SCARLET by Jessica Drew Part 11 With his computer skills gone, Sam finds himself faced with the daunting task of exploring Gerard's mansion in place of Rivers. * * * * * * * * * *

“This is a really bad idea.” Sam stood with his hands perched in his wide hips, watching as Rivers quickly checked the corridor outside of their room.

“There’s no-one around, we’ve got time to do this.” Rivers stepped back into the room, wedging the door awkwardly shut against the now splintered door frame. He took a spare chair from under the desk and wedged it against the door handle.

“Oh, like that will stop them.” Sam commented dryly, folding his arms across his chest. He began to nervously pace the bedroom in his high heels, catching a brief glimpse of his worried feminine face in the mirror.

Rivers slumped down into the remaining free chair, tugging at his bottom lip thoughtfully as he gazed at the laptop screens. “No-one’s looking for us…”

“But how long before someone comes looking for her?”

Rivers turned, following Sam’s gaze to the bed where Sofia lay sleeping, sedated by a tranquilizer dart.

“Did you see how many girls they had dressed up like that? They won’t miss her.” Rivers looked over at Sam, his eye-line drifting slowly along the length of his legs, his hips and his chest, before finally looking him in the eye. “And they won’t notice an extra one in there either.”

“You’re actually suggesting I go out there dressed like that?” Sam’s French accented voice wavered as he pointed a hesitant finger towards the bed. “You think I can just walk out in that outfit and no-one will notice?” Sam clutched protectively at the neck of his blouse.

Rivers pulled himself from the chair, walking over towards the bed. “I actually think it’s quite tasteful.” His gaze drifted down to where Sofia’s ruffled maid’s dress still indecently exposed her black lace panties.

Sam strode over and reached past Rivers, tugging the Italian girl’s uniform back down over her backside to protect her modesty.

“Relax.” Rivers plunged his hands into his pants pockets, clearly amused, “You’ve got a much hotter ass than her anyway.”

Sam could feel his cheeks burning. “You’re loving this aren’t you? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d planned for this to happen from the start!”

“What?” Rivers pointed at his own chest incredulously. “Oh right, so I made you forget all your computer stuff so you’d be forced to go out there dressed as a French maid?” Rivers shook his head and reached down, beginning to tug at the threaded laces of Sofia’s uniform.

“What are you doing?” Sam grasped Rivers’ arm.

“What do you think?” Rivers turned, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“You can’t just undress a woman like that while she’s unconscious!”

“Sam, come on, she was all ready to show me the goods anyway.”

“That still doesn’t give you the right.” Sam looked sternly up at him. “You’re a man… it’s just wrong!”

“Fine, well you do it then!” Rivers glared back at Sam then strode over to the balcony door, resting an arm against the glass as he gazed out to the darkness of the gardens beyond.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam gave a last look back towards Rivers, to make sure he wasn’t looking, before turning his attentions to Sofia. He watched as her back rose with her soft breathing, gently stretching the lace corsetry of her French maid’s uniform.

He began to pick apart the laces with his long fingernails, threading them out through the eyelets. He could see the pressure ease from the sleeping woman’s waist almost immediately.

Sam would have protested some more about using the uniform as a disguise if it wasn’t for the thought of the two Scarlet soldiers that guarded the east-wing of the mansion. They were dressed identically to the soldier that had boarded Ramirez’s yacht and nearly shot him two days ago. The memory still caused his whole body to tense, almost to the point of paralysis. The thought of getting by the guards any other way seemed almost impossible.

Sam unthreaded the laces through the final eyelet and tugged the back of Sofia’s dress open, revealing her bare olive-skinned back. He took her right arm, being extra careful as he rolled her over onto her back. Despite the fact that the tranquilizer would keep her well under for an hour at least, Sam still paused to check her for any signs of consciousness.

As he leant over her, Sam couldn’t help but appreciate what a strikingly beautiful woman she was. It was little wonder really that Rivers had been all over her. He watched as her breasts swelled with her breathing, as large and as firm as Sam’s own. Sam gave another quick glance back to Rivers, who still gazed out of the window, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Sam reached for the top of Sofia’s dress, briefly hesitating. As a woman, Sam had figured it would be more appropriate for him to undress Sofia, just as Gabriella must have undressed him back in Civitavecchia. But as he pulled Sofia’s dress downwards, exposing her swollen naked breasts, he came to wonder whether it was quite the right thing to be doing.

Sam continued to tug at Sofia’s now loose dress, wiggling it down over her wide hips and out from under her backside. The bed bounced and Sofia’s large breasts swayed on her chest, though there was something surprisingly non-sexual about it. It made Sam feel a little better about what he was doing to the poor girl. He managed to lift her thighs and slide the dress off of her long shapely legs.

Sam carefully folded the ruffled maid’s dress, which now seemed tiny in his arms, setting it down over the back of the chair. Finally, he lifted each of Sofia’s small feet in turn and unfastened her obscenely tall platform heels, leaving her lying there in just a black lace garter belt, matching panties and lace-topped silk stockings. Despite her near-nakedness, Sam found that he was more concerned with the woman’s modesty and folded the bed sheet over, wrapping her in it, then reached over to sweep a loose strand of hair away from her mouth.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam sat at the foot of the bed, turning Sofia’s platform heels over in his hands. They were black open toe heels with an inch thick platform under the toe which increased the size of the heel to a towering five-inches. He set them down onto the floor next to his own high heeled feet, finding that they would be about the right size to fit him. When he looked back up, he found that Rivers had turned away from the window and was now watching him.

“They’ll look good on you.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “The last time I saw a woman wearing a pair like this I’d taken a wrong turn into the red light district.”

Rivers smirked, “See, to me that’s a right turn!”

“You’re disgusting. And please don’t tell me you’ve paid for sex…”

“Hey, I never pay for anything I can get for free. But it doesn’t hurt to do a little window shopping.”

“Window shopping? We’re… Women are not objects you know! I bet none of them chose to be working the streets.”

“Look at you! The feminist crusader!” Rivers grinned back.

Sam took a deep breath, flexing his fingers to help calm himself. He knew that it was pointless to keep at it. When Rivers got going he was like a dog with a new toy. He just wouldn’t let go.

It was true that he now had a fresh insight into how women were treated by men. In fact, he’d experienced the very worst of it. Sam knew that when he swapped back to his own male body he would certainly be more considered and aware of how he treated the opposite sex. If only the same could be said for Rivers. If anyone could have done with walking a mile in a pair of heels it was him. Sam smiled inwardly at the thought.

“Here, you’ll need these.” Rivers set his back pack down onto the bed, reaching an arm deep into one of the side pockets. He pulled out a familiar looking pink boutique bag and dropped it into Sam’s lap.

“You actually brought this with you?” Sam untied the Victoria’s Secret bag, peering in at the folded garter belt and stockings.

“I figured you were just playing it cool when you said you didn’t want to wear them.”

“And I suppose I’ve got no choice now, have I? How very convenient…”

“You still think I planned this don’t you?” Rivers sighed, looking down at Sam.

“No, of course not.” Sam glanced upwards, “I just think that someone up there’s got it in for me.” He stared down into the bag then turned it over, emptying its contents out onto his lap.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam tugged the curtains closer together, making sure that there was not so much as a hint of a crack between them. He was now alone in the bedroom, having banished Rivers to the corridor outside.

He was still not entirely comfortable with the fact that the damaged door now sat awkwardly in its frame, the light from the corridor streaming through gaps around the edges. He tip toed over, listening at the door. Thankfully Rivers seemed to have wandered off. All the same, he wedged the spare chair back under the door handle.

Satisfied, Sam kicked off his heels and began to unbutton his red blouse. He peeled the silky fabric from his shoulders, sliding it over his back, freeing his slender arms. As he looked down, his hair fell forwards, tickling the exposed swell of his cleavage. The sight of his breasts heaving in his black bra reminded him of how he had touched himself earlier, how he had let the sensations of his borrowed body get the better of him. It had ultimately put in motion a chain of events that now required him to dress as a French maid and infiltrate the east-wing of the mansion. He couldn’t help but feel he was being punished once more for his indiscretions.

Sam reached behind, unclasping the bra, sliding the shoulder straps from each of his arms in turn, though he still held the lace trimmed cups protectively to his chest. Although Rivers was nowhere in sight, Sam still felt the need to turn away from the door before discarding the brassiere altogether.

Sam’s heavy breasts bobbed free, the release of pressure feeling more than welcome. He reached behind, finding the zipper of his skirt with his fingernails, easing it downwards over his wide hips, finally letting it slide down to his bare feet. Although he now stood wearing only his black lace thong, the room still felt comfortably warm. He took the opportunity to tug the string of the thong out from his buttocks, letting it settle back more comfortably.

Sam made his way over to the bed picking up the delicately patterned lace garter belt. He held it up, turning it around, watching as the six garter straps dangled beneath.

“You’ve got a lot to answer for,” Sam mumbled, looking down at Sofia as she slept soundly beneath the sheets of the large bed.

He wrapped the lace belt around his tiny waist, finding that it fastened with a hook at the back, much like a bra would. He found that it fit him perfectly, just as all the clothing that Rivers had bought him had.

Sam sat down onto the edge of the bed next to Sofia, the garter tabs fanning out beside him. He carefully opened a fresh packet of seemed silk stockings, surprised that in their natural state they seemed tiny, almost the size of a pair of socks. He pushed his fingers against the fabric of one, stretching it, noticing that it was sheer against his hand. A band of patterned lace ran around the tops of each of them.

Sam brought his left leg upwards, his thigh pressing into his chest so that he could rest his heel on the edge of the bed. He carefully bunched up one of the stockings and wiggled his toes into the end, before drawing it upwards, over his calf, then his knee. When it seemed as though the stocking would not make it as far as his thigh, he returned once more to his foot, tugging the excess fabric over his heel, then rolling it upwards. It seemed to do the trick. Sam straightened his leg outwards and found that he was now able to pull the lace top of the stocking right up to his thigh.

Sam fumbled with the first garter tab, finding it tricky at first to pinch the stocking between its plastic clasp. Finally, it clicked into place and his stocking held, making the task of affixing the remaining two garters a little easier.

Still seated on the bed, Sam took a moment to run his hand along the length of his silk covered leg, starting at his calf, sliding all the way up to his shapely thigh. He was surprised at how soft and sensual it felt against his smooth skin.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers leant against the wall just down from the doorway to the honeymoon room where Sam was busy getting ready, wondering just how long he would be left to wander the empty hallways. Given how long Sam had taken to get ready that morning, he figured it could be a while.

Every now and then Rivers had strolled to the first turning in the corridor, listening carefully for any intruders, but they were deep within the west-most side of the mansion, well away from the party in the main hall. It appeared that their comings and goings had gone unnoticed, or at least without arousing suspicion.

Rivers felt a little frustrated at being side-lined by Sam’s condition. He loved being on the front line and getting into the thick of the action, and did not relish the thought of having to be sat behind a computer screen. The only compensation was that he’d get to see Sam turned out in yet another killer outfit.

That one stimulating thought caused Rivers to push himself away from the wall and begin a slow stroll back over towards the door, his footsteps silent against the plush carpet. He decided he would knock and at least ask how Sam was doing, but he paused outside of the door when he found that he could see through a gap in the buckled frame.

He brought his eye closer, silently peering through into the bedroom.

He could make out the four-poster bed, the bed sheets moulded to the feminine curves of Sofia’s sleeping body.

And there sitting beside her on the bed…

Rivers drew a breath.

* * * * * * * * * *

She sat with her back to the door, her long blonde hair trailing over her back. It took Rivers a moment of watching to realise that she was topless, though now that he was aware of it, he could make out fleeting glimpses of the underside of her large breasts.

She seemed occupied, looking down at her legs, but soon stood, using both hands to ease a silk stocking up along the length of her right thigh.

Rivers watched, taking in the sight of her perfectly formed backside, full and pert, the string of a lacy black thong running tight up between her buttocks. Her left leg was already clad in a delicate seemed stocking, the shine of the sheer fabric adding definition to the perfect contours of her feminine leg.

Rivers lips felt dry as he watched the elegant blonde fasten the garter tabs to the lacy band of her stocking. She smoothed her palms over her thigh, tugging on them one last time, before standing upright, the garters pulling taught against the curve of her hips and backside.

At any moment she would turn and Rivers would see her. He would see her beautiful face, so innocent to the provocative nature of her lingerie. He would watch, enraptured, at the sight of her firm, round breasts and perky nipples. He would gaze longingly at her small, trim waist and her curvaceous hips.

Rivers closed his eyes, and with what felt like a monumental effort, rolled himself away from the door. His heart was hammering in his chest and his cock had swelled, aching from within his pants.

He’d seen enough.

He couldn’t torture himself anymore.

Could this woman, who clearly so desperately wanted to return to her old male body, really, ever reciprocate his feelings?

Rivers stared blankly at the wall in front of him.

His feelings?

Wow. That was a new one…

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam stood in front of the mirror twisting his hips to either side, watching how the garter tabs pulled at his stockings. The belt seemed to accentuate the curve of his hips and backside, its lace trim perfectly matching that of his thong panties.

He’d always assumed that women wore stockings primarily to please men. Lenore had worn them once, but only in the bedroom as a special surprise. She’d shown little interest in wearing them other than that, preferring to wear pantyhose or leggings. Now that Sam thought about it, so much of a woman’s wardrobe was designed to entice and ensnare the opposite sex; tight fitting garments that drew attention to every curve, endlessly displaying provocative flashes of leg and cleavage. By contrast men’s clothes were loose fitting and plain allowing them to get away with very little effort in their clothing choices. It seemed to Sam to be a very one sided arrangement.

Sam flicked his long blonde hair out and turned, his silk sheathed legs brushing against one another as he took Sofia’s French maid’s dress from the back of the chair.

The fabric was shiny, like black satin, with a frilled white lace apron at its front. A couple of layers of white lace ruffles lined the short flared hem of the dress. Sam reluctantly held the outfit out, bringing it down low enough for him to dip both of his stocking covered feet into it. He slid it along the length of his legs, up over his hips, finally tugging it over his chest. He then reached awkwardly behind, to try and find the laces that tied up at the back, though he found it near impossible to find the eyelets to thread them back through. Sam tried again, turning away from the mirror to look back over his shoulder at his reflection. Frustratingly, as soon as he let go of the front of the dress it began to slip back down.

Sam turned his head towards the door, the light from the corridor outside glinting through the cracks in the frame.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers had been in the middle of disassembling and then reassembling his gun — something he’d seen in movies - when he heard Sam pull the chair away from the door, followed by the softest, quietest voice calling out to him.

“Mike? Can you come in here?”

Rivers quickly slipped the remains of his pistol into his jacket pocket before straightening his lapels, steeling himself for what he was likely about to see.

The damaged door shuddered as he stepped through into the bedroom, finding that Sam stood with his back to him. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of his blonde partner, struggling to hold his maid’s dress in place. Sam’s legs were wrapped in silk, Rivers’ gaze running the length of their black seems, up to the delicate detail of the lace bands, and the enticing whiteness of his thighs above.

“Is there a problem?” Rivers found that his throat was dry, his voice rasping.

“I need you to help tie me up.” Sam turned his head, talking back to Rivers from over his shoulder.

Rivers stepped forwards, clearing his throat, fighting the urge to bite at Sam’s choice of words. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts. He tried his best to think of Sam as a man. How he used to look. How he used to act. Anything to dampen his rampant desires.

Rivers exhaled slowly as he swept Sam’s blonde hair away from his neck, so close now that he could smell the fresh scent of the shampoo that he had used. His eyes roamed the graceful line of his soft neck and back.

To just lean in, and delicately kiss at her neck…

Rivers gritted his teeth, forcing himself to take the laces of the dress, crossing them and threading them through the first set of eyelets.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam gasped shrilly as Rivers pulled the laces tight.

“Did I hurt you?” Rivers’ voice came from over his shoulder, his breath hot against his neck

“No, no it’s fine… Keep going.”

Sam winced as the laces were threaded higher and higher, each sharp tug causing his waist to pinch in further. The push-up cups built into the uniform soon grasped his breasts tightly, forcing them up into a rounded swell of cleavage.

As Rivers tied off the laces, Sam gasped and struggled to take a deep breath, his chest not quite able to push out enough to take a full lungful of air.

“How does that feel?”

Sam turned around, his hands grasping his tight waist.

“Fine if you’re not too worried about breathing.” Sam blew out, trying to find a new rhythm, taking shallower but more rapid breaths.

“You’ll get used to it. If it’s any consolation you look…” Rivers eyes darted and he almost looked embarrassed, “Wow…”

Sam tip toed over to the mirror, finding that the dress now perfectly hugged his petite body, though his breasts now looked like two over inflated balloons. He tugged at the ruffled hem of the uniform in vain, wishing it were longer, finding that it was only just long enough to cover his broad hips and backside.

“It’s obscene…” Sam muttered, absently scooping his blonde hair away from his neck, holding it up behind his head.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam leant into the mirror, pouting his lips as he reapplied his crimson red lipstick. His eyes were once more lined with shadow, his lashes full and long with a dark mascara, his cheeks pink with rouge. He had also now pinned his hair back, leaving a couple of loose strands of blonde hair stylishly framing his feminine face.

Sam forced himself to stand straighter, sweeping his hands over the back of his French maid’s uniform. He was continually aware that leaning forwards, even a small amount, caused his backside to protrude out from under the scant safety of his dress. He glanced back at Rivers through the reflection of the mirror, hoping that he hadn’t noticed, but luckily he was busy removing the contact lens cameras from his eyes, carefully washing them out with a little drinking water from one of the bottles they had brought with them.

Sam sucked his lips inwards, the lipstick feeling a little sticky. He screwed the top back on the tube and took a step backwards. Suddenly his left ankle wobbled and he had to quickly twist and grasp one of the wooden posts of the bed for support. He now wore Sofia’s five-inch platform heels and although he had pretty much mastered walking in four inch sandals and pumps, these were proving to be something else entirely.

“Easy there!” Rivers smiled back at him. “Are you ready to put these in?” Rivers held an upturned finger out, the tiny lens balancing on the tip.

Sam nodded his head, walking unsteadily over, his arms wide at his sides for balance.

Whilst he had been busy with his make-up, Sam had desperately racked his mind for any hint of his old computer skills. Anything that meant that he could stay in the room and have Rivers go out there in his place. But it wasn’t to be. It was as if the room in his mind that held all that information had been vacated, only to have a blonde French girl move in instead, filling the wardrobes with her own possessions.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers jabbed his index fingers against the keyboard, one keystroke at a time, finally managing to establish a connection to the contact lens cameras.

“Yes, I’ve got it! Ha! See, this stuff isn’t so hard!”

The screens flashed into life, one displaying Sam’s viewpoint, the other showing the same, only in a wash of lurid colors from the thermo-image.

Rivers stood up from the chair, turning to grasp Sam’s shoulders, staring down at his pretty face.

“Now, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Mike… I have to do this.”

Rivers nodded, knowing what his answer would be before he’d even asked. He glanced down to check the concealed pin microphone at Sam’s chest.

“It’s fine…” Sam’s hand came up to cover his swollen cleavage.

“And the earpiece?”

Sam nodded, pressing at his right ear.

Rivers suddenly felt quite protective and wanted to hold Sam, to shield him from the dangers surrounding them, but he knew he had to let him go. He had to give Sam the chance to try and find Antoinette.

“Here.” Rivers handed Sam Sofia’s keys, watching as his feminine partner hooked the ring around the waistband of his white lace apron.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam’s five-inch platform heels thudded against the empty carpeted hallways that snaked their way throughout the west-wing of the mansion. His hips jutted as he walked, causing Sofia’s keys to jangle at his side. His silk stocking covered legs swept one in front of the other and with every step his garters pulled taught, reminding him constantly of his state of near-undress.

He pulled again at the hem of his maid’s dress, fearing constantly that his panties were on show. His anxiety caused his breathing to become labored and he soon found that he had to stop to try and get his breath back.

Sam stood with one hand resting on his corseted waist, giving sharp, quick breaths outwards. He gazed along the length of the corridor, at the double-doors that now loomed before him. He could hear the guests beyond, like the roar of a tsunami that threatened to wash him away entirely.

* * * * * * * * *

Sam took his first step out into main hall, closing his eyes to help calm himself and to allow his ears time to adjust to the noise.

“Alright Sam, good. Now just act natural, okay?” Rivers deep voice crackled through the receiver hidden in his right ear.

Sam’s eyes flicked open, his pupils dilating to adjust to the bright lights that sparkled amongst the chandeliers above him.

“See the guards on the other side of the balcony? They’ve seen you.”

Sam glanced over to the far side of hall, noticing that he was indeed under scrutiny.

“What do I do?” Sam whispered, grasping the top of his dress, speaking downwards towards the pin microphone.

“Go downstairs. Get into the crowd. Find some drinks to serve or something, so it doesn’t look too suspicious. And for Christ sake stop speaking down into the mic. I can hear you okay?”

“Right.” Sam looked awkwardly back up, sweeping a strand of hair back behind his ear. He trailed a hand along the wooden rail of the balcony, making his way to the staircase. He turned his feet, stepping down each step side-ways to help keep his balance on his tall heels.

The finely-dressed guests swarmed about the main hall as Sam approached. It felt like he was moving in slow motion as he left the safety of the staircase, his heels clicking loudly now against the stone floor.

Faces turned to look at him, men and women alike. The men all had that lust-filled look in their eyes, ignoring his face for the most part and gazing straight to his breasts and legs. The women looked irritated, watching how their partners reacted to Sam’s presence. He may as well have been walking naked down a catwalk for all the attention that he drew.

To Sam’s relief, the unwanted attention soon dissipated and time seemed to speed back up again. He could see now that several similarly dressed waitresses busied themselves amongst the crowd, handing out drinks and bite sized appetizers, and that they all drew their own fair share of lustful stares. The girls even seemed to encourage it. He noticed one bending forwards with a Marilyn Monroe style “oops” expression on her face as men stared longingly at her exposed backside.

Sam slipped between the crowd as best he could, excusing himself in his timid French-accented voice, quickly sliding through the gaps that presented themselves amongst the writhing sea of people. The hall looked even more packed now than when Rivers had been out there.

Sam glanced upwards, noticing the plasma screen that hung from the upper balcony.

“Tonight’s entertainment will soon begin,” Sam read. A shiver ran up his spine as he considered just what that entertainment might entail.

“Take this will you!”

Sam suddenly felt a sharp elbow jab against his side. He turned to find one of his fellow maids holding a tray of champagne glasses. Sam automatically reached out and took the tray from her.

“Make sure everybody’s got a glass. Monsieur Gerard will be coming out soon!”

Sam nodded his head, watching as the girl teetered away unsteadily. Sam was glad to see that he wasn’t the only one struggling with the heels.

Sam ducked his head downwards, whispering down at his chest.

“Did you hear that? Gerard is on his way!”

“Sam, I can hear everything okay?” Rivers’ voice sounded off in his ear, “And stop talking to your chest! Remember I can see everything from here, and right now I’ve got a hell of a view…”

Sam straightened his back, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. He could feel his face and chest flushing with embarrassment.

“Right, hang around there for a moment,” Rivers continued. “Let’s see what happens before we make our move.”

Sam drew as deep a breath as he could in his corseted dress and turned, looking to see if he could find any guests that still needed drinks. He took a step forwards, gasping as his arm suddenly knocked against a man’s chest. The tray that he held tilted upwards, the glasses toppling forwards.

“Ah! You stupid bitch!”

An overweight, tuxedoed Italian man swore, rubbing at his soaked shirt.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there,” Sam flustered in his feminine voice. He didn’t know quite what else to do and quickly deposited his flooded tray onto a nearby table.

Sam turned back, finding that the man was accompanied by two similarly dressed minders, who each offered a handkerchief for their boss to use.

“Get off’a me!” The man waved a hand, dismissing their assistance. “She did this! She can clear it up!” He pointed a stubby finger in Sam’s direction, a series of gold rings gleaming from his knuckles.

Some of the guests had noticed the man’s raised voice and stepped back, nervously giving him a wide berth.

Sam could feel the pace of his heart beat increasing as he scoured the table for some paper napkins. He hurried back over, his heels tapping against the floor, his breasts bouncing at his chest.

“Really… I’m sorry… “ Sam began to wipe at the man’s wet shirt. “This wasn’t expensive was it?” He winced, realising straight away that it was a stupid question.

The man’s hand suddenly came up, grasping Sam’s slender wrist. He pulled his arm painfully around to his back, causing him to cry out effeminately.

“Let’s see if we can’t teach this girl some manners.”

The Italian pulled Sam’s feminine body tight into his, causing his breasts to crush between them. He squirmed uncomfortably in his grasp, turning his head away as the man brought his lecherous face closer.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers stood bolt upright from his chair, causing it to skid backwards across the floor. He looked down at the laptop screens, watching as Sam struggled in the grip of the large Italian. His revolting face filled the screens, his eyes small and dark, his black hair slick like oil.

“Dammit!” Rivers held his hands on his head, feeling his heart beating faster.

He had watched uncomfortably as every last asshole in the hall had checked Sam out, all of them wanting a piece. One by one the thermo image view had lit up with testosterone-fuelled arousal, as faces and loins flushing with heat. It sent Rivers’ blood boiling and he had to fight the urge to stroll right down there and tell them all where to go.

What had he been thinking, sending Sam out there like a lamb to the slaughter? In truth, Rivers was angry at himself for putting Sam into the firing line in the first place.

“Sam, hold on… I’m coming…”

Rivers had his hand on the bedroom door when he heard the announcement coming through the laptop speakers.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention please…” A calming female voice drifted over the crowd from the surrounding speakers of the PA system.

Sam felt the Italian man quickly release his arm and he staggered free of his hold, still more than a little shaken. He quickly tugged at the top of his dress where his breasts had almost threatened to spill free, then quickly smoothed a hand around the hem.

The bodiless female voice continued as the lights began to dim around them.

“I would like you all to please welcome your host for this evening… René Gerard!”

A ripple of applause began to grow amongst the crowd, until the entire room erupted. Sam followed the gaze of the crowd, looking up as the guarded doors to the east-wing of the mansion parted. A spotlight followed a tall man in a crisp, dark suit, as he strode forth, gripping the balcony rail to wave down at his admirers. A mighty cheer swelled up around the room.

Now that his attention was diverted, Sam carefully stepped away from the Italian man, disappearing deeper into the crowd. When he was sure that he had gone unnoticed, Sam looked back up towards Gerard who was now gesturing with his arms to settle the crowd. “Are you seeing this?” Sam found himself asking.

“Yes,” Rivers replied at last. “Sam? Are you okay?” His voice sounded worried.

“I’m fine.” Sam kept his head up, their conversation still masked by the dying waves of applause.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve had worse… Believe me.” Sam felt an involuntary shudder shoot up his spine.

“Alright… Keep your eyes open. This could get interesting.”

* * * * * * * * * *

René Gerard let his gaze drift around the perimeter of the balcony, respectfully admiring the portraits that he kept — the great kings and queens of France, commanders such as Napoleon, and various members of his own distinguished family line. He hadn’t been back to France in a while, and his petit Chateau on the borders of Rome provided a welcome home away from home.

Finally, he looked down from the balcony at his fellow brothers and sisters, basking in their warm welcome.

“Please, please… you flatter me too much.” His deep French accented voice projected out from the PA speakers. He waited exactly fifteen seconds, letting the commotion die down to a soft murmur. He smoothed the hair at the sides of his head before continuing.

“When I first formed Scarlet it was always my intention that this would be for the people… To enable people like you… To give you the tools to fight against the tyrannies of this world… to throw off the shackles of oppression… To fight for a brighter tomorrow.”

Gerard closed his eyes, letting the fresh wave of applause soak into him.

“Which is why I share this celebration with you… With all of you.” Gerard’s eyes opened and he raised his arms up like a conductor. “So please, join in me in a toast. To you… To me… To us!” He turned taking his own flume of Champagne which had been hurriedly brought up to him. He raised the glass triumphantly.

“To Scarlet!”

“TO SCARLET!” The crowd bayed back at him.

He drank deeply, letting the sharp champagne linger in his mouth before swallowing. He began to pace the length of the balcony as he continued, the microphone on his lapel ensuring that his voice carried throughout the room.

“We have much to be thankful for tonight… Much to celebrate…” He ran his hand along the polished woodwork of the balcony rail. “Our agents positioned within the governments of Europe have been particularly successful this year.” He paused allowing for cheers of approval. “We also now have an additional headquarters in New York from which to start our new line of work from within the United States… “

Yet more cheering.

“And…” Gerard held a finger up which had the desired effect of hushing the audience right down. “…And, most recent of all… It gives me great pleasure to announce to you that we have apprehended one of the great scourges of the modern world.”

Gerard smiled, watching as whispers of speculation rippled out below him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam could feel his heart beating faster. He had listened to every word, feeling a cold dread at the mere mention of Scarlet. It was as they had suspected. René Gerard was running the whole show. But where did that place Antoinette, and why wasn’t she there?

As the crowd muttered and whispered to each other, Sam looked nervously about him, wondering if she were somewhere in the crowd and he just hadn’t seen her. He teetered on his platform heels, finding that even with their added height he was not quite tall enough to see over the heads of most of the guests.

Gerard’s voice soon echoed back through the hall and all heads, included Sam’s, gazed upwards once more. “Before I say anymore, I would like to introduce someone who has been instrumental in helping us with this operation…”

Sam struggled with his breathing, gasping from within his corseted maid’s uniform. This was it! It had to be Antoinette!

Gerard gestured downwards towards the large Italian that Sam had just now managed to slip away from.

“Bennedetto Federici,” Gerard introduced the man, adjusting his French accent into a perfect Italian pronunciation, “Head of the Federici syndicate in Rome.”

“Of course!” Rivers’ voice returned to Sam’s ear, “I can’t believe I didn’t recognise him before. That guy pretty much runs the Mafia in Italy now!”

Sam’s mouth hung open in shock and he felt his feminine body tremble. Had he really been that close to the head of the Mafia? He felt both surprise, and an enormous relief, that he hadn’t just been stabbed or shot for the accident with the drinks tray. He watched as the assembled guests turned as one, applauding Federici, who responded with a smile and silently mouthed words of thanks.

“Without his assistance we would have been deprived of this evening’s star attraction, so thank you Bennedetto. I am hoping this will be the start of a long and prosperous partnership between your family… and mine.” Gerard smiled again, gesturing to the crowd beneath him. He paused then clapped his hands together.

“And without further delay… let us bring him out… Let us see what… filth… we have managed to dredge up!” Gerard snarled, his over-the-top performance reminding Sam of a pantomime villain.

Sam looked over to a couple that stood by him. He couldn’t quite understand how they were so enraptured. They seemed to hang on his every word, marvelling at every grandiose sweep of his arm, holding their breath with every dramatic pause.

There was suddenly much muttered excitement, as a side-door opened over by the corner nearest to him. Sam tried desperately to peer around bodies and over heads. The crowd parted in unison, like a sea, forming a clear pathway for the new arrivals that led straight to the staircase and the balcony above.

Sam’s heels cluttered beneath him as he moved with the shifting audience. He tried to find space to slip further back into the crowd, but the bodies were now too densely packed to get past. He found himself at the very edge of the clearway that had formed. He turned, giving up on his attempts to hide, and instead concentrated on standing as still as possible.

He watched as a pair of armed soldiers marched forwards, their heavy boots thudding loudly. Sam struggled to control his breathing, tugging absently at the hem of his maid’s uniform.

It was then that he noticed another man stumbling awkwardly behind the soldiers, his bare feet slapping against the stone floor. He was stooped, his head low, his black hair unkempt and greasy. His tattered white shirt was yellowed and hung open, with only a pair of briefs protecting his modesty. As he approached, Sam saw that his wrists were bound behind his back and that a metal collar was fastened around his neck to which was joined a long metal pole. A final soldier walked behind him, pushing him forwards with the pole, as if he were a captive animal.

Time seemed to slow once more as the prisoner approached, ever closer, to where Sam stood. Droplets of sweat fell from the man’s brow as he raised his head, his dark eyes looking straight down into Sam’s soul.

* * * * * * * * * *

Carlos Ramirez.

Sam could see the recognition in his eyes, turning through a gamut of emotions, from surprise, to confusion, to anger. In that briefest of shared moments Sam could remember it all; the stench of his cigars, his lecherous smirk, the awful numbness of being used by him, not once, but twice…

And then, just as quickly, he was gone, his head turned forwards as the guard shook the metal pole that held his neck.

Sam gasped, suddenly realising that he had been holding his breath. His cleavage heaved as he took quick, shallow breaths, his lungs struggling against the constriction of his tight outfit. His head buzzed with dizziness.

“Sam...”

Rivers’ voiced sounded distant as the roar of the crowd rose up around him. Sam staggered in his heels, pushed along by the bodies that began to move back in, filling the room once more as the soldiers and their captive took to the stairs.

“Sam… come back in okay? We’ll figure something else out… Just make your excuses and get out of there.”

Sam tried to answer but his feminine voice caught in his throat. He watched as Ramirez was escorted up the stairs and marched along the upper balcony towards Gerard. By now the crowd were going wild, cheering and whistling at the sight before them. It was as if Sam had stepped back in time and now found himself in the middle of Rome’s Coliseum, with Gerard as its Emperor.

* * * * * * * * * *

René Gerard watched with delight as Carlos Ramirez was brought up to him. The Argentinian stumbled, struggling in his bonds, his face bloodied from where the guards had obviously taken out some of their boredom on him.

As they made their way around the upper balcony, Gerard slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, producing his handheld video camera. He flicked it open, focusing in on Ramirez, catching his barely disguised look of contempt in perfect high resolution.

Ramirez’s odor turned Gerard’s stomach causing him to take a white handkerchief from his dinner jacket pocket and hold it across his mouth. Everything about him disgusted Gerard; from his clothes and his appearance, to his despicable world view and the vice-like grip he held on the illegal drug and sex trafficking industries.

Finally, he would be brought to his knees and made to answer for his crimes.

One of the guards kicked at the back of Ramirez’s legs, causing him to groan with pain and fall forwards in front of Gerard. A mixture of sweat and blood flecked outwards from his forehead, narrowly missing Gerard’s right foot. He took a step backwards.

The guard yanked at the pole that held Ramirez’s neck forcing him up onto his knees. He choked and coughed, his face turning red.

“Carlos Ramirez!” Gerard pocketed his handkerchief and held out a hand, introducing his captive to his audience. The response was overwhelming. He turned the camera, panning it out over the crowd. He adjusted the focus, zooming right in on their faces, delighting in their rapt attention, their unanimous surprise and delight.

As Gerard peered at the camera’s flip-out LCD screen, he noted several French maid dressed waitresses amongst the crowd.

Good. Just as he had requested.

He noticed one of the maids in particular. A blonde. She seemed to be in a hurry, slipping between the gathering, the short hem of her ruffled dress bouncing at her hips as she made her way out to the kitchen.

Gerard smiled to himself, then turned the camera back to Ramirez.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam hurried through into the kitchen, his platform heels clacking against the tiled floor, his cleavage bouncing with every step. He pushed between the white uniformed kitchen staff, making his way to the nearest sink. He gripped the edges with his feminine hands and began to cough, feeling as though he might be sick. Despite his best efforts, it had finally proven too much for Sam. He hadn’t quite been prepared for seeing Carlos Ramirez again, nor for quite how deeply it would affect him.

“Is something wrong?”

Sam turned, feeling a hand on his shoulder, finding a stern middle-aged woman staring intently at him from over the rim of her glasses. She wore the same white fold-over jacket and pants as the rest of the kitchen staff, with her red hair pulled back into a tight pony-tail.

Sam straightened himself, wiping strands of blonde hair away from where they had stuck to his cheek. He shook his head, taking as deep a breath as he could.

“Good. Sofia’s already gone missing on us, and I can’t afford to have another girl cry off sick.”

“Yes Madame,” Sam found himself automatically responding to the woman’s strict tone.

“Now take this to Monsieur Gerard’s study. It is to be ready for him for when he is finished with his presentation.” The woman turned, taking a silver tray from the side which held a bottle of Champagne and two crystal glasses.

“Yes… yes of course Madame…” Sam struggled to keep calm, his hands shaking as he took the tray, causing the glasses to clink together.

The red-headed woman clasped Sam’s small wrist harshly, leaning in towards his ear. “And try not to spill anything this time, yes?”

Sam bit his lip, trying his best to steady the tray. He turned to head back towards the kitchen’s entrance when he felt the woman squeeze his slender arms, forcefully turning him back around.

“What is wrong with you girl? Use the maid’s entrance!” She pointed a thumb back over her shoulder to an exit at the far side of the busy kitchen.

“Of course, Madame.” Sam gave a meek smile and hurried as best he could with the tray, the hem of his maid’s dress bouncing at his hips causing his set of keys to jangle. He narrowly avoided running into one of the salad chefs and quickly excused himself, looking down fearfully at the man’s sharp kitchen knife.

All eyes seemed to be on Sam now as he pushed the exit door open with his back, swivelling through into a darkened empty stairwell.

Alone at last, Sam paused, setting the tray down onto the steps, his hands on his waist as he gasped for breath.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam’s heels clicked loudly as he made his way up the small steps. The stairwell was unadorned, the steps well worn. The area was meant for staff use only and did not even attempt to match the exquisite décor of the rest of the mansion. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the Champagne bottle and glasses that wobbled unsteadily on the tray that he held, knowing that they would be his one alibi if he was challenged along the way.

“You are one lucky girl Sam, you know that?” Rivers’ masculine voice sounded from the in-ear receiver. Sam was startled at first and momentarily stopped to steady the bottle.

“I’m sorry Mike… I just had to get out of there.” Even though Sam spoke softly, his French accented voice echoed between the narrow stone walls.

“Hey, hey… don’t apologise. I should never have sent you out there.”

“Why, because I’m a woman?” Sam smiled wryly.

“Hmm, I was going to say because you have a knack of getting your well-formed ass into trouble.”

Sam stopped once he reached the top of the stairs, a locked heavy oak door in front of him. He reached down to his side, carefully unclipping the keys from his apron. After dismissing half the keys straight away, it took Sam only three attempts before he found the right key.

“Well this well-formed ass has got further than you ever did.”

Sam turned the door handle.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers squinted at the laptop screens, watching as Sam made his way along the deserted corridors of the east-wing of the mansion. He forced himself to sit straighter, his shoulders aching from being hunched over for too long.

“How are we doing?” Sam’s feminine voice whispered quietly from the laptop speakers.

“Uh, hold on a second.” Rivers rotated his shoulder around in its socket. He studied the signal output on the second laptop screen.

Before having one of his bad turns, Sam had managed to configure the in-ear receiver to double as a remote sensor. It would enable them to track the source of the Agency database theft, though Gerard operated some sort of jamming signal throughout the mansion that had to be continually compensated for.

Rivers stared blankly at the wave forms displayed on the laptop screen, wondering how on Earth he was going to manage. He flicked open the web page he had found offering a refresher course on Fourier analysis and began to tap slowly at the keyboard.

“Mike?” Sam’s hushed voice was more urgent this time.

“Hold on…” Rivers grimaced as he concentrated, trying his best to block out any external distractions as he carefully configured the receiver. He watched as a sudden spike presented itself from the wave form. “Straight ahead! It should be coming up on the left!” Rivers sighed with relief, wiping his forehead with his sleeve as he leant back in his chair.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam stepped lightly along the carpeted corridor. His silk covered legs brushed against one another as he walked, his exposed garters tugging at his stockings with every step.

The private east-wing was even more luxurious than the guest wing had been. The carpets were immaculately brushed, the walls bright and decorated with gold framed portraits spaced evenly between the polished wood doors either side.

“Okay, you should be right by the door now,” Rivers’ voice crackled in Sam’s ear.

Sam stopped and quickly looked either side of him. It was then that he noticed a particularly ornate looking door a little further along on his left. He carefully balanced the tray of Champagne on the flat of his left palm and made his way over, reaching for the polished brass door handle with his slender hand. He tried it once but found it locked.

Sam could feel his heart beating faster as he flicked through his key chain, searching for something that looked like it might fit the lock.

This was it, Sam thought. He was one step away from the end of their mission. Either the stolen Agency data was still in there or it wasn’t. But more than anything, Sam hoped that he would at last find Antoinette. He didn’t know what he would say or do when he found her, he just knew that he had to press onwards.

Sam slid a key into the lock and unlatched the door. He gave one last look back down the corridor before turning the handle.

* * * * * * * * * *

“I regret everything I have done.”

Carlos Ramirez knelt before Gerard, his head bowed low.

“Again! Straight to the camera this time,” Gerard laughed. He watched as Ramirez slowly raised his head, his black hair dripping with sweat.

He spoke more slowly this time, his Spanish accented voice growling with his humiliation.

“I….regret…everything…”

“Good! That was better wasn’t it ladies and gentlemen?” Gerard zoomed his handheld camera in on Ramirez’s eyes, watching them dart and flicker, trying to look for a way out. It was pointless. His hands were still bound behind his back and one of his best soldiers held his neck harness from behind.

Gerard looked out over the balcony enjoying the rippled sounds of laughter and amusement coming up from his guests below. This was exactly what he wanted. A spectacle.

The capture of Ramirez had almost been too easy. The Argentinian had been foolish enough to approach the Italian Mafia to make a deal to allow his drug shipments into Italy, little realising that Scarlet had got their first. Gerard had simply made Federici a much better offer, and in return Ramirez’s plans were laid bare.

After ambushing the yacht, Ramirez had been brought to the mansion, detained in the hidden basement cells. Like all cowards, it hadn’t taken much to break him. Gerard wielded human psychology as powerfully as any physical weapon. He was a keen student, with an eidetic memory and an unparalleled attention to detail.

“And you will sign over your operations to me? To be dissolved and disbanded at my convenience?” Gerard panned the camera back out, watching as the gears turned over in Ramirez’s mind.

“Fuck you pendejo!” Ramirez spat onto Gerard’s shoes.

The crowd gasped and Gerard stepped backwards, aghast at the glistening stain on his perfectly polished Italian leather shoes.

How dare that pig-ignorant dictator befoul him in such a way!

Gerard summoned one the guards with a finger. They quickly stepped forwards, their rifle raised, slamming the butt down onto Ramirez’s back, sending him crashing down face first onto the hard floor.

It did little to ease Gerard’s anger. Ramirez had ruined the evening with his petulant outburst. He looked over the balcony at the guests, fearing that he would have lost the crowd. To his surprise they started to clap, very much enjoying the performance that unfolded above them.

Gerard’s expression slowly turned to a smile once more and he raised his arms, accepting their show of appreciation as if he had planned Ramirez’s outburst all along. He swept his video camera across the gathering as they cheered, but soon found his attention distracted by a flashing warning on the LCD display of the camera.

“Memory card almost full.”

Damn it. Gerard had been careful to make sure the camera was fully charged, but had forgotten to swap out the memory card. It was unlike him to make such a mistake.

“Thank you,” Gerard calmed the crowd with his deep French-accented voice, “There will now be a short interval, but please help yourself to more food and champagne.”

Gerard clicked his camera shut, sliding it back into the pocket of his dinner jacket. He pulled the microphone from his lapel as the spotlight that illuminated him went out, the main hall lights coming back up in its place. He gave one last look down to Ramirez’s slumped body, watching as he groaned with pain.

“Take him back down to the cells,” Gerard pointed to the soldiers that had escorted Ramirez, “I need to pick up something from my study.”

Ramirez straightened his bowtie and dinner jacket. He smoothed back his hair and began to stride back towards the same set of double doors that he had entered by.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam found himself in a large room, surrounded by book shelves and plush leather chairs, the high ceiling making him feel even smaller than he already did as a woman. His heels thudded as he made his way through to the far end of the room, his backside twitching from side to side beneath his maid’s dress.

He carefully set the champagne tray down onto a large antique desk, pausing to gaze out of the tall windows that overlooked the darkened rear gardens. The moon was now full and hung low in the sky.

Sam focused back on his reflection. Antoinette’s female body was now perfectly mirrored in the window front of him, as if to taunt him. Sam cupped his face with his hands, feeling his shoulders begin to jerk with an uncontrollable sob. He fought it, turning away from the window, steeling himself with a deep breath as he wiped at his moist eyes.

“Sam, are you okay?” Rivers’ voice sounded flat in his ear.

“She’s not here.” Sam managed at last, his feminine voice wavering.

“I know. But that doesn’t mean we have to stop looking. Is there any sign of the laptop?”

“Just… Give me a minute will you!” Sam raised his voice, stalking over to the large fireplace that dominated the room. He brought a hand to his mouth and closed his eyes, struggling to hold it together. His glistening eyes opened and he gazed down at the still smouldering embers in the fireplace.

Someone had been there recently.

Sam felt his heart beat begin to thump in his chest causing his cleavage to swell, every fibre in his being telling him to get out. He swivelled on his heels, his hands wide at his sides as he made for the door, only to come skidding to a halt when the door opened inwards.

Sam gasped, taking a step back as the man entered.

“Mister Fields I presume? I’ve been expecting you.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * * * * * * * * *