For King & Country (part 3)

by Miss K

British Intelligence agent Anthony Pierce, 004 is transformed into someone quite different as the Service prepares to reinsert him into a perilous terrorist situation in the Far East. Will sparks fly as Bond returns to supervise the transformed operative's embarkation?

---

CHAPTER ONE continued

I don't remember much of the next few days. Mary told me later that they had to keep me sedated for most of the time as I was too sick to cope. I don't remember undergoing any of the procedures that they completed during that time. I don't remember. All I remember is a sensation of falling into a deep, dark well, revolving slowly until I was utterly consumed...

***

I woke up and looked at the bedside clock.

It read 6:30. I had no idea whether it was morning or evening. I had a vague recollection of needles and hands manipulating me in my bed. I had a sick, dry taste in my mouth and a sharp pain in my groin. There were dull aches all over the rest of my body, especially around my face, chest, abdomen and bottom. I tried to raise my head but that was too much.

After a short rest, I found that by concentrating very hard, I could raise my hand to my bedside table for the glass of water there. But when I tried to close my fingers, there was no strength there to lift it. I sighed and closed my eyes, drifting into sleep.

***

I opened my eyes and looked up to see Dr Easton looking down at me. I found it hard to focus on her face. She had taken the sheets off me and was examining me with a terrifying briskness. I felt her hands move over my hairless body feeling my chest and groin, flexing my arms and legs. Then she nodded at someone I couldn't see and covered me up again. I heard footsteps then the light was turned off and my door clicked shut. I let my eyes close again, vaguely aware of a dull pain in my chest.

****

I woke again, feeling stronger. I could turn my head and raise my arms, and felt very much more alert although still dizzy and nauseous. I noticed the drip in my arm through which a colourless fluid was passing. I identified a sharp pain my groin as I moved, and the same soreness in my chest that I had felt earlier. The clock read 2:00 and I had the feeling that it was early morning. The facility was quiet. I was madly thirsty and wanted to get rid of the stale, chemical taste in my mouth. I reached for the glass of water but couldn't locate it, so I turned on the bedside lamp and sat up, letting the sheets fall from my body. I was overcome by a moment's intense nausea, then realised from the tug that the pain in my penis was caused by a catheter. I found the water and sipped eagerly.

I looked down at my body for any changes, but apart from the strange hairlessness the only thing that was apparent was the shocking amount of weight that I had lost.

I had prided myself on my taut and muscular build, but that was gone, replaced by a pale, fragile gauntness. For the first time I wondered how long I had been out. I looked at my chest. I was no idiot, and I knew what the pain signified, but I could detect no changes there. I felt my chest and was greeted by a sharp pain from my nipples which began to discharge a weak, colourless fluid. Shocked, I moved my hands away and mopped up the secretion with a tissue from my table. I smelt it. It had a musty, familiar smell, like milk and old laundry.

Suddenly exhausted, I dropped the tissue by my bedside and collapsed into a sudden sleep, no dreams.

***

I woke sometime later to find that someone had come in and covered me again, taken the tissue and refilled my water glass. The light had been turned off and the clock read 6:43. I sat up again and turned the light back on, noting that I felt much less dizzy this time.

I pulled the sheets down and examined my chest closely.

The pain came again, accompanied by the discharge, which seemed more viscous this time. I also noticed that the sudden pain was accompanied by a feeling of intense pleasure running through my body, accompanied by my nipples standing erect, like little brown jelly beans. I felt the area around the nipples and noticed a hard mass under each nipple, which was extremely tender. I realised with a sinking feeling that my breasts were growing more than I had previously thought. I found that the sensation of manipulating my hard nipples was extremely pleasant, sending little jolts of intense feeling down to my groin. Oddly, but probably for the good, I did not get an erection. I turned the light off and lay down, fiddling with my nipples and spreading the mucus discharge around them. I soon fell asleep and had an intense dream of making love to Mary Dwyer in a huge red bed shaped like a heart.

****

I woke up and was embarrassed to see Mary smiling down at me. I smiled back.

"Good morning," she said, "I hear that you've been waking a bit. How do you feel?"

I thought for a moment. "I feel fine. My nipples are very sore and I think they're growing a bit"

She leaned down and began to examine my naked, hairless body. I noted that the drip and the catheter were gone and I was ravenously hungry, which I took to be a good sign. The sensation of her hands on my chest was driving me crazy and she noticed me squirming.

"Rather an intense feeling?" she said.

I nodded.

"It will be," she continued, "for a while. The development seems to be proceeding fine. Once we get you back on solids, you should experience some real growth."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

There was silence for a while, while she completed my exam. Then she straightened, punching some notes into her tablet.

"Good." She sat down next to my bed. "Let me fill you in on what's been happening.

"You've been in and out of it for a couple of weeks. During that time, the hormone cocktail has done its work and you have the body chemistry of a teenage girl now. What we did a couple of days ago was take you off the aggressive programme and implant a slow release package into your abdomen. This will help stabilise you and get your body used to the dosage which you'll have to maintain for the duration of your mission."

Again, I could think of no suitable response.

Mary rose. "At the same time, Dr Easton has been doing some more work. The body hair is gone for good, and she's started doing some collagen work on your face. it's quite striking actually. Your hair's grown out quite a bit too - that's been accelerated by the hormone programme."

She paused, glancing at her watch. "I have to go now." She started moving towards the door. "Are you cold?"

I nodded. She went to the cupboard and got me something. It was a white silk night-shirt. She helped me put it on. The silk felt fabulous against my hairless body.

"I'll get a nurse to bring you a meal. Liquid for now, I'm afraid." She grimaced. "Bye for now."

After she left, I spent a while feeling myself through the sheer fabric of the nightie. I was assailed by unfamiliar feelings of utter sensuousness and pleasure.

Then suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by fear and anguish and broke down in a racking fit of tears.

I woke again to find that I had made stains in the chest and groin of my nightie. I noticed the glass of Complan by my bedside and felt a wave of shame at the idea that the nurse would have seen the state I was in. But the hunger overcame me and I drank all the Complan and some more water, before drifting off into a confused sleep.

***

When I woke up next, I felt fitter and stronger. There was another glass of liquid food next to me and I drank it down with relish. I decided to try and get up and was pleased to find it quite easy, with only a little shakiness. I walked to the loo and had a pee, wincing at the pain, which I guessed was from the catheter. Then I walked over to the sink to wash, and saw my face.

I was shocked at the change. The face that looked back at me was gaunt and pale, but the changes that Easton had made were clear to see. She had built up my cheekbones and given me a very noticeable lip implant. I looked, in fact, very petulant and, I'm embarrassed to say, kissable.

Then there were my eyebrows, which were thin and arched, accentuating the blueness of my eyes. With a flash of rage, I looked down and saw that my pubic hair too had been sculpted into a neat triangle, sat incongruously on top of my hairless cock and balls. Bitch. My choice, indeed.

Startlingly, though I had not shaved for two weeks there was not a trace of stubble on my smooth face. My hair also seemed much thicker and longer. I stepped back and looked at the whole picture and was astonished at how female I looked already. From the noticeable bumps in my chest to my reduced waist and my almost entirely hairless body.

Topped by that face. For the first time I believed that they could do it. That I could. And, strangely, it made me feel better. I went to the cupboard and found a pair of black cotton panties, which I slipped on, then put a fitted black v-neck top and a pair of brown flared slacks on top. Suddenly curious, I went back to the mirror to see what I looked like.

"Very good," said a voice behind me. I whirled guiltily. It was Miss Loth. She walked up to me and around.

"Actually remarkable. You look like one of those emaciated and rather strange-looking girls that were popular with the fashion editors a few years back. What do you think? Does it feel all right?"

I sat down on the bed. "Actually, I'm quite surprised at how un-upset I am." I said, speaking slowly and carefully.

Miss Loth nodded. "I hear that a shift in psychological perspective often accompanies these treatments. Are you in pain? Dr Dwyer said that she spoke to you yesterday and that you seemed to be over the worst."

I nodded.

"Good. We need to build you up a bit now so that we can complete the reconstructive program and begin the behaviour training. The schedule is short and Commander Bond is coming to review the results in a month. Are you reading those?"

She pointed to the pile of women's magazines and catalogues on the coffee table. I shook my head.

"I think you should. I've been authorised to buy you any clothing you see that you like in the catalogues.

"I'll call in later to get your choices."

Then she walked briskly away, closing the door behind her. I sat for a while, then walked over to the mirror again, looking at the feminine figure looking back at me. She was right, the chemicals had changed the way I thought about myself. There was no doubt about it. I should have felt disturbed and outraged at what I saw, but didn't. I walked resignedly to the table, sat down and picked up the copy of Scene that was top of the pile of magazines.

***

Over the next two weeks, I went back onto solids then was put on a highly pleasant high protein diet that built me up quickly. This was combined with a regular series of gym and aerobics classes that quickly put some shape onto my bones. And I have to say that the shape was quite a good one.

I had not filled out in the areas I was accustomed to. My breasts had grown and I now filled a 36A bra. Weight and muscle had gone onto my thighs and bottom, but my waist remained a trim 28". My hair grew some more.

Doctor Easton had reviewed my progress and told me sniffily and with some disappointment that she did not consider further reconstructive liposculpture necessary in my case.

Mary and Miss Loth both praised me at all turns, and secretly, I took care of my appearance as I found that I valued their praise. Loth also told me that Commander Bond had been called away to The Honduras on security business and had postponed his review and briefing 'till a fortnight's time.

Meanwhile, I began weapons and combat training again in the tactical arena and found to my pleasure that I had not lost any of my edge. Allied with this, I began to take voice coaching and deportment training.

Suddenly, the facility was bustling with feminine activity centred around me. A hairdresser called Mindy visited me and gave me a nice, fashionable cut.

Beauticians attended me to pamper, manicure, massage and treat me. I learned make up quickly and new clothes arrived daily as I became carried away by the adventure. I began to experiment with different styles of appearance and Mary would often find me turning up to our daily check-ups dressed in a crazy variety of costumes, from slinky evening wear to mutton-dressed-as-lamb club-kid style.

I built up a collection of wicked lingerie and learned cunning ways of concealing my cock to a highly convincing degree. I began to realise that a new personality was emerging and "she" was quite extrovert, and enjoyed attention and dressing up.

By the time I was to be debriefed by Miss Loth, prior to the arrival of Commander Bond the next day, I felt that we had achieved the impossible.

I was a mission-ready Miss.

***

I walked down the corridor to Miss Loth's office. I felt utterly and confidently female. Through aggressive reinforcement therapy, they had turned Lieutenant Commander Anthony Pierce into a convincing analogue of a young, fashionable woman. My mannerisms, my voice, my patterns of speech, everything down to the way that I walked, had been modified and programmed.

So I clicked down the corridor in my red Gucci spikes. I was wearing a burgundy fitted suit from Miu Miu with big lapels, flared cuffs and a pencil skirt with an asymmetric slash up the back. My long, slim legs were encased in sheer pale tights from Jonathan Aston.

My face was made up to match my outfit, with pale shadow, a smudged brown under-eyeline and dramatic carmine lipstick, Rocker from MAC, and matching blusher. There was a coat of clear gloss over my lips which were pouting like they would explode. My bob was pulled back into a severe bun with a diamante butterfly pin from Anthropology offsetting the severeness.

Underneath, I wore black shantung silk underwired bodice and panties from La Perla. My cock was tightly restrained behind. I smelt lusciously of Extravagance d'Amarige, Givenchy.

I knocked and entered. Miss Loth was there, and Mary. Doctor Easton had left the facility a week ago, and most of the other workers were already gone. I suddenly realised that I had not seen another man since Bond had left that eternity ago. I walked over and sat, smoothly crossing my legs at the knees. I smiled.

"Hello Commander Pierce," said Miss Loth. "I must say that you look spectacular as usual." With a pang, I realised that I now must look as good as she did, and thought back to that strange thought that I had had way back when at one of our first meetings.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"I'm reporting for my debrief, ma'am."

"Yes," said Miss Loth. "First, we have to say goodbye to Miss Dwyer. Her task is finished and she's being relocated back to her research post in Durham. She requested to see you before she went." With a quick smile, Miss Loth left the room.

I got up. Mary walked over to me and we hugged. I was surprised to see that she had tears in her eyes. "Commander Pierce," she began.

"Anthony" I interrupted, aware that this sounded a bit ridiculous now.

"I'm... sorry." she went on.

"Sorry?"

She looked up, smiling. "Sorry, yes. To change you against your will. You bear it so well, and I'm very proud and happy to have worked with you."

"Mary," I said, taking her hand, "you made it easy for me by being my friend." I was crying now too, "like you said, it's not completely permanent. At least I'm fortunate enough to be enjoying it. I must have been some kind of perv in the first place.

"Please let's keep in touch.

"Once I get back and I'm back to normal, I'll call you."

At that, she looked at me for a while with a strange expression on her face, then nodded and squeezed my hand. "Goodbye Anthony. My car's waiting."

I leant and kissed her softly on the cheek. She started to move away, and I stopped her.

"Lipstick." I said, wiping her cheek. She let go, walking to the door. She turned and looked back at me, a little wave, then she was gone.

A moment later, Miss Loth returned, and gave me a hanky for my tears.

"You and she were close, weren't you?" she asked.

I nodded.

***

Miss Loth had informed me that Commander Bond would be coming to see me at 0830 to brief me on my new identity and my reinsertion strategy. She had prepared a Navy dress uniform for me as Bond had requested a formal debrief.

I now sat in my room, dressed in my Royal Navy uniform blouse and skirt suit and regulation black stockings, completing my make-up. I'd eschewed the regulation clumpy heels in favour of a pair of black spikes that were still sober, but a little higher. It was 0814. I gave myself a quick spray of Chanel No.5 and waited, trying to gather my thoughts. I was now extremely nervous about everything from the mission, the start of which would conclude what had turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable phase of my life, to a return meeting with Bond, whose presence I awaited with a strange mixture of terror and anticipation.

How would he judge me, this strange neutered thing? Would he treat me with contempt? Or would he like what he saw? I felt hopelessly confused.

For the first time in a long time, I thought about Christina and my parents.

Would they recognise me now? My dad would be horrified, I was sure. It was better that they thought I was dead. Or was it?

Suddenly overcome, I cried, burying my head in my hands. What had I done? What had I let them do to me? I looked up into the dressing table mirror. Mascara running, my face a mess, I suddenly saw Anthony Pierce in there and realised that in serving my country, I had become irrevocably a traitor to myself. I gazed into the mirror, tears running down my face, unable to move.

The phone rang.

I looked at the clock and realised I was late for my briefing. I picked up the phone. It was Miss Loth. I apologised and set about fixing my face, giving myself an extra, defiant coat of red lipstick.

Then I rushed from the room.

***

Bond said nothing as I entered. He was standing with his back to me, by the desk. I snapped to attention and saluted.

"Lieutenant Commander Pierce reporting as ordered, sir!"

Bond turned, raising an eyebrow as he took in my appearance. A smile twitched across his mouth. "At ease, Pierce. Take a seat."

I sat, crossing my legs. It came naturally now.

Bond sat at the desk opposite me.

"The situation in Japan has progressed since we last met, Pierce. We now have an ideal insertion opportunity for you."

"Sir?"

"How are you with children, Pierce?"

"Sir?'

He rose. "Follow me Lieutenant. We're going for a drive."

***

Bond's DBX was parked in a country lane a quarter of a mile from the concealed hidden exit of the Q branch facility.

I walked, enjoying the fresh air of a cool late summer morning, realising that I had never before been outside in my female disguise. Bond was silent beside me. I felt very tense and alert, nerves on edge.

Bond held the door for me and I slid into the passenger seat of the bullet grey Aston, legs together, like a lady. Again, the smile twitched across his face. Again, I noticed the scar across his chin, and wondered how he had got it. I glanced up and caught the full attention of his steel grey eyes.

We looked at each other for a moment, then I looked away, confused. Bond shut the door and got in the other side. He started up without fastening his seat belt, lit up a Cartier and we drove on.

As we drove through the hazy sunlight, Bond briefed me on my new cover legend. I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead, very aware of his presence next to me. My new name was Jane Masters. I was 24, a Cambridge graduate in Oriental languages (that fitted with my almost fluent Japanese, at least) who had been temping as an account executive at a West London media agency for the past two years before leaving this week. Prior to that, I had travelled extensively on a parental inheritance. I was by all accounts the sort of posh, fashionable trash who hung out at 192 and the Fifth Floor of Harvey Nicks.

I had a little flat just off Powis Square in Notting Hill and drove a metallic lime green Volkswagen Beetle. I liked soul music, salsa clubs and New York. Now I had applied for a job at the Red Fist's London recruitment organisation to be an English language teacher for their leader, Akaguchi's twin sons. My interview was scheduled for late the following week.

I was to leave Bicester and immediately to immerse myself in Masters' identity. A network of "friends" had been set up for me to facilitate this. As Bond filled in the details of my new life, I began to feel an increasing sense of panic and loss of control. His powerful car was hurtling down the side roads past sleepy Cotswolds villages and I looked across at him as he talked for the first time. I knew just exactly why I felt nervous.

Commander James Bond was a handsome man, even now. I watched him as he spoke and a wave of fluttering heat passed through my body as he shifted up and down the gearbox. He glanced across at me, then down to my legs, where my skirt had ridden up exposing my lacy stocking-tops and the shiny clips of the suspender-belt that held them up. I looked down then back up, catching his eye, and realised that I was flushed with excitement.

"Something on your mind?" he said.

"Nothing at all sir," I replied, having to catch my breath.

He crunched up into fifth as we hit a long, straight stretch of deserted B road. His hand came off the gearstick and his fingers found the inside of my thigh. I gasped as an electric shock of desire coursed through me.

"What do you want, Pierce?" he asked, seemingly amused.

"I... I don't know, sir. I..."

I tailed off as his fingers moved up my inner thigh towards my groin. I looked at his cruel, beautiful face and realised how much this man and his associates had had me changed.

I knew what I wanted. I wanted to please this man and make him find me pleasing. I reached over and cupped his warm groin in my hand. I felt his cock stir to attention, and I unbuttoned the fly of his blue pinstriped suit trousers, struggling to release him. He popped free as I unbuckled my seat belt with my free hand and bent over to service His Majesty's secret man.

***

Later he took me back to Bicester and left me in the deserted complex. The facility was to be shut down after my departure.

Invisible secret hands had mysteriously squirreled away the contents of the building while Bond and I had been away.

Miss Loth was gone. My stuff was gone, to my flat in Notting Hill. I had a make-up bag, a small handbag and nothing else to show for my thirty-odd years of existence.

As I walked through the empty halls with my meagre belongings, I thought about what I had just done. I thought about how much I had enjoyed being James Bond's little cocksucker. I thought about just exactly how much I wanted to do it again, and about the little hormone pump in my belly that was releasing the substances into my body that made me think these things. I stopped, and said out loud, "We are all whores."

Bond didn't care about me. He was somehow testing how far and how convincing my transformation had been. He was as much a company man as any of the others. M, Miss Loth, Doctor Easton; even Mary Dwyer, for all her kindness. For a while I wondered how free Lime had felt when trying to betray his country. But it came back to claim us all in the end. Lime was now dead, or a prisoner of a hostile power.

Was I any different? I didn't know. I just wanted to be right back where I had been before this mess had happened. There in that corridor, I resolved that if I ever made it back and became a man again, that I would resign my commission and do something else with my life.

Again, I thought about Bond. I had heard from people at the Service that he had once married. That he had been in love with a beautiful and unusual woman called Tracy who had been assassinated by an agent of that defunct terrorist organisation SPECTRE as they drove to their honeymoon. How she had wanted to take his bulletproof Secret Service DB5 but he had talked her out of it, frivolously wanting to drive her ragtop Alfa Romeo Spyder.

It was as hard to believe that Bond could ever love anyone again as it was to believe that he thought of me as any more significant than that pot plant in that corner, or the moth fluttering there by the flickering fluorescent light. I felt utterly desolate. I too had loved.

Christine. And now she might as well be dead. A tear appeared at the corner of my eye and rolled down my cheek. I brushed it away and started walking again towards the room from where my new life would begin.

I stood at that door and took a deep breath. Once I entered this room the rest of the complex would be a dead, dark shell, no longer accessible. Here was my future. I reached for the handle, turned and pulled, and entered. A dim bulb clicked on automatically. I could sense and encroaching darkness behind as the complex switched itself off. I walked in. The door swung shut behind me.

I heard the deadlock fall into place; there was no handle on my side, just smooth metal, riveted, impermeable. At the other end of the small, narrow room was another door, next to the door an electronic keypad to which I knew the only combination. I sat at the dressing table and ran my hands through my hair, raising it off my face; the face that gazed back at me in the mirror, becoming familiar now, more familiar than I would have thought possible, back then, at the beginning of a chain of events that would lead me here, to this room, here, today, now. It still shocked me, I suppose; but each time the shock was less.

A young woman looked defiantly back at me, face strangely familiar but subtly softened by surgery and hormones.

Beneath my fashionable clothes, the breasts were quite real - perhaps the most striking change, with their definite, graspable, new mass; just how graspable was indicated by the bruise marks Commander Bond had left on them that afternoon.

They had large and definitely feminine aureolae and full, upturned nipples. No hair, of course, and the body, still toned and muscular, noticeably more slender and delicate in posture and balance.

On the table was a Gucci keychain with car keys and a couple of other keys which I knew belonged to a flat in West London. I let my hair drop and used the fitful light to touch up my make-up. Well, Jane Masters, I thought to myself. Welcome to the world.

I got up, smoothing my tweed, Liz Claiborne skirt and went over to the door to punch the keypad as I had seen Bond do earlier that day. I walked confidently up a short, dark corridor and heard locks shut behind me. In darkness, the only guide another faintly luminous keypad.

I keyed in the combination and the second door swung open, allowing the smells and sounds of a warm August night into me. I emerged, strangely calm, from a door concealed in an overgrown brick wall, which swung noiselessly closed behind me. The harvest moon was huge and coppery near the horizon, so utterly beautiful that I was becalmed for minutes, my head to one side, just gazing. Beyond the road, a rippling field of some corn-like crop; there an owl, hooting, melancholy. In the distance the dull roar of the Motorway.

I opened my handbag and found a pack of cigarettes. I lit one and enjoyed the hit, before walking down the road to find Jane's lime green VW Beetle that was surely parked there, and to which my key would surely fit.

****

The signs read 'London 10'. The yellow sodium lights of the M40 illuminated the inside of my car balefully. I checked my watch. 2.30 AM. I looked at my pretty new face in the rear view mirror, trying a smile. The car sped on towards London.

---

The end of CHAPTER ONE
Jane Masters will return in CHAPTER TWO