparently recognizing the cleaning that had been done. As she closed the door, he paused, sniffing the air. "Is that... no, how could you..."

"I hope you haven't eaten. I made some caldeirada for us." Steve had developed a taste for the traditional seafood stew when he'd been living in Brazil. She led him into the dining room. The table was set for an intimate dinner for two; candles lent a touch of ambiance and fresh flowers in a vase made an attractive centerpiece. Vinicius studied the room for a moment, and then gazed searchingly at Stephanie.

"Please, sit down," she stammered. "I'll be right back with dinner." As Vinicius took the seat she'd indicated, she fled to the kitchen and began pouring pots into serving dishes. She was near tears; he wasn't responding at all the way she'd hoped. She suddenly felt huge and clumsy and ugly, a brute trying to pretend to be a lady. She almost dropped the toasted bread as she removed it from the oven and she had to stop for a second and collect herself. If this wasn't what Vinicius wanted, then she would simply have to find out what he did want, and give him that. For now, there was nothing to do but press onward.

As she came into the dining room bearing the dishes on a tray, she called out "Dinner is served!" with false cheer, hoping her eyes weren't turning red. She set the tray down - perhaps a bit too forcefully - and took up a piece of bread, reaching for Vinicius' bowl. "Here, let me help you..." But he put up his hand, motioning for silence. Her heart climbed into her throat.

His tone was gentle, however. "Excuse me, I must beg your forgiveness. I fear I did not behave as a gentleman should upon my arrival." Stephanie started to protest, but he waved her down. "No, no, I was quite unprepared for such a vision as yourself, and I failed to express how lovely you look tonight." She froze, not sure she'd really heard him correctly. "And I must say, this smells delicious as well. I did not intend to put you to such trouble, Steve."

"It was my pleasure. And please... call me Stephanie." She looked shyly down at the table, knowing he would think she was being silly.

There was a barely-perceptible pause, and then he replied fluidly. "Stephanie, of course. I beg your pardon." She looked up to see him shake his head ruefully. "Those I dealt with certainly do enjoy their little jokes." He must have seen some hint of alarm on her face, as he hastened to add, "Please don't think I am in any way disappointed. No, my chagrin stems from such a surfiet of my wishes being fulfilled at once."

She found she could breathe again, but not speak. Once more Vinicius must have picked up on her situation - was she truly so easy to read? - as he smoothly placed some bread in his bowl and brought it forward, saying charmingly, "I really must sample this. If I may?" She served him and poured some into her bowl as well, then fetched some wine. She'd never been much of a wine drinker, but the web had claimed that red would go well with the meal and she'd purchased an expensive bottle. Vinicius seemed not displeased.

For a while there was only the sound of clinking silverware and slurping. She hadn't seen him eat before, but he went about his meal with all the elegance and sophistication she'd come to expect. His manners were impeccable; he might as well have been dining with a queen. She almost felt shamed at her own lack of grace, and yet he took such pains to put her at ease. When she spilled some soup on the table, his grin was mischievous and conspiratorial, not condescending. He finally commented on the dinner. "If anything, it tastes even better than it smells," Vinicius smiled. "My own mother could not have made a finer caldeirada." Stephanie was briefly speechless, cheeks flushing; she looked away shyly. But the conversation quickly became lively though they discussed nothing of import - mostly their favorite foods, stories of memorable meals. Vinicius seemed to be honestly, and not maliciously, enjoying himself.

As the meal drew to a close, she brought out her next surprise - caipirinhas, a coctail made with the local Brazilian liquor, cachaça. "Perhaps a bit too sweet," Vinicius commented, "but considering who prepared them, I should not be surprised." She blinked when she recognized the compliment. For the first time that evening, she didn't feel at all silly and self-conscious. She felt like a girl on a date with a man she truly wanted to impress... who was succeeding.

Vinicius overrode her protests and helped clear the table when they were finished. It felt so... domestic that she fantasized for a moment that they were living together, husband and wife, that they did this every night.

They moved to the living room (shades sensibly drawn) and talked for a time, digesting their meal. Stephanie didn't want to bring up work or politics, but Vinicius, charming and pleasant as ever, led them into a fascinating discussion of music and art; she learned a great deal but somehow it never felt like a lecture, or that he was condescending to her.

As the fullness in her stomach faded, the need in her loins grew; it was not merely the drink that made her blush. The conversation grew harder to follow as she paid less and less attention to Vinicius' words, and more and more to his lips, his hands, his body.

Finally, impulsively, she simply leaned forward and kissed him. His eyes widened sightly as his words were muffled, but her kiss was promptly returned with aplomb.

"Forgive my pedantry; I do tend to warm to my subject," Vinicius quipped as they paused for breath. His eyes danced and his mouth crooked with humor.

"No, Master, your subject has warmed to you." She wriggled forward, wrapping herself around him greedily. "Let me show you how warm." Stephanie stroked his face and body as she resumed kissing him. For his part, Vinicius' hands explored her body in return, stoking her fires even higher.

At length, Vinicius broke away again, stating, "If we are to go much further, I think we should retire upstairs. I would prefer a trifle more room to stretch out." A nod indicated the couch they sat on.

"Whatever my Master commands," Stephanie slyly declared.

"So that is how it is to be?" He pushed her to her feet and stood himself. One hand turned her around, and the other swatted her behind to get her moving toward the the stairs. She yelped gleefully and dashed upstairs, Vinicius in leisurely pursuit.

She had arrayed herself on the bed with arch casualness as Vinicius entered the room. "Whatever shall we do now?" she asked.

Vinicius' smile made her heart soar. "I think you should show me the full particulars of that outfit you wear."

"Don't you like it?" She stood and twirled. "I saw it and just fell in love with it. The fit isn't perfect," she continued as she turned and beckoned for Vinicius to unzip her, "but, well..."

She felt a delicious thrill as his hands opened the back of her dress. She stepped forward, turning to face him as she worked the cloth down her body. The lacy brassiere wasn't necessary - she wished she had real boobs - but made her feel much more feminine. Equally embroidered, girlish panties and garters and stockings were exposed next. The shoes weren't a good match for the rest but finding any high heels that would fit feet the size of hers, in a short timeframe, had been a formidable challenge.

"White... how appropriate." Vinicius' appraising eyes moved up and down her body. Then he moved himself, coming forward. She soon discovered what countless girls before her had learned - taking off frilly underthings could be even more fun than putting them on, if you had the right kind of help.

He left her nude save for her stockings. She was breathing quickly, pulse elevated, thoroughly wet. Deliriously turned on. It wasn't exactly ordered, but Vinicius made no objection as she began to reverentially disrobe him. He was ramrod straight, at full mast when she gently eased the waistband of his boxers over the tip and slid them down and away.

Kneeling there, teasing her lips and tongue all over his prick and balls, everything was right with the world.

He came close, she could sense how close he was, but he reached down and pulled her away. Unlike the first blowjob two weeks ago, though, this was done gently. He guided her to her feet and then to the bed. It was as if she floated down onto her back. Vinicius lay beside her and kissed her deeply.

He played her expertly; his capable hands roamed Stephanie's responsive flesh possessively, coaxing unprecedented levels of frenzied excitement in the transformed agent. She could feel the erection rubbing against her belly like a promise. When Vinicius rolled her onto her back and positioned himself between her legs, she cooperated with suppliant enthusiasm.

Vinicius spent a minute or two suckling and nibbling at her chest, driving her to distraction. Eventually, however, he reared back and adjusted his hips in an unmistakeable manner. By now, Stephanie felt no fear or reluctance at all - quite the opposite, in fact. There was a moment, a tiny slice of time, when Steve appeared... but even he found that he couldn't muster up sincere opposition. He receeded, dissolved, and there was only Stephanie.

Vinicius looked at her, one eyebrow and the corners of his mouth raised. The question was obvious, and she replied with a nod and an inviting wriggle. But Vinicius did not proceed. Stephanie moaned, desperate. It was there, at her entrance; she could feel the stiff prick hovering, taunting. She groaned, "Please, oh please, I need it, please..."

It moved forward; there was a stretching, a tearing. Pain, colored with the realization that she had given up her virginity. It was true that Steve had done so long ago, years ago when he'd been a teenager, but that seemed remote and unimportant. It had happened to someone else, only what was happening now was real. Deeper and deeper it plunged - impudent, arrogant, overwhelming. Their hips met, it was fully enveloped, and she was overjoyed. Then it pulled back, and shot forward again...

It was filling her up, it felt huge, like her whole body was molding around it, being shaped by it into a perfect receptacle, her whole being felt lit from within, Vinicius was inside her body and soul, and she could do nothing, could want nothing but to yield and accept... there was pain still, but it was necessary, worth it for the pleasure, for the joy...

It was debatable if there were actually separate orgasms or if it was one long climax with several peaks. Either way it was phenomenal and ecstatic. When she felt Vinicius come inside her pussy, she experienced it like a worshipper infused with the divine. She was breathless and blissful when Vinicius finally withdrew.

They lay together for a time, neither speaking. Then Stephanie shyly kissed her Master, who did not pull away. She felt relaxed and happy. It crossed her mind that the situation ought to feel weird, but the thought was of no interest to her and she banished it disdainfully. Nothing could be more proper and right than responding to Vinicius' handsome good looks and charming style. She gently made out with the man who had so thoroughly conquered her, enjoying every instant. Finally she couldn't keep her feelings inside anymore.

She broke off their kiss but continued to stroke Vinicius' back. "That was awesome." She was gushing like a teenager, but she meant it in the richest sense of the word. "Thank you." Her eyes were starting to mist up. She'd never cried from happiness before.

Vinicius gazed at her impassively for a moment, then smiled. "Your gratitude is noted." It could have sounded mean, but the delivery was amused, playful. She actually giggled, which made Vinicius smile more.

"I must admit, even I found it... unique," he mused.

She laid her head on his shoulder. "We'll have to fix that, as soon as you're ready."

"I beg your pardon?"

"If we do it again, it can't be unique anymore, right?"

It was a slow awakening from the deepest, most restful slumber since the fateful evening weeks ago. It wasn't clear if last night had been a dream, until he found the mess between his legs; blood and semen intermixed, clear evidence that he'd been deflowered. He knew it should have bothered him more, but he simply could not regard it as anything but heartwarming.

He recognized that last night had been a tipping point. Before, it had been Stephanie being gradually imposed onto Steve. But letting Vinicius take him - her - them? - last night had altered something central, essential. He could feel the difference; Steve was now more the intruder onto Stephanie's turf.

He went through his morning in what was now the typical depressed fog, until he suddenly was frozen by a new thought. Could he get pregnant? (Absently he noted that the idea of bearing Vinicius' child was daunting, but not immediately abhorrent.) The changes had been so thorough in other respects; he could not come up with a good reason why he'd be infertile. He hadn't even considered any kind of birth control... and he knew he wouldn't have worried about it last night, even if it had ocurred to him. He suddenly had a great deal more sympathy for teenage mothers.

A frantic session on the web gave him nothing to go on. There was no way to tell if he was fertile or not without submitting to a medical exam, which was obviously out of the question. It would be at least a few days before any pregnancy test could work... but even then, were the hormones in his system anywhere close to normal?

A pitched battle was fought as he got dressed. Steve couldn't pretend that his survival wasn't at stake now, and he pressed at Stephanie with all his considerable will. It should have been no contest - he had been a vicious and unfeeling killer, she was a girl, and a submissive one at that. But Stephanie was in love, and knew exactly what she wanted.

Blushing, humiliated, Steve pulled on some stockings.

Work was hell. He hid out in his office, pretending to be recovering from his 'illness'. He labored mightily just to get the minimum done, terrified that he'd miss some obvious connection in the data he analyzed, make some mistake that would reveal how compromised he was. Discovery couldn't be more than days away, even so.

Stephanie was utterly besotted. She was always there now in the back of Steve's mind no matter what he was doing, loving Vinicius, coloring his own thoughts and moods. She hoped that she and Vinicius might run away together, that she might convince him to abandon his plan of revenge and accept her as a lover, or slave, or whatever she could be to him.

In his more self-possessed moments, he understood how foolish those ideas were. Intellectually it was clear that the spell itself made him want to believe that there was hope... but his intellect no longer had any control over his emotions, and they made it impossible to believe that Vinicius felt nothing for him.

Steve evaporated on the way home, pressed aside by Stephanie and her feverish anticipation of seeing Vinicius. She felt the disappointment keenly when he was nowhere to be found as she came into the condo. She warmed up some leftovers from the night before, letting the smell, at least, keep the memories fresh.

Then she went upstairs, freshly disappointed that her Master was nowhere to be seen. She took off the tie and shirt and pants with relief, and selected a blouse and skirt. They were so much more comfortable. Restless, she did make-work, cleaning the kitchen, watering the flowers, and so forth. She had just finished changing the sheets on the bed, reminiscing dreamily, when the stairs creaked.

She whirled to behold Vinicius appearing at the door. She just stood, beaming, as he came towards her, around the bed. He seized her, pressed his lips to hers hungrily, urgently. Instantly she was swept away in the current of his need, wrapping herself around him, wanting only as much contact as possible.

He eased his hold, slipping around behind her, then pulling her close, running his arms across her front. He played with her nipples (she wished she could call them breasts) briefly. She could feel his erection on her behind as she pressed into him. Skirts were wonderful, they didn't get in the way! Vinicius shortly demonstrated this, as he bent her forward onto the bed and lifted up her skirt from behind. She waited breathlessly, watching in the mirror as he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants. Her panties were eased down, and then he slipped into her.

She stared again at herself being taken from behind, but it was so much better. She looked more like a woman in the dress, and having his cock in her pussy... he was indeed taking her, claiming her, and she loved it, would have it no other way.

The next day crawled slowly by. He daydreamed constantly about Vinicius now. There was almost no distinction between Steve and Stephanie anymore; it was like 'Steve' was just a name for when Stephanie was feeling contrary, striving to imagine herself as a man.

So at first he thought he was imagining things when he rounded the corner of a rack of computers in the server room and saw Vinicius standing there with his customary smirk. Stephanie couldn't be contrary in such a situation. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, Vinicius, how did... you can't... if they catch you, they'll..."

"Have no fear, querida. We shall not be disturbed here for some time." She leaped forward into his embrace, kissing him deeply, pressing close. After a few moments, she came up for air, and he asked, "What shall we do with these moments?"

"I want you ride me, high and hard!" she whispered wickedly. She pulled back and went to work on her belt, her pants, as she kicked off her shoes. The slacks fell to expose black lace panties and thigh-high stockings. She yanked off the dark men's socks and, from the waist down, was the woman she knew herself to be.

Vinicius moved in, possessively, and slipped off her tie, undid her shirt. A few more moments and the brassiere was exposed, her nipples prominent even through the thicker material. He pushed her back, against the wall, and slipped a hand down the front of her panties as his lips voyaged across her face, her neck. She gasped softly as his strong digits probed her lips.

He undid the garters one-handed, and pulled down the panties as his other arm imprisoned her. Only later did she wonder at his skill, at the time she was too busy kissing and caressing him to even think. He lifted her up bodily and set her on a waist-high server of some kind. He had dropped his pants somehow and was inside her in moments, driving and thrusting and pounding... high and hard, just as she'd pleaded.

She bit his shoulder, muffling her shrieks, the pleasure driving her insane. Vinicius came, forcefully, groaning. A handful of thrusts, and he sighed, pulling out. He found her panties on the floor and used them to clean himself off as Stephanie sat there, panting, recollecting herself. He smiled as he set the undergarment down next to her, pulled up his pants, and walked away around the server rack, blowing her a kiss.

Once she'd caught her breath, she began dressing again as rapidly as possible. The panties were wet and sticky but she didn't care, it was his cum and she wanted it in her, on her. Just because it would upset 'Steve', she licked a little off her fingers. In a few minutes her disguise was in place again, and she'd cleaned off the server case well enough. Just in time, too, as the secure door opened and a pair of analysts came in. Stephanie waved casually and stepped out past them, barely able to contain her smirk.

Once again, all pretense of Steve had vanished by the time she had hurried home after work. She ate a simple meal, but was more patient, more peaceful than the night before. Vinicius would show, or not, at his pleasure. It was out of her hands, nor did she want it in her hands. Vinicius knew what he wanted, and she simply wanted to give whatever he asked for, when he needed it.

The same calm followed her to the couch as she watched some TV. She picked the cooking channel; perhaps she'd make another dinner for her Master soon.

As always, his arrival was unexpected and unheralded. He simply walked around the corner from the dining room and sat beside her. She didn't attack him, but merely leaned close, laying her head on his shoulder. His expression was thoughtful, pensive.

At a commercial break, he stirred. She sat back up, waiting. He definitely had something on his mind, but she couldn't see what it might be.

"Stephanie, I must ask..." he hesitated. "How do you feel?"

She cocked her head to the side, puzzled. "Happy that you're here."

"No, I..." He shook his head. "I mean to say, about all this. The... situation."

She gazed searchingly at Vinicius, trying to divine his intent, to understand what was behind the question. In some ways, it sounded like he was having second thoughts... But she could not read him at all. She had no idea what was going on behind those gorgeous eyes. Her emotions got in the way; objectivity with respect to Vinicius was impossible. In the end, she could do no more than answer honestly.

"Sometimes I'm scared. Or I guess you could say that 'Steve' was scared. But I, Stephanie..." She smiled. "I'm glad," she whispered.

"So, you feel no regret over losing Steve? Being so changed, remade, molded against your will?"

Suddenly she was almost shouting, putting her emotions into words. "I don't care! I was dead inside, before. I never felt anything, I never let myself feel anything." She was crying a little, even through her smile. "Now I feel, now things matter to me, now I'm alive. You didn't kill Steve, he was never alive. You brought me to life!"

She buried her face in his chest then, and he held her, comforting her as she calmed down. Ages later, when she looked up, he had the same unreadable, brooding countenance. He stood, lifting her to her feet, and led her upstairs.

When they reached the bed, he slowly undressed her, taking his time with every item, every motion. Once he was done, he guided her onto her back on the bed. She started to get up, to help him as he undressed, but he indicated with his hand that she should be still. With equal deliberation, he disrobed.

He knelt on the bed and dipped his head, kissing her new lips. His moustache tickled like a feather, and his breath both cooled and warmed at the same time. Then his tongue probed, tasting her excitement. She moaned softly, gathering handfuls of comforter, struggling not to move. He was so good... somehow his tongue could probe inside her as his lip glided across her clit... he must be drowning, how wet she was...

There was no 'climax', really. The pleasure simply climbed, gradually, smoothly, and plateaued. Duration was impossible to estimate, it simply was, forever, and then he was carrying her down, gently, until she was at peace and he sat up.

She wanted to get up, to return his gift as best she could, but motion was impossible. Soon enough he was above her, entering her, caressing her - there was no other word for it - inside and out.

She had never made love before. Steve had fucked, at best. It was gentle and tender and at the end she was crying softly into her pillow, overcome. Vinicius held her and, for a time, nothing else could matter.

Friday, she woke up from a wonderful dream; she and Vinicius had been walking hand-in-hand by a river. Only that, but the feelings... the aura of uncomplicated love that had suffused the whole scene... there was no fight left in her. She knew that she was Stephanie, and Stephanie loved Vinicius, utterly and completely, whether or not he returned her love. Right or wrong, she would do anything he asked, simply because it was him asking.

Ironically, being Steve at work that day was easy. Now that she knew he was simply a part she was playing, not an identity she wanted to preserve, it was simplicity itself to put on a masculine front. She didn't feel intimidated anymore by her co-workers. None of the guys she worked with were a tenth of the man Vinicius was.

She gathered a huge amount of critical information about U.S. submarine operations in the Asian theater. It was the kind of intel the Chinese military would drool over. She stored it on a flash drive; the automatic activity scans would pick up the transfer and, by midnight, there would be questions for Steve Harper... but either way, Steve Harper wouldn't be coming back.

She still had some hope. Maybe Vinicius wouldn't really give it over. He was doing this to hurt Steve, not to hurt America. And if Stephanie could prove that Steve was gone, vanquished... if she could show how deeply she loved Vinicius... if she could show the fierce devotion and passion she felt... maybe Vinicius would bend, would come to appreciate and value that love.

She slipped away from the facility without incident, and raced home. Vinicius was there, in the kitchen, sipping coffee. She loosened her tie, unbuttoned her shirt, and removed the flash drive from under her bra, which had struck her as the perfect place to hide it. Wordlessly, she held it out to him.

Vinicius took the device gravely, somberly. He looked at her, then back at the tiny block of plastic and metal and slilcon. "Thank you, Stephanie," he said at length. "This could not have been easy for you." He seemed... depressed.

She wasn't sure what reaction she'd expected, but this wasn't it. "I... hoped it would make you happy," she said. "It's all you asked for. You defeated Steve completely, he's gone."

"Indeed. I, too, thought it would make me happy... before."

"What's wrong? Please, tell me, I..." but his fingers brushed her face, silencing her.

"Hush, mor." He said nothing else as he led her to the bed, as he undressed her, as he loved her if anything more tenderly than the last time.

And when it was over, he stood and dressed. As she stared from the bed, her disappointment obvious, he looked at her again, as if trying to memorize her. "I am sorry, querida mor. There is something I must do now." At her widened eyes, he looked away. "I have no choice. Less, even, than did you."

"Will you... come back?" Her voice broke, her soul on the ragged edge of despair.

"Yes, mor." But there was something in his eyes... He turned and walked out the door. She heard him on the stairs, she heard the front door close, as tears leaked onto the pillow.

Stephanie had cleaned herself and put on a dress. Whatever happened, from now on, she would never wear male clothing again. She sat in the living room, TV off, waiting. The smart thing would have been to run. Every second she waited was a risk that a team would arrive to 'contain' Steve. But Vinicius had said he would return, and she would wait for him forever if necessary.

It had been perhaps an hour when the front door opened and Vinicius stepped in. She leapt to her feet but halted upon seeing his face. He was still somber, almost grieving in his manner.

"It is done. I have relayed the information to my contact."

She had known, but she still felt a pang of... not regret, but... regret that it had been necessary. She had an entirely new perspective on what Steve had done. She could not say that Vinicius was not justified in his revenge. But now that it was done...

"I understand," she said, putting forgiveness in her tone. "But now... I had hoped..." Tears again, unashamed. "I love you. I want to be with you. Even if you can't love me, I... I love you."

He looked at her, pain and regret in his eyes, his face, his whole posture. "But I have come to love you... or at least, what you have come to be. Their sense of humor was at my expense, also."

She was dizzy with joy to hear him declare his love, but his dark mood filled her with apprehension, too. "Please, we can run away, we can be together! With you I feel like I can do anything!"

"Ah, Stephanie, querida mor, if only that could be so. But there is a price yet to be paid for my vengeance."

Her eyes widened and she gasped in horror. Without knowing how, she was suddenly across the room, embracing him. "No, please, there must be a way..." She was weeping, holding him with a death grip.

"My life - my soul - is theirs now. They gave me the power, but now I must make the final payment."

"Please, no! Please!" she screamed. "Let them take me instead!"

Vinicius looked so sad... "No, mor, in a sense they have already taken you. And further, they never go back on their... agreements." He sighed. "I have all I wished for, bargained for. My revenge is complete. I have destroyed the man who wronged my neice... and it is ashes, for in so doing I have destroyed another girl, whom I also love."

"No... no..." Her whole body was shaking.

Gentle, but determined, he extracted himself from her grasp. He stepped back, holding her arms, looking her up and down. "I am truly sorry. Where I go, you cannot - must not - follow. I could wish for you to be happy... but the price of wishes is always too great."

Numbly she watched him walk out the door. He looked back one final time, then it gently latched shut.

She felt dizzy for a moment, but the sensation faded almost at once. As before, it took several seconds for the change to register, and it was just as blood-curdling the second time... but it was far easier to confirm. She hiked up her skirt and beheld the horrendous bulge at the front of her panties. She yanked them down and almost threw up to see a penis and scrotum dangling from her crotch. She could not have been more horrified and disgusted if she'd found a tentacle there.

She'd been a man trapped in a woman's body, and now she was a woman imprisoned in a man's body. That horrid alien dick was the only thing left of Steve; inside, in her heart, Stephanie was all that remained.

But no one would ever believe that. There was now no proof that anything supernatural had ever happened. Vinicius himself was gone; there were no pictures, no recordings, no proofs he'd ever been there. His notes - if they even existed anymore - would mean nothing, easily forged. And the most convincing evidence, her transformed body, was likewise gone. All that remained was Stephanie herself, inhabiting this alien, hateful body... but she could only ever be thought of as Steve's psychosis.

She had nothing, now. Steve would soon be a wanted felon, a traitor - if her crime had not already been detected - and Vinicius was beyond hope of rescue. She had only memories of their love, which could be nothing but a torture for its reminder of what would never, could never be. As the tears flowed, she knew that Julia must have cried the same way. Stephanie could see at last that her fate would be the same as Julia's. The only cover where they'd never look for Steve would be as a gay prostitute... and soon she, too, would be taking drugs to dull her sorrow.

Without really knowing why she bothered, tears leaking down her cheeks, she began to pack a few clothes and other sundries for her new, and doubtless short, life as a fugitive.