SCARLET by Jessica Drew

Part 2

Agent Sam Fields finds himself trapped. Not only in the body of the beautiful Antoinette, but aboard the luxury yacht of drug baron Carlos Ramirez.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam awoke with a start, air shooting sharply down into his lungs. Something was happening. He could hear the distant hum of an engine as it ticked over, revving up a few times. The yacht was starting to move and he could feel the room beginning to sway a little. The lack of a window as a point of reference made him feel disorientated.

Deep down Sam had hoped that Ramirez would remain in Monaco, but Rivers had guessed he would soon depart. Sam did not know where they were going, or how he would escape at the end of it, but Rivers had told him not to plan too far ahead, to stay alert and take any opportunity as it arose.

Sam drew another breath, sweeping long hair out of his face. He felt like he'd slept for days.

Sam swept the duvet cover off of his naked body, still expecting to see his own male body, as if the whole thing had been a bad dream. Instead he looked down to find his large breasts rising and falling with his breathing. He watched his nipples, now exposed to the cool air-conditioned room, as they hardened on his chest. His waist tapered inwards, then widened at his hips which ran downwards to the contours of his bare legs. Between his legs, the smallest tuft of blonde hair sat above the beginnings of a vertical slit.

Sam looked over to the door, remembering how Ramirez’s bodyguard Gaul had locked him in the night before. He got up, wrapping the duvet around himself, and took small, shuffling steps to the door. He reached out with his small hand and tried the handle, hefting his weight against it. It was still locked. Although he would have to figure out exactly what he was going to do about that, he was relieved that, for the moment, he still had his privacy.

Sam let the duvet fall from his body and he stretched, hearing a couple of joints clicking. He wondered what time it was, but looking around he could not find a clock anywhere. Sam’s head felt heavy from over sleeping and given the late hour that he had finally got to bed, he guessed it was probably now around the middle of the day. He listened to the yacht’s engine. It seemed to have settled now on a constant velocity and there was only a slight rocking sensation that reminded him he was on a boat.

Water.

Sam didn’t care much for water, not being much of a swimmer. He could picture the yacht making its way out into the wide open Mediterranean Sea, the waves slapping against its hull. It may as well have been a desert.

Water…

God, he needed to pee.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam sat himself down onto the cold toilet seat and waited. He had, out of habit, raised the seat, expecting as he had always done to grasp his penis and take aim.

But Sam had been disarmed.

He clasped his legs together and pushed, but nothing seemed to happen. He felt oddly self-conscious squatting as a woman does to pee, his naked breasts hanging down from where he was leant forwards.

He closed his eyes, wondering what Rivers was doing right now. Maybe he was already following up a lead and Antoinette would soon be caught. His body, safe and sound, would be waiting for him when he returned. They would find whatever device she had used and swap them back, and Sam would be congratulated on a job well done.

Yeah, right. Far too many “if’s” surrounded that whole scenario.

Sam could hear the beginnings of a rill hitting the inside of the toilet bowl. He sighed as he drained his bladder at last.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mike Rivers sat at the waterside café and sipped at his espresso, as he watched the “Oro del Diablo” disappear off into the horizon. Ramirez’s yacht had shown no indication of changing its heading, it had simply headed straight out and away from Monaco’s bay. Standard practice for someone who didn’t want to be followed. Ramirez would head out to sea, away from prying eyes before changing direction.

Rivers pulled off his sunglasses and closed his eyes, letting the midday sun hit his face. He thought of Sam in Ramirez’s yacht — in the belly of the beast. He felt bad for him. How could you not. Sam was certainly undertaking a trial by fire by going undercover as a female sex slave. It would make a woman out of him if nothing else. Rivers recalled Sam walking away from the Lamborghini in the early hours of the morning, his sexy ass twitching beneath his dress. He may as well have been walking away from his masculinity, for what he would likely endure on the yacht.

Rivers had played it down of course. Sam had still seemed to hold onto the belief that he might be able to bluff his way out of it, and if that helped him cope, then that was fine. It was almost a shame that he hadn’t had more time to “educate” Sam. Orders were orders, however, and Rivers had his own. He checked his watch. He’d give it another hour or so. There was no rush.

Rivers ordered another espresso from a passing waiter and unfolded a local newspaper.

* * * * * * * * * *

The warm water from the shower hit Sam’s naked body, forming rivers and tributaries that snaked their way over his feminine curves and contours. He rubbed soap suds into his breasts, his body, his backside, and his legs which now felt slightly prickly, where yesterday they had felt silky smooth. He even briefly ran a soapy hand between his legs, feeling tender and unwanted flesh between his thighs. He had shuddered as if someone had just walked over his grave.

Sam closed his eyes and let the water soak his blonde hair. It grew heavy and tugged at his scalp. He rinsed it through, but did not wash it, as he did not really know which combination of the many lotions and potions in the bathroom he should use on it.

Stepping out of the shower cubicle, Sam pulled a fresh white towel from the rail and wrapped it around his small body, tucking and folding it tight, just above his breasts. The towel was long enough to cover his modesty, but left his long legs bare. He gripped his mane of water-logged hair and wrung it out, soaking the floor. Next time he would remember to do it over the sink.

Sam made his way back out into the bedroom, feeling alert and refreshed, when he noticed that the door to the room was now ajar. He cautiously tip-toed over, one hand tightening around the knot in his towel. He peered through the gap to the corridor outside, hearing the soft patter of water dripping off of him and hitting the carpet below. There was nobody there, but he could just about make out some natural light filtering in at the far end of the corridor.

Sam carefully closed the door, tried opening it again to make sure he could still get out. He glanced back to the en suite bathroom, and saw that he could see straight through to the shower. Had someone been watching him? Sam felt his skin goose bump as he remembered how he had felt in the casino lobby with so many eyes on him. He tried to banish the thought. Either way, the message was clear. He was free to leave the room. He was probably even expected to come out now. Sam felt a sense of urgency and glanced down to where he had discarded his dress last night.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam emptied a draw full of underwear onto the bed and began to leaf through it. He knew that he couldn’t just turn out dressed in what Antoinette had on last night, nor did he really want to, given how little it left to the imagination.

“Yes.”

Sam whispered a small victory as he finally found a matching pair of plain white panties and bra that didn’t look like they were spun from some silken spider’s web. He sat down on the edge of the bed and held the panties out, slipping each foot into them. He pulled them up his legs and stood upright so that he could get them over his hips and backside. He let the waistband go with a crisp snap.

Sam looked down, past the obstruction of his bare breasts, to his smooth panty covered loins. They felt snug and comfortable, especially seeing as they didn’t have a string running up between his buttocks.

Sam picked up the bra and turned it over in his hand to read the label — “34D”. He was more than a little embarrassed that he had a larger cup size than Lenore now.

Oh God, Lenore. If she could only see him now.

Sam took the brassiere and threaded his arms through the shoulder straps and attempted to pull the cups down over his breasts. He found it difficult, and when he did finally manage to tuck the cups under his chest, he struggled with the clasp at the back. His long finger nails didn’t make the job any easier. He thought of what Lenore would do and unthreaded his arms, sliding the bra round, back to front, so that he could more easily fasten the clasp. He then shifted it back round the right way and slipped into the shoulder straps. Finally he used both hands to heft each of his tits, one at a time into the ample bra cups. He filled them perfectly.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers peered over the rim of his sunglasses as he studied the generous cleavage of the girl hanging through the passenger window of the Lamborghini.

“I really like your car,” she purred running a finger along the upholstery.

Rivers smiled, “Texas, right?”

“How did you guess?” The girl replied in her southern twang.

“I’m good with tongues. So what brings you to Monaco?”

“Oh, just hoping to score big.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

“So, are you gonna take me for a ride?” The girl’s bleached blonde hair shone in the sunlight.

“Maybe tonight,” Rivers grinned. He’d take her for a ride alright. But not now. Now he had to get to work.

“Hope to see you later.” The girl pouted and withdrew from the car.

“Have a good day Texas.” Rivers revved the Lamborghini’s engine to the max and watched the girl in his rear-view mirror as he pulled away, her ass swaying in her tiny denim shorts.

Italy and back in a day. He could probably manage it.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam threaded his still damp hair through an elasticated tie, pulling it taught against his scalp so that it hung over his back in a long ponytail. He stood in front of the mirror in his white underwear, noticing the even with his legs together, his wider set hips now created an inverted triangle of empty space set between his crotch and thighs.

Sam sat down onto the bed, his backside and hips splaying as he reached for the clothing that he had carefully selected.

First he slid his feet through the openings of a pair of white three-quarter length leggings. He stood up to finish pulling them up and found he had to pump his legs almost like he was on a cross-trainer to get them high enough so that the crotch did not sag. The waist band sat high on his body and covered his flat tummy. He saw in the mirror that they hugged him like a second skin, perfectly following the shapely contours of his hips and buttocks.

Sam had also chosen from the wardrobe a pastel peach colored top with short, lace trimmed sleeves. He first pulled it over his head, tugging his blonde ponytail free, before then pulling it further over his chest. He found it hugged the swell of his breasts, revealing a small amount of cleavage, but nothing too obscene. It was a long length style that ended just below his buttocks like a dress would.

Sam smoothed his top around his hips as he twisted to the side, observing his profile. Antoinette’s worried feminine face looked back at him from the mirror.

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” Sam muttered to himself in his soft female voice. In truth he had no idea what he should wear, but again he had used Lenore as a guide, thinking of the sorts of things that she would wear at the weekend.

Sam drew a deep breath as he slid his feet into a pair of flat gold colored sandals. Once more, his heart beat rocketed and every ounce of sense in his body told him not to go out that door.

But he did.

And before he knew it, he found himself gliding down the corridor outside, trailing a hand against the wall, as if in a waking dream. Something drew him onwards, but whether it was the mission, a desire to get back to his own body, or a resignation to a much worse fate, Sam did not know.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam’s sandals slapped against the soles of his feet as he climbed the small flight of stairs up to the rear-most deck of the “Oro del Diablo”. The white light of the sun blanketed his vision as his eyes struggled to adjust. He held up a hand to shield himself, walking out into the heat.

He walked across the deck to the rear most railing, gripping it as he looked out beyond the yacht. On the horizon he could make out the receding bay of Monaco which threatened to disappear altogether to the crystal blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Directly below him the yacht’s engine churned the waters, propelling it along at a gentle pace.

“Antoinette!”

Sam jumped at the voice, quickly spinning around and looking up. There on a veranda some twelve foot above him stood a woman. The breeze picked up her long dark hair and she gazed down with piercing dark eyes. Her bikini-clad body was the color of mocha and she wore a sarong which fluttered at her hips. Sam recognised her immediately from the photograph Rivers had shown him.

Maria Ramirez.

She beckoned Sam with a finger.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam’s ponytail swished behind his head as he climbed the winding steps up to the mid-level of the yacht. He found himself on an open deck with wood panelled flooring and his flat sandals clapped loudly as he slowly stepped forward.

This was it, Sam thought. He would now have to do his best to pass himself off as Antoinette. Anything he said and did now could literally mean the difference between life and death.

Stay calm, act natural, try not to say too much.

Sam repeated the words in his head, finding them coming to him in Rivers’ calm, measured voice.

Maria Ramirez was sat at a round wooden table that held a large umbrella at its centre as protection from the sun. Plates and bowls of fruit adorned the table and Maria dabbed her mouth with a napkin as she swallowed a slice of kiwi fruit and got up.

“Antoinette, darling, there you are!”

She held Sam’s shoulders and air-kissed his cheeks. Sam glanced down, catching sight of her dark, toned body. Her breasts, small next to Sam’s, were scantily covered by a lime green bikini top. Her waist was washboard flat and her hips were wrapped in a semi-transparent sarong. Beneath, Sam could see she wore a high cut green bikini thong.

“Sit down, please. Help yourself to some fruit.” Maria’s voice oozed with a deliberate sensuality, her Spanish accent rolling her words.

“Thank you,” Sam’s voice was quiet and unsteady, though his French accent was still very much evident. He looked down at the plates of fruit before him, suddenly becoming aware that he was hungry. He sat down and brought a strawberry to his lips, biting into it.

Maria watched him closely as she sat opposite, her dark eyes boring into him. Her eye makeup swept up the corners of her eyes, making her appear hawk-like and predatory. A few tell-tale lines in her face placed her in her late-thirties to early forties, though she clearly looked after herself.

Sam met her gaze, suddenly feeling naked, as if she would at any moment reach forward and pull off his mask, revealing him for who he really was.

She doesn’t know. She can’t tell.

Again Rivers’ voice echoed in Sam’s head. Sam chewed, swallowing the juicy strawberry. It tasted different to what he was used to. Not unpleasant, but different, and not what he would consider very strawberry-like.

“So, Antoinette, did you enjoy your night out last night? Carlos tells me he nearly sold you.” Maria chuckled. “That would have been a shame, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Sam answered, keeping his responses short. So far so good. Maria clearly didn’t seem to know anything about the swap.

“Yes ‘Madame’ we agreed, remember?” Maria’s eyes looked at him sternly.

“Yes, Madame,” Sam replied, feeling his cheeks blush red.

“Good girl, I love it when you use your French words.”

“Yes, Madame.” Sam nervously bit into another strawberry, hoping she would not press him any further on that.

Sam watched as Maria pushed her chair away from the table, crossing her long legs.

“Please, stand before me,” Maria gestured, holding out her arm.

Sam looked at her, wondering what was going on, but he was too nervous to question anything at this stage. He placed his half eaten strawberry back down onto his plate and pushed his chair back standing up.

He walked out to stand in front of Maria, smoothing his peach top. He squinted at the Sun, wishing he had thought to look in Antoinette’s room for a pair of sunglasses.

He watched as Maria looked his body up and down, then circled her finger indicating for him to turn around. Sam slowly turned through three hundred and sixty degrees, holding his arms out beside him.

Maria sighed, seeming irritated.

“Antoinette… My darling… What do you think you are playing at exactly?”

“Wha…what do you mean,” Sam could feel his breathing getting quicker, his breasts heaving under his top.

“Are you making fun of us? Is that it? You wish to make fun of me and my husband?”

“No, no Madame, of course not!” Sam began to panic, worrying that Maria suspected something. She shot him a look of disgust,

“Then what the fuck is this?” Maria got to her feet and began to circle Sam. She wore a pair of high heel sandals on her feet and stalked around him, taller, more powerful. “You come out here, with no makeup on, your nail polish not even removed from last night! You do nothing with your hair!” Sam felt her suddenly yank at his ponytail, causing him to cry out in his feminine voice. She held his hair tightly from behind, pulling his head back towards her. “And you dress like you are fucking sight-seeing!”

Sam could feel tears forming in his eyes as he winced with the pain, not to mention the shock of Maria’s outrage. Finally, she let him go. Sam brought a hand to his face, trying his best to hold it together.

“Go and change into a bikini now, before Carlos sees you. He will throw you overboard if he sees you like this!”

“I’m sorry…” Sam’s voice quivered, “I just thought…”

“You were not purchased to ‘think’. You were purchased to ‘do’.”

“Yes Madame.”

Sam hurried back into the darkness of the yacht, fighting off the urge to sob. He had barely stepped foot outside and had already blown it.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Woah! Easy there!”

Sam had hurriedly turned a corner, in a frantic search for his room, only to run head-long into someone. He would have fallen if strong arms had not caught him, pulling him upright.

Sam looked up, still shocked. A tall man in his mid-thirties looked down at him,

“Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“I’m sorry sir… I was just… trying to find my room,” Sam gasped, struggling to catch his breath. The man’s biceps flexed as he released his hold on Sam’s arms.

“Sir?” He laughed, “That’s my father’s name.” He smiled warmly.

“You’re American as well?” Sam asked, surprised. He quickly wiped his eyes, trying not to show how upset he had been.

“As well? How many others do you know? The Sunshine State, born and raised. My name’s Joseph. I’m the pilot.” Joseph held out his large hand. Sam took it and he gently shook. Joseph’s face was weather worn with flecks of light brown stubble across his face. Sam felt relieved that he had not run into Carlos Ramirez or Gaul, and felt oddly comforted — partly from meeting a fellow countryman, and partly from Joseph’s disarming demeanor.

“The pilot?” Sam pulled his hand away.

“Yeah. Oh, don’t worry it’s on autopilot at the moment.”

“My name is… Antoinette.” Sam cast his gaze down, feeling awkward.

“I know, I’ve seen you down on the deck a few times over the last couple of days.” Sam noticed Joseph’s eyes flick briefly downward to his body. “Listen, I need to get back up to the bridge, I’m having all sorts of trouble with the GPS at the moment, but it was great meeting you.”

Joseph slid past Sam, but turned back, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper.

“And listen, feel free to come up to the bridge if you ever need to get away from things for a bit. Carlos and Maria can be a little bit… intense.”

Sam gave a flicker of a smile.

* * * * * * * * * *

The engine of Rivers’ Lamborghini roared as he sped along the motorway that ran around the outskirts of Menton, the most south-easterly region of France. Monaco was well situated to be within a stone’s through of the Franco-Italian border, and at his current speed he would arrive at his destination inside of an hour.

Rivers let the driver-side window down, the air howling at his side.

He thought back to the peroxide blonde he had left in Monaco, hoping he could get back in time to see her again. He still held his reservation at “Le Grand”, so he’d be able to show that trailer trash a damn good time. He imagined his hands sliding over her scarlet red dress…

Rivers eased his foot onto the accelerator as he weaved amongst the motorway traffic. He could feel his blood pumping.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam stood in front of the full length mirror in his room and pulled his peach top up over his head, pulling his long blonde ponytail free. His chest spilled out of the white bra that he wore.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered in his high pitched voice.

Sam had felt fairly pleased with himself before, picking out an outfit from the sea of possibilities in Antoinette’s wardrobe, but now he felt wretched about it. He screwed up the top and threw it into the corner. He shuddered remembering how quickly Maria had turned on him. He hadn’t even encountered Carlos Ramirez yet, which, he imagined, could only be ten times worse.

Sam tugged on his white leggings, shimmying them down over his wide hips, then sat down onto the bed to pull them off all the way.

Joseph had seemed nice enough, though Sam knew to take that with a pinch of salt. Anyone willingly working for Carlos Ramirez had to be treated with caution. Sam looked up into the mirror, seeing Antoinette sitting there in her bra and panties, small and vulnerable.

Slave.

The word came to him at once. Who knows, maybe Joseph was being forced into service as well. Someone like Carlos Ramirez probably had a lot more enemies besides the Agency. It made sense that he would recruit using fear and manipulation.

Without really thinking about it, Sam reached behind him and effortlessly unclipped his bra, pulling it from his body. It was only after that he wondered how he had managed it so easily after the problems he had earlier. He then stood up and slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his panties, sliding them down his legs.

Now naked, Sam gathered up the underwear he had unceremoniously dumped onto the bed earlier and tossed them back into the bottom drawer. He then opened the next draw up and found it contained a selection of vest tops, swimsuits and bikinis. His bare breasts swung beneath him as he sifted through them, finally deciding on a navy blue bikini that was decorated with small white polka dots.

“Blue for a boy”.

Sam stepped into the bikini bottoms and slid them up over his loins. They were higher cut than the panties he had been wearing, but they didn’t feel too uncomfortable. He then pulled his ponytail forward over his shoulder so that he could slip the bikini top behind his neck. He could feel the soft hair at the back of his head brushing against his hand. Finally, Sam tied the top behind his back and ran his fingers around the edges until it fit snuggly.

Sam checked himself in the mirror. The spotted bikini top left most of the upper portion of his large breasts exposed and offered nothing in the way of support or padding. He could even see his nipples poking through a little.

The waist band of his bottoms sat high on his waist, forming a sharp V that ran down between his legs. Turning, Sam could see that they left the lower half of his round feminine buttocks exposed.

It was then that Sam noticed a small mark on his back, just above the waist band of his bikini bottoms. Moving closer to the mirror, he saw that it was a tattoo of a small “Fleur de Lys”. He rubbed his finger over it. Even as a man Sam had never had a tattoo before.

Sam felt cold in the air conditioned room. How could women walk around in so little? It was like he was just wearing his underwear. Sam remembered that Maria had worn a sarong around her waist and wondered if Antoinette owned anything like that. He returned to the open drawer and searched through, eventually finding what he was looking for. It must have been part of a set as the semi-transparent navy sarong matched his bikini exactly. He tied it around his small waist and found that it hung down longer on his right side, leaving most of his left thigh bare.

Sam still felt like he was missing something. He opened the left-most wardrobe and inspected the multitude of shoes that occupied its shelves. Maria had been wearing heels, so he felt it probably wise that he do the same. Every color and style seemed to be catered for and it didn’t take Sam long to find some strappy four-inch high-heeled sandals that matched his outfit. He set them down, slipping his dainty feet into each of them before fastening the ankle straps. He wobbled a little as he stood up straight.

Last night Sam had found he could walk in heels providing he didn’t think about it too much. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind as best he could and took a step forward. His left leg brushed his right as he placed one foot in front of the other, his hip cocking to the side. He walked effortlessly up and down a couple of times, still amazed that he could do it. He stopped in front of the mirror and stood with his hands on his hips, dropping his left leg a little as he pouted his lips. Although he was just messing around, Sam still surprised himself with just how convincing it looked.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Well, well, now isn’t that better?”

Maria Ramirez’s heels clicked on the wooden decking as she slowly walked around Sam, inspecting his new choice of attire. Sam felt like a piece of meat hanging up in a butcher’s shop.

“Your hair and face still look like shit, but Carlos will be too busy looking at your tits now to notice.” Maria looked down at the cleavage of Sam’s large breasts. Sam could feel his face flushing red as he looked off into the middle distance, doing his best to endure the humiliation. He could feel the Sun’s rays on his bare flesh as he stood there on the open deck.

“Not to mention that sexy ass, eh?” a deep voice boomed from behind. Sam suddenly felt a hard slap to his behind causing him to jump and gasp effeminately. Sam turned, coming face to face with Carlos Ramirez.

* * * * * * * * * *

A plume of smoke blew into Sam’s face as Ramirez puffed at his cigar. He wore a loose white shirt over his well-fed body, open almost to his naval. Black hair curled from his chest and he wore a couple of heavy gold chains around his neck.

Sam’s heart leapt into his throat and he felt his whole body began to shake. He could feel stars forming at the edge of his vision and had to fight to keep from passing out from the shock.

“I’d almost forgotten what a sexy little bitch we have ourselves now,” Ramirez peered over dark sunglasses, drinking in the sight of Sam’s breasts.

“I’m still surprised you got her for the price that you did,” Maria replied. Sam watched as she seemed to lose interest and lay down on a sun lounger.

“I hope you were not too disappointed last night, Antoinette. That gringo never showed for the rest of our game. Probably another fucking spy, eh Maria? After that, I had to make absolutely sure we were not being followed.” Ramirez drew on his cigar again and fixed Sam with a gaze that seemed to look right down into his soul. “You would be surprised just how many people think they can fool me.”

Sam swallowed hard, his heels clicking on the decking as he nervously shuffled his feet. He felt like falling to his knees, admitting everything and begging forgiveness.

“Come with me,” Ramirez said, gesturing with his hand. He turned and headed to the stairs that led down to the open deck below. Sam quickly followed, his small high-heeled steps making his breasts bob under his bikini top. He gave a quick glance back to Maria, seeing her lying there on the lounger, her head turned to the side watching them both. She smiled and blew a kiss.

Sam followed down the narrow steps, grasping the handrail and turning his feet sideways so that his heels would not slip. Ramirez walked ahead of him and Sam saw that he wore a pair of small red shorts that had no business on a man of his size.

“I do not usually neglect my possessions,” he began in his thick Spanish voice as they made their way to the rear of the yacht, the sound of rotor blades chopping at the water below growing louder. “When I buy something it is because I intend to use it.”

Sam looked out to the sea which seemed to stretch out to infinity in all directions. He found he could not answer and his bottom lip trembled uncontrollably. Ramirez gave a final drag of his cigar before flicking the stub into the water. He walked around behind Sam, moving close, pinning him between his body and the yacht’s railing.

Ramirez unwrapped Sam’s sarong, and held it up, letting it fly like a flag in the breeze before letting it go. Sam watched as it disappeared over the side of the boat. He squirmed, trying to wriggle free, but Ramirez pressed into him, his hands gripping Sam’s slender waist.

“From now on you will wear only thong bikini, yes? I want to see that peach of an ass I bought.”

Sam felt Ramirez’s hand swat hard at his backside again.

“Uh, please…” Sam winced, his buttock cheeks stinging.

“Please? Yes, I fully intend you to.” Ramirez gave a throaty laugh.

Sam could feel the bulge in Ramirez’s shorts begin to rub up and down against his backside. His eyes opened wide as he felt an uncoiling beneath the thin fabric, swelling, hardening against him.

“No!” Sam shrieked, swivelling and ducking under Ramirez’s arm in a surprisingly fluid motion. He ran back to the boat, his arms swaying wide at his hips. His heels cluttered as he skidded to a halt and he gasped, looking up to find the entrance to the yacht’s interior suddenly blocked, as a hulk of a figure pulled itself through.

It was Gaul.

His large arms folded around Sam’s small body, and lifted him from the ground, pinning his arms at his side. Sam’s legs kicked futilely as he was carried like a rag doll, back out to Ramirez.

“You do not want to be behaving like that, whore!” Ramirez grimaced, his face inches from Sam’s. Sam closed his eyes as he struggled in Gaul’s tight embrace. Ramirez stank of cigar smoke, like some sulphurous demon. “If you grow too tiresome I will let Gaul here have his way with you,” Ramirez looked up at his silent bodyguard. “Gaul is very… imaginative. The last girl? Well, let’s just say it took us months to scrub her from the walls.”

Sam heard a gruff moan come from Gaul, who was evidentially recalling the incident fondly.

Ramirez motioned for Gaul to release him and Sam dropped, landing awkwardly on his high-heeled feet. He cried out as pain radiated through his ankles. Ramirez gripped his face, squeezing his cheeks in his hand.

“I don’t want to fucking see you again until tonight, understand?”

Sam nodded his head and staggered back into the yacht.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was late in the afternoon when Rivers found himself driving down a small country lane, deep in the heart of the Italian countryside surrounding Turin. He lamented as the sports car kicked up mud, streaking the immaculate white bodywork.

He heard the satellite navigation beep from his dashboard, a generic female voice informing him that he had arrived at his destination. Rivers pulled the Lamborghini around to park neatly alongside a pair of black four-wheel drive jeeps.

Rivers swung the wing-door upwards and stepped out of the car, breathing in the fresh Italian air. Green fields surrounded the area, and in the distance he could make out the beginnings of a vineyard. It was silent except for the rustle of leaves in a nearby tree and the distant chatter of birds. Immediately ahead of Rivers was an unmade path leading up to a dilapidated barn, which, he thought, rather ruined the scenery.

The Agency sure knew how to pick a location.

Rivers feet crunched against the stony ground as he made his way up to the barn. He stopped outside its one large door, its splintered wood barely still hanging on its hinges. He carefully unlatched the door and swung it inwards.

The barn was empty inside except for a couple of animal paddocks, long since vacated. They still faintly stank of manure and damp straw covered the floor. Rivers stepped into the nearest paddock, treading carefully and fearing for his Italian leather shoes. He reached down, feeling amongst the straw, until his hand found a handle. He pulled it, hefting a large trapdoor open. Beneath was a grey metal covering with a small computer terminal flashing expectantly beside it. Rivers keyed in his personal security number and swiped his thumb across the sensor. With a hiss of air the hatch slid sideways revealing a narrow spiral staircase leading downwards.

Rivers gave a last look around before stepping into the stairwell, pulling the trapdoor shut with a rope after him. The metallic inner hatch slid shut automatically as he descended.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam murmured in his sleep, tossing and turning as his subconscious sought its way back from his troubled dreams. He was chasing a figure all in black, but every time he caught up they appeared less distinct, like a shadow, as if they weren’t really there at all.

Finally he woke, gasping. Beads of sweat had formed over his female body. He rubbed at his chest and coughed.

Sam swung his legs from the bed and sat up, feeling gravity tugging at his breasts once more. He still wore his navy colored bikini with its white polka dots, and his loose hair fell over his shoulders and back from where he had removed his hair band.

Sam closed his eyes, hearing his heart beating, his shallow breathing - aware of the gentle sway of the yacht on the water.

He reflected on what had happened to him, how he had run off into a corner, as he always did the moment something bad had begun to happen. Would Rivers have acted that way? Rivers would probably have never allowed this to happen to him in the first place. Sam rubbed at his mess of blonde hair, remembering how he had opened the door to the hotel room and Antoinette had walked straight in, pointing a gun at him.

“Stupid.”

Things had to change. He had to pull it together and start coping. Maria Ramirez had insulted his clothing, saying he looked like he was “sight-seeing”, and in truth that was all Sam had done so far. He was an agent on a mission to gather intelligence and so far there had been nothing intelligent about any of it.

Sam absently picked up a hairbrush from the bedside table and began stroking the tangles out of his hair, before reapplying his ponytail with a hair tie.

His mind wandered the yacht, trying to think what he could use to his advantage. His memory recoiled away from Carlos and Maria Ramirez and instead settled on the one person who hadn’t made his blood run cold.

Joseph.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers made his way through the dimly lit underground corridor, his feet echoing on the steel plated floor. The bunker was not designed with comfort in mind and he had to duck his head at regular intervals.

“Agent Rivers, sir!”

A man snapped to attention as Rivers approached, raising his hand in a salute. Rivers nodded an acknowledgement back.

“Mister Tanner, I trust all is well?”

Tanner’s dark hair was cropped short and he wore black combat fatigues as befitting the Agency’s black ops division. His shoulders relaxed as he fell into line behind Rivers, the tight corridor not wide enough to accommodate them both.

“As well as can be expected cooped up down here.”

“Hopefully it won’t be for much longer.”

They turned a corner, making their way deeper into the bunker. One of the lighting panels flickered with a loose connection causing Rivers to squint uncomfortably at the strobing effect. Another key pad and another fingerprint sensor later, and Rivers entered into a small room.

The guys had dubbed it the “control room”, though it amounted to little more than a shoebox with a couple of laptops set up with Agency uplinks. Power leads and network cables trailed across the floor. Along one wall there was a wide window, below which was a metal table where several semi-automatic rifles were laid, and rather incongruously, a pair of tuxedos wrapped in cellophane.

One by one, the remaining three members of Tanner’s team got up from their seats (or wherever they happened to have perched) and saluted their superior. It wasn’t strictly necessary as the Agency was not a military organization, but Rivers enjoyed the discipline and encouraged the practice where he could. Each of the men wore the same black fatigues as Tanner.

Rivers nodded at his men, feeling a little out of place in the dingy confines of the bunker, immaculately dressed in his suit. He stepped forwards, peering out of the window that looked into the next chamber, but only an empty blackness could be seen beyond.

“How is our guest?” Rivers asked, staring into the void, past the ghost of his reflection.

“Totally unresponsive,” Tanner sighed, “I kind of think we’re wasting our time with this one.”

“Well, I think it’s about time I got in there.” Rivers pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the table. He started to undo his cuffs and roll up his shirt sleeves. “Have you got the file I requested from HQ?”

“Here, sir.” One of the other men, Willis, handed Rivers a computer pad. He looked down at it, his face illuminated by its glow, swiping down with his finger to take in its contents. There wasn’t much to work with, but that was why he was here, to get the information the Agency needed.

Rivers reached past Willis to tap at a laptop keyboard. The window, which before had revealed nothing, began to change its tint, as a polarised charge ran through it. The one-way mirror now revealed the room on the other side to Rivers.

Panel lighting illuminated a figure sat at a wooden table, his head hung low, motionless. Rivers whispered his name.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Antoinette!”

Joseph smiled as Sam nervously stepped onto the bridge of the “Oro del Diablo”, his high heeled sandals tapping across the floor. He gave a meek smile back, which soon broadened as he began to look around him. The bridge comprised the top-most deck of the luxury yacht and, like a lighthouse, its windows stretched all the way round, affording a bird’s eye view of the entire yacht, not to mention the sea and the glorious cloudless skies above.

“Wow, looks like you’ve got the best seat in the house,” Sam marvelled, looking out over the port side of the yacht.

“Hmm, I’m not sure I quite see it that way,” Joseph sighed.

Sam turned back from the window, running his hands through his long blonde ponytail. He now wore a short, white linen robe wrapped around his bikini clad body. Since he had been told to keep a low profile, Sam saw no harm in covering up a little. He could always quickly remove it if he ran into Carlos or Maria.

“So, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Joseph asked. He seemed distracted and turned to look at a computer screen situated next to the yacht’s wheel.

“I’m having a bad day, so I thought I’d take you up on your offer of a visit,” Sam said in his soft French accent. He had wanted to find out more about Joseph. Something about him just didn’t seem to quite fit.

“You’ll have a lot of those, I’m afraid to say.” Joseph slapped the computer screen with the flat of his palm, “Damn it!”

“Having trouble?” Sam stepped forwards, tugging the hem of his short robe.

“This damn GPS, it went down this morning. I’ve been using paper maps and a compass ever since, but its slow going.”

Sam leaned over Joseph’s shoulder, his left breast inadvertently brushing his arm.

“Looks like a standard Linux O.S. It seems to be stuck in a restart loop. If we telnet in we should be able to reset it from the console.”

Joseph looked at Sam, dumbfounded. He stepped away from the computer panel.

“Be my guest!”

Sam pulled the keyboard forward and went to type, but something made him stop. Sam could touch-type faster than anyone he knew, but now, his hands felt awkward and just didn’t seem to know what to do. He flexed his slender digits with their long fingernails, his red nail polish from yesterday now chipped in places. It was like the muscle memory he had developed from years behind a computer screen had been left behind with his body. Sam looked down at the keyboard and began slowly tapping with his index fingers, one key at a time.

Although it took longer than expected, the computer screen soon flashed into life and a GPS display appeared showing their current location. Sam quickly made a mental note of where they were. The yacht had travelled east since leaving Monaco and was heading out across the Ligurian Sea towards Italy.

“There, easy.” Sam stood back.

“Wow, where did a girl like you learn to do that?” Joseph asked, rubbing at his stubbled cheek.

“Oh, I just picked up a few things,” Sam replied evasively.

“Well, you’ve missed your calling, you’re clearly wasted being a… I mean…” Joseph looked away, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it, we all know why I’m here. What about you?” Sam steered the conversation away from himself. “What’s your excuse for being here?”

Joseph looked out to the blue waters, “I’m afraid I’m not as innocent as I look.”

“Oh? I never said you looked innocent!”

“Really?” Joseph rubbed at his cheek. “Maybe I need to shave more often.”

Sam caught Joseph’s smile, the muscles in his feminine face feeling unused to it. He walked over to the aft window, his short robe bouncing at his hips. On the deck below he could see Maria Ramirez making her way back inside the yacht, a drink in her hand.

Joseph came up beside Sam, fixing him with a serious look.

“Be careful with them okay?”

“Where did Carlos go?” Sam asked, looking sidelong at Joseph.

“Well, he hasn’t taken the jet ski out, so he’s probably in his office. He spends a lot of time in there.” Joseph’s tight white t-shirt stretched as he folded his muscular arms across his chest. “There’s a satellite dish up on the roof,” he said, tapping on the low ceiling, “He makes a lot of calls, does a lot of business from the yacht.”

Sam folded his own arms under his large breasts and thought for a moment. He knew that sooner or later he would have to get himself into that office.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam carefully made his way back down the steps, winding down through the inner decks of the yacht, being careful to walk slowly so that his high-heeled sandals did not make too much noise.

He had reached the middle deck and was about to turn to go down the steps to the lower deck when he heard the sound of a deep voice laughing. Sam bit his lip, feeling afraid, but forced himself to head nearer to the source of the noise. He found a closed door and ran his hand over it, feeling the smooth wood finish.

Sam could hear Carlos Ramirez more clearly now, though he was speaking in Spanish, and very fast, making it almost impossible to follow. Something about Italy… Sam stepped slowly backwards, keeping his eye on the door, remembering its location for future reference. Now wasn’t the time. He would have to try and get in there when no-one was around.

Sam hurried the rest of the way to his room on the lower deck, his breasts swaying beneath his robe, his ponytail swishing from side to side. He felt proud of himself. He’d actually gone and done something useful.

He opened the door to his room, eager to think and plan about his next move but stopped, gasping in his feminine register. His eyes ran over high heels and long mocha colored legs that crossed over one another.

“Antoinette, my darling.”

Maria Ramirez’s eyes flashed and a sly smile formed at the corner of her lipstick covered lips.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers enjoyed interrogations. It occurred to him that they were a lot like poker games in a way. Both sides had to read each other, see past the bluff, and know when to lay on the pressure.

The man at the table sat there, not looking up, his unkempt sandy-colored hair hanging down. Rivers walked around the table, his footsteps echoing in the sparse chamber. He gave a glance to the mirror which hid the control room from view, knowing that Tanner and the other guys would be watching from the other side. Rivers relaxed in the knowledge that the room was fully sound-proofed as, frankly, this was beyond the black ops’ pay grade.

Rivers took a deep breath, steeling himself for the joust, as he turned, brandishing his computer-pad.

“Antoinette Francoise Bellerose,” he read, “If that is your real name…”

The man raised his head, looking straight at Rivers. Even though his eyes now looked sunken and his face was pale and flecked with stubble, Rivers recognised him immediately.

Sam Fields.

The face of Rivers’ partner stared back at him impassively.

Except behind those eyes, a very different soul twitched and fidgeted.

“There we go, got your attention now honey? Or should I say ‘pal’?” Rivers slapped his pad down onto the wooden table.

Antoinette moved her head, following Rivers as he paced back and forth like a caged tiger.

“I imagine you’re pretty worked up right now, huh? Wondering how you came to be in a man’s body? Wondering what we’ve done with your body?”

Still nothing as Antoinette looked back at him with the same blank expression she had perfected back in the poker den last night. Except this time it was from behind the mask of Sam’s young, masculine face.

Rivers continued his attack, “Right now we’ve got an agent in your body doing some undercover work for us. It’s genius don’t you think?” Rivers walked around behind Antoinette’s chair, leaning in close to her ear. “No one would ever suspect him.” He straightened walking back round to the opposite side of the table.

“And that leaves you, I’m afraid, babysitting his body. The thing is - the last I heard? Our man was starting to like things better on the other side of the fence. Turns out, he’s always had fantasies about being a woman. Imagine that! I guess it takes all sorts.”

Rivers watched closely. Antoinette’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she began to drum her fingers against her right thigh, as if nervously tapping out a melody that only she could hear.

“So chances are you might be left like this. A man. And not much of a man at that. Think about it, all that attention that you used to get, suddenly gone. You’ll never again feel the touch of a man, at least not the way a man touches a woman. You’ll never know what it is like to bear a child...”

“What is it you want American?” Antoinette spoke up at last with Sam’s East Coast accent, her voice groggy from lack of use.

Rivers smiled. He’d finally got through to her. The guys would be impressed with how quickly he’d got results, but that was why he earned the big money.

“I want you to tell me who you’re working for.”

“I am just a sex-slave. I work for Carlos Ramirez.” Antoinette’s right hand still tapped rhythmically at her leg.

“No.” Rivers dismissed her. “I want you to tell me who you’re really working for.” He leant forwards over the table. “I want you to tell me everything you know about Scarlet.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * * * * * * * * *