Revenge is Snowy White by Jennifer Brock In the conclusion of this tale, we find out exactly what Aurora's secret plan is. Be warned that a fairly sarcastic tone is frequently taken toward some unfairly brutal issues. If that sort of thing offends you, skip this one.

Sinder and Hugo must have gone off together somewhere because I couldn’t find anyone to satisfy my needs. I ended up having to take care of myself, and then I realized I hadn’t had lunch, so I went down to the kitchen to try to throw something together. You’re lucky you get all your nutrition through a tube; it’s a lot less work. Then I went and checked my email, and there was good news; Molly’s going to have twin boys some time next March! That will give our little one someone to play with, and we can share baby tips. Bel says with two new opportunities to carry on the family name, her parents will finally get off her back, and Ben’s main duty as a son will have been fulfilled. She said the plan is that once the kids are born, she’ll tell the folks she’s getting a vasectomy, but really she’ll be getting castrated to kick-start her transition. Ouch! But more power to her, I guess. Also, as far as she could tell, the media blitz has died down and I could probably go home without being harassed. That nice lieutenant hasn’t called me in a while, so I guess they’ve closed the case. We were planning on going back next week anyway, so that’s good.

So where was I in my story? Let me check my notes. Ahh, Boat Show. Oh, by the way, if you hear a buzzing sound, that’s me. I brought my favorite vibrator back with me so I won’t have to go away the next time I get all worked up. I made it myself, although I suppose technically we made it together, but I did all the work. It’s made from a casting of your giant erection, back when I was practicing drugging you. The “make your own dildo” kit was pretty cool. I stuck this thing on you that made a mold, and then poured in liquid rubber and stuck a vibe motor in it, and now I can do myself with your big cock any time I want to. I made another casting from that mold in hard plastic, but I won’t tell you what I did with that one, yet.

But I’m way off topic, and I was just starting again. So, Boat Show. Jack had me in this little sailor outfit that was a strange combination of silly, cute, and sexy. It had a cropped middy blouse, a little pleated skirt, and a sailor hat. He even had a pair of earrings shaped like anchors, and a matching navel charm. Or maybe that would make it a naval charm? And I was perched up on these blue peeptoe slingbacks that probably would have bothered a woman with naturally-shaped feet, but I thought they were cute, and the low-rise sheer pantyhose he had me wear had enough spandex in them that my legs wouldn’t get tired. Fortunately, I’d had the forethought to call ahead to know what style of lingerie to wear, so I didn’t have to borrow any underthings from him, too.

He had four other girls working the show, and their costumes weren’t all as ridiculous as mine. A couple of them were in swimwear, and one redhead even got to wear an evening gown. I guess she’d be modeling yachts or something. When we got to the convention center, he showed us around, and introduced each one to the salesman whose products we’d be accessorizing. I’d be working for Triton Waterdraft, standing in front of a thirty-foot cabin-cruiser, encouraging the public to climb on board and take a look. If people had any questions, I was to point them at a rack of brochures, or direct them to Will Robinson, the TW salesman working the show, a sharp-dressed guy in his mid-twenties. He kept hitting on me when the traffic was low; it was really annoying.

Finally I said to him that I could prove that his job was easier than mine. He laughed. I pointed out that my job was to stand around in my cute sailor suit and make men think that if they bought this boat they could land a girl like me, and he could not possibly do that; there was no way he’d look hot in that outfit. He had to concede my point. So I said that if he couldn’t do my job but I could do his, that should prove that his was easier. I think he just liked that I was talking to him. He nodded occasionally, and kept peeking at my cleavage. I offered to make a bet with him. I pointed at an apparently random old man walking in our direction and said that I’d try to sell that guy a boat, and if I made the sale I wanted him to agree to split the commision with me, but if I didn’t make the sale I’d let him take me out to dinner. He took the deal, anxious to get into my pants. I figured if I won it meant I still had what it takes to be in sales, and if I lost I’d get a free meal anyway. I knew that I wouldn’t be putting out for him in either case, so I really had nothing to lose.

I took a few steps away and waved the old man over and talked softly as though I didn’t want anyone to overhear, to create the impression that I was sharing a secret . I asked him if I could talk to him for a minute, and pointed at Will and said that I’d made a bet with my boyfriend over there that I could sell someone a boat, and he laughed at me like I couldn’t possibly do that so I wanted this guy to pretend that I was selling him a boat. He agreed.

I shook his hand and introduced myself as Rory, and he said his name was Lyle. He seemed like a nice grandfatherly sort of guy, late sixties or early seventies, in decent shape. His white hair was in a short buzz-cut and he wore a light blue polo shirt, black chinos, and blue canvas sneakers. I thought I saw a little bit of color on his arm and asked if he got his tattoo in the navy. He called me a sharp cookie and said I was right. I said he didn’t quite look old enough for WWII or young enough for Vietnam, so I asked if he served in Korea. I was right again. I said that the Seabees did a lot of good work in Korea, and thanked him for his service. At this point he was dumbfounded — how did I know he had been a Seabee? I said that I saw the steel ring on his little finger, so I knew he was an engineer, and a guy who wanted to be an engineer who joined the navy in the 50’s would probably become one, so it was really just a guess.

He said I was wasting my brain being a boat show bimbo, then excused himself for his language. I giggled and forgave him. I asked if he was thinking about getting a boat as a way to add some excitement to his retirement, and maybe reconnect with the sea. He said that was exactly the thing, and he hated not being busy anymore; it was hard finding things to do to fill his day. Was his wife enjoying having him home more? He said she wasn’t, and lately she’d been trying to convince him to buy a condo in Florida for the winter like all her friends did. He told me her name was Audrey, and I said that was a pretty name.

I asked him if he had any pictures of his grandchildren. That was a wild guess that paid off. He pulled out his wallet and showed me three cute blonde kids: a ballerina that looked to be sixish, a boy around ten playing with a spotted dog, and a girl just awakening into her teens who was destined to break a lot of hearts. I asked if he got to see them often, and he said they lived in Baltimore, so it was really only at like major holidays. His wife didn’t like all the highway traffic.

I looked thoughtful for a moment and said I had an idea that might solve many of his problems. I pulled one of our brochures and showed it to him. I said to him that maybe instead of that condo, they could get a boat, and live in it in the winter, sailing it down to Maryland to see the kids, or even further down to visit her friends. I said that the one we had here was a little too small for extended use, but we offered a forty-five foot model.

He got a faraway look in his eye and I could see him seriously considering the idea. I asked to borrow his cellphone, and quickly found the speed dial setting for his wife. She was startled to hear a voice other than her husband’s on his phone, and worried that something had happened to him. I told him I was Rory, a girl working at the Boat Show, who called to thank her for her husband’s perfect gentlemanly manners; I was wearing a silly scanty outfit and he’d kept eye contact the entire time we spoke, and didn’t get fresh once. It was refreshing to meet someone like him. She chuckled a little at this.

Then I told her that her husband was going to be coming home with a crazy idea, and she should at least hear him out before she rejected it. I said she should remember when he got back from the navy and tried to explain what it was like to stand a watch with just you out there and the night sky and the sea, and how it was a feeling he could never quite express. She could remember having almost exactly that conversation with him. I said we were going to make an appointment to show Lyle and her a boat together, and she really needed to see the way his eyes lit up around boats.

Then I brought Lyle and the phone to Will and said he needed to make an appointment to show these people one of the forty-fives at the earliest convenience, and he gaped for a moment but then he became composed again and accepted the phone when I handed it to him, confident that Audrey kept Lyle’s schedule for him. He pulled out his Blackberry and checked his calendar, then offered Audrey a couple choices, and turned to Lyle and asked if he wanted to see one on the water or in the showroom. I answered for him that Lyle would want to experience it on the water of course, and to know whether Audrey could be comfortable with the motion.

He passed the phone back to me and Audrey wanted to make sure that I would be there too, and not just that man who sounds like he cares more about money than people. I said I would, said goodbye, and made sure to write down the appointment. I had to tuck the note into the waistband of my pantyhose because my costume had no pockets. Lyle shook my hand and said it was a pleasure meeting me, and he was glad he didn’t have to pretend to be interested in a boat, and then went off to explore the rest of the show.

Inside, I was overjoyed that I hadn’t lost my sales chops — after all that I’d been through, I managed to hang onto skills that could sell an icemaker to a penguin. And oddly enough I didn’t see this aspect of my personality as Doug reasserting himself at all; I was still Aurora and she was a kick-ass saleswoman!

Will was dumbfounded. He wanted to know how I knew to pick that guy. I made him first admit that I was right and I could do his job as well as mine, and of course he had to. I said that I caught the reflection from his ring at a distance and knew he was an engineer, and from his age knew he was probably retired, and a retired engineer is a man who’s got money and likes machinery, and one who comes to boat shows could probably be convinced to get a boat. I admitted that I expected I’d be able to get him to go for one of the smaller fishing boats, but when I heard his story I knew how to steer him. And once I spun it to the wife as his idea, she’ll treat it as though he thought of buying a boat when talking about it with him, and eventually he’ll think it was his idea all along.

The key to selling is getting inside the head of the customer and telling them what to think, so it helps if you can figure out what’s already in their head first. I went back to being a bimbo for the rest of the show, and Will behaved himself for the most part. When it was time to leave, Jack came by to gather his flock and Will tried to get my number. I reminded him that we already had a date to show a boat, so he’d see me then. I made sure to grab a brochure so I could bone up on the details.

A few days later when we saw the boat, which was a beautiful craft, everything went well. I dressed in the “casual conservative” look that Ali helped me come up with in an emerald green t-shirt style silk top tucked into a pair of cream cotton capri pants, with the lowest wedge sandals I could stand and a whole lot of makeup so it would look like I wasn’t wearing any. I got to the marina early, and waited in the parking lot for Will to arrive, and he showed me which slip it was then got to work getting it ready while I kept an eye out for the customers. Audrey turned out to be a sweet old lady with a welcoming smile and a playfulness that made her wear her faded coppery hair in a girlish ponytail. Once we got Lyle on that boat, it was love at first sight. And Audrey didn’t show any sign of frailty or seasickness, and she loved her husband dearly. There was no way the sale wasn’t going to go through.

I told Will he could keep the whole comission if he got me an interview with his boss, and he not only agreed, but even wrote me a recommendation. It still didn’t get him into my pants, though. He wanted to take me out and I said my husband probably wouldn’t approve. I told him that I hadn’t worn my wedding ring at the Boat Show so that I’d look more approachable. Of course this meant that I needed a ring the next time I saw him. I went to a jeweler and had him resize my mother’s wedding and engagement rings to fit my hand. It felt comforting to have that connection to her with me all the time. I decided that unless I was around you, I’d be wearing my rings in public, as part of my plan to take you down.

To meet with Ari Wassermann, the boss at Triton Watercraft, I dressed in my usual interview suit and got my hair done and had my stylist tone my look down a little. Rather than a purse or a briefcase, I brought a large totebag with me to the meeting. He was a short but muscular man, striking in his own way, in a tailored grey pinstripe suit. His scalp was balding in a horseshoe pattern, but he made up for it with a well-groomed wooly grey beard. He shook my hand and had me take a seat in front of his large teakwood desk. I handed him my resumé, and he looked it over. He asked why I’d waited so long since my last job to find a new one, and I explained that I’d been hospitalized for a while, but it wasn’t a chronic condition or anything that would impact my ability to work for him.

He wanted to know why I wanted to move fields from selling industrial machinery to leisure boats. I said that it was somewhat personal, and asked that he please not spread it around, but I said that I’d recently had some plastic surgery, and my new image wasn’t really appropriate for meeting with clients in the manufacturing sector, but as I saw at the show, it is an image that can be used to sell boats. Frankly, the main purchasers of recreational watercraft are men, and it wouldn’t turn too many of them away to know that they had to talk to a pretty woman with big boobs in order to buy one. He laughed a little at that, and I let him know that I wasn’t above using sex appeal as a sales tool, but I’d draw the line at sleeping with a customer to make a sale, although I wouldn’t go out of my way to keep a potential customer from inferring that I would.

I admitted that I didn’t know much about boats, but as Will must have told him I managed to make a sale using only what I’d read in the brochure. I said I was willing to learn as much about the full product line as possible. I said that what I did glean from the pamphlet was that the low-end boats were mainly used for sport fishing, and then I pulled out my secret weapon. I reached into my tote and took out my fish. I said that I didn’t know boats yet, but I did understand fishing, and as proof showed him a fish that I caught myself, while on a fishing trip with my dad. I told him I’d have no problem talking about which boats would have the best advantages for going after which fish.

He said that being smart, sexy, and schooled in the language of fishermen made me a lethal combination, and we was afraid that if he didn’t hire me one of his competitors would, and there would go all the customers. He made a joke that it was too bad he hadn’t met me before he married his wife, and I waved my rings at him and said that it was just bad timing all around. He offered me $32,000 plus 5% commissions, and a decent benefits package, assuming my references checked out. I shook his hand and said I accepted his offer, but before I signed anything I needed to let him know something, in the interest of full disclosure.

I said that the surgery I mentioned earlier was more extensive than he might have guessed; in my former job I was a man. He laughed, thinking I was joking again, but I put on as serious a face as I could and said that it was true, and I thought he ought to know in case by old boss at Edwin Machinery messed up and called me Doug when he called for the reference. He was shaking his head and I said that I’d understand if he wanted to withdraw his offer, and I’d sign something to say I wouldn’t sue for discrimination or anything if he wanted me to. He said his offer still stood, but he just couldn’t picture me as anything but female, and I must have either had some incredible doctors or I would have to have been the prettiest man ever. I blushed and thanked him and said that it was some wonderful artistic doctors, and in fact one of them was so wonderful I married him.

He welcomed me to the team, showed me around the showroom, the service area in the back where they did custom work, and the room with the desks where the salesmen sat when not with customers. My desk wasn’t ready yet, but I hung up my fish (I’d moved my key to a new hiding place — a fire safe at Sinder’s place.) and met the rest of the team. It would be a great place to work. So that’s the real story of how I landed my job at TW. When I told you the first time, I had to leave out all the parts about my expertise in sales, just in case you figured out what a practiced liar that made me.

I guess the next major step I took was putting in the time to get to know my way around your house. I’d sneak over in the morning after you left for the hospital, then do some light cleaning, and poke around in the kitchen a little. Because TW was open for business on Saturdays, I arranged to have Tuesdays off, so I started cooking dinner for you over in my place those nights you didn’t work late. But then came the fateful night that I called you at work to see if you’d be home for supper, and instead of cooking in my kitchen, I used yours. I prepared a full roast chicken with creamy mashed potatoes and fancy vegetables using recipes that I got out of a cookbook and had practiced several times until I was sure I got everything right. I even baked fresh dinner rolls from scratch.

When you got home, I greeted you at the front door wearing an extremely sexy french maid uniform that I’d bought from a website Ali showed me, and holding a silver tray that I’d found in my stored stuff and polished up to a perfect shine. On the tray was a glass of twelve-year-old single-malt, in a glass from your bar set but from a bottle I’d bought — the most I ever spent on booze. I gave a slight curtsy and offered to take “Sir’s” coat and handed you your beverage, and showed you into the sitting room. I let you know that dinner would be ready shortly. You were so surprised and I went so quickly, you had no reaction other than to do as you were told.

I checked on progress of things in the kitchen, then returned to check on you. I explained that I had wanted to repay your kindness and had spent the day cleaning your house for you, and I’d decided to dress the part, just to be fun. I apologized for leaving little stiletto prints in the carpet when I vacuumed, but other shoes didn’t work with the outfit. You thanked me for doing your housework and said it wasn’t necessary, but you did appreciate my thoroughness. I asked if you liked my look and did a slow twirl, being careful not to let you see yet that beneath my frilly petticoat my fishnet pantyhose were crotchless and virtualy backless. You said you liked it very much and I smiled one of my better smiles, the kind that turn men to jelly, and went back to the kitchen to check on my meal. When everything was ready, I made you a plate and brought it to the dining room, where I’d set the table with your nice lace tablecloth and used your good crystal candlesticks with some pure beeswax candles I found on sale. I poured you a glass of wine and another of ice water and everything was ready.

I went to fetch you and told you dinner was ready, then led you to the dining room and ushered you to your seat. I pointed to a small silver bell on the table and said that I’d be in the kitchen and if sir needed anything, you had but to ring. I had scarcely gone two feet when you tinkled at me and I gracefully pivoted around and remained at attention and asked what did Sir wish. I’ll let you know now that this was a test; if you were an ordinary decent human being, you’d tell me that the role-playing was sexy and all, but I didn’t have to eat in the kitchen and you’d actually prefer it if I shared your table, in which case I’d be fucking your brains out after dinner. If on the other hand you were a creepy control freak, you’d be getting off on my playing servant to you the master, and I’d begin my revenge plan. And do you remember why you rang your little bell? To have me cut your meat. You were indeed a creep, so I felt no remorse about doing what I
had to do, and you didn’t notice the roofie in your wine.

Why did I drug your wine if there was a chance you’d turn out to be a human being? I knew you too well. Where did I get a roofie? I asked Ali. I told her there was this guy I was dealing with that might become a problem. She got me a bottle, but made me agree to dance at the club for the special Ladies Only Night they had everytime there was a month with five Thursdays. (They couldn’t get enough lesbians to show up to make it worth doing more often than that.) You probably don’t remember this next part. You finished your meal and rang to tell me it was very good, and asked what was for dessert. I walked over to you and pushed your chair back from the table, and sat down on your lap.

I held your face in my hands and kissed you with more passion than you deserved. I could feel your reaction, so I stopped kissing you and stood up. I let you get a nice look down my cleavage when I leaned forward to unfasten your pants. I let your growing erection out into the air, and gave him a little kiss. Then I winked at you and lifted my skirt to show you my surprise. I held the Monster in one hand and guided him into my pussy, which I’d prepared with a few squirts of warming lube so I’d be hot and wet for you. I began to bounce up and down on your lap for a while, but just when I was getting into it you blew your load, as usual. I was hoping the drug would somehow slow your response, but no such luck.

But for my plan to work, I had to find out whether the drug would work on you or not. It was supposed to do two things to you that I needed done: lower your inhibitions, and leave you with no memory of what you did under its effect. But this time was just a test run, so I didn’t want to press my luck too far in case you ended up remembering everything. I zipped you up and led you into your study, and sat you down at your desk. I shot you some flirtaciously hungry looks and said I wanted to know what worked the best to turn you on, and asked you to show me your favorite naughty websites. I sat on the edge of your desk in my sexy little maid dress and begged you with little puppy-dog eyes.

That did the trick — you turned your computer on and signed in. I peeked at your keyboard and got your password as you were typing; it was “galatea462440,” longer than most normal people would use since you’re so paranoid. I was flattered that you were thinking about me when you picked that; it couldn’t have been coincidental that you used the name from mythology of the statue the sculptor fell in love with, and then added my measurements. If you weren’t a horrible person, it would have been really sweet.

Your taste in porn was not so sweet. At first you tried to convince me that all you liked to look at was sexy women with big boobs, but I took your hand and placed it in my lap and told you to click my mouse for a while while I played with yours, and I found your bookmarked favorite sites. You had four different bookmarks that pointed at sites where men had sex with women who were supposedly asleep. It surprised me that there was a whole subculture about this, but I shouldn’t have been since someone had bought your movie. I tried to convince myself that the women in those pictures were just pretending, but I’m sure some of those sick fucks had drugged their “models.”

So, were you always turned on by the idea of raping sleeping women, or did you only get into that porn genre after you experienced it first hand? I shook the idea out of my head and said that if you wanted I could play that way for you, I’d just lie there and pretend to be asleep, and let you do anything you wanted to me. You seemed to like that idea and you turned off your computer and we went up to your room. Fortunately for me, you were the one who fell asleep. For a moment I considered trying to have sex with you while you were unconscious, just to see what it was like, but I didn’t want to cross that line. I was still a better person than you, and wanted to keep it that way. But I let you wake up the next morning to find us both naked and snuggled up against each other.

You were a little confused, so I was pretty sure the drug had worked to keep you from remembering, but as a typical guy you were quickly distracted when you realized there were boobs for you to play with within reach. Having big bazooms is kind of fun, the way they have power over men. I did ask Dr. Powell once about taking out my implants, and he showed me a fake photo he’d made on his computer of what I’d look like and my unaugmented breasts just seemed so small, even though he said they’d be a C cup. It’s because of my larger male ribcage that a C on me wouldn’t look as big as Sinder’s gorgeous C’s do on her. He made another computer model of how I’d look with D’s that looked sexy enough, but I decided not to go through the hassle of a surgery and a recovery just to swap one set of implants for another, and only end up one size smaller. I just learned to accept and enjoy my Double-D’s.

We fooled around a little then went to our separate bathrooms to get clean and dressed, then I met you in your kitchen to cook you a little breakfast before we each went off to work, and I was a little clingy and girlfriendy, but not over the top. It was pretty much a turning point in our fake relationship. I didn’t sleep in my own bed very often after that.
It served my goals to spend as much time in your house as possible. The first chance I got, once I’d convinced myself there was nowhere to hide a camera in your office, I checked your computer and you hadn’t changed your password — the memory erasing drug had worked! I poked around for a while, but I couldn’t find anything incriminating.
I hadn’t expected to, but it was disappointing nonetheless. It meant I had to proceed to the next phase of my Master Plan.

I called up your little buddy my insurance man Larry, and arranged to meet him for lunch. He picked me up at work and we went for Mongolian Barbecue. He looked more or less like I’d expected him to, a balding little weasel of a man in a brown suit and an unfashionably narrow tie. I shamelessly flirted with him the whole time. I was wearing a yellow suit and claimed that I didn’t want to spill sauce on my jacket so I took it off, revealing the lace camisole I had on underneath. It was the kind of camisole that’s meant to be seen, not lingerie, but it was still silk and lace and captured his attention.

When we were eating, I kept making him taste mine; I’d pick up a piece of meat or vegetable in my chopsticks and then purse my pillowy lips and blow on it “to cool it off” before bringing my sticks to his mouth. And I made sure to slurp my noodles slowly, letting him imagine what else my lips and tongue and impressive amount of suction could be good for. He offered me a bite of his food, and when he stuck his fork out toward me I grabbed his hand and brought it to my mouth, first to blow, and then to eat his meat. It took a while, but I think he picked up on my subtext, judging by how he was uncomfortably shifting in his chair.

I asked him a few questions about the insurance business, and offered to pass his card along to any customers I had who needed to insure their new boats. He thanked me and I said it was the least I could do to repay him, since he was so instrumental in my rebirth. I told him I wanted to do something to show exactly how grateful I was, and had him drive to the marina after lunch instead of taking me straight back to the office. I had the key to a smaller sport fishing boat that we’d gotten as a trade-in with me, and offered to take him for a ride in the bay.

Walking down the dock, I “suddenly realized” that I was wearing the wrong shoes for boating and leaned against him while I slowly unbuckled each shoe and then reached under my skirt and unfastened then rolled down my stocking, one leg ata a time. I carefully put my stockings in my purse then hung the shoes on the strap. I carefully tiptoed barefoot into the boat, and showed Larry where to step to board properly.

I had him watch me as I pulled in the anchor and untied the lines that held the boat onto the pier. I made sure to bend over too far and accidentally flash my thong as the boat started to drift. I stowed my things in a compartment and then put Larry in the captain’s seat and stood behind him, placing my hands on his, showing him how to start the engine, ease out the throttle, and steer the boat. He was really nervous at first, I think from my touch as much as from handling the unfamiliar boat. It was kind of cute.

I directed him to take us out into the bay, and once free from the harbor I showed him how to open up the throttle and feel what the power of two hundred horses could do. It took him a while to get the hang of it, but he was zooming around like an old pro soon enough. Once when he was accelerating on a turn, I lost my balance and fell over. He got all frantic and stopped the boat. I showed him that his chair swiveled around, and he could see that I was all right, even if I was still sprawled out.

I pulled myself up onto my knees by grabbing his chair, and turned toward him. I said that since I had fallen down, I’d just take advantage of the opportunity to show him exactly how grateful I was for his role in making my dream come true. I took my jacket off again and he couldn’t help but stare at my cleavage; it was practically in his lap. I reaced my hands towards his belt and his eyes widened as he realized what I was about to do. I unfastened his buckle, unbuttoned his pants, and then slowly pulled down his zipper. He wore tighty whities, so I figured it wouldn’t be easy trying to pull him through the little hole. I reached my hand inside and took a hold of his already hardening tool, and used my other hand to stretch his waistband down around everything.

He was already glistening wetly at the end, so I could tell this wouldn’t take long. But it might be really messy, so I pulled off my camisole and let him get a good look at what the sea air was doing to my nipples. The texture of the deck was starting to bug my knees. I unzipped my skirt and slid it down, then I folded it and knelt on top of it. That felt much better, and Larry really enjoyed the show. I pulled him forward to the edge of his seat and spread his knees apart so that I could really get in there. I peeled back his foreskin and gave him a kiss right on the little purple tip, then ran my tongue in a circle around the whole head of the thing before going down the shaft with a row of kisses.

On a whim, I leaned back and squeezed him between my breasts. I rocked back and forth giving him a titty fucking, until I felt he was about to burst. I contorted myself so that I still had him sandwiched but I also had hold of him in my mouth. A few flicks with the tip of my tongue and his gusher hit. Sex as a woman is such a rush - it’s an awesome feeling having so much control over a man. In this particular case the downside was that I was so turned on from having Larry completely at my mercy that I really wanted sex.

I wriggled out of my thong and stood up. I asked Larry how long he’d need to recover. With a naked horny woman with a body custom-made for sex sitting on his lap and guidng his hands along all my most interesting areas, it didn’t take his penis long to find its second wind, and it was still slick enough from my earlier attention that I had no problem getting it inside my hungry little pussy. Being completely nude on a boat drifting in open waters also seemed to be a major turn-on for me. I arched my back and pressed myself tightly against him as I controlled our thrusting. He got a little less shy and grabbed my nipples, almost pinching them a little too much, but it was working for me anyway, so I didn’t make him stop. Larry was not a very good lay, but since I did all the work myself, it was adequate. When I got my orgasm, I shuddered and threw my arms around him to hold him still. He pressed his face into my chest and tried pushing his hips into mine. I squeezed down to keep his dick in place as well as I could; I’d been doing my kegels regularly, but some muscles just aren’t there.

When my moment had passed, I rode him vigorously until he erupted. I got off of his lap since if I stayed in place and let his essence ooze out of me, he’d end up looking like he wet his pants. But I didn’t want him dripping out of me the rest of the day until I was able to clean myself. Fortunately I had a tampon in my purse that the girls in group taught me to carry around in case a stranger in a ladies’ room somewhere needs one. I made Larry look away while I put it in and got my clothes back on, which struck him as kind of funny. When I was dressed, I gave Larry a big hug and a kiss with a lot of tongue, and thanked him again.

He wasn’t confident enough in his skills, so he had me steer the boat back. He sat on the bench and watched my legs. I zoomed around a little at full throttle, then eased back and turned in toward the dock. He helped me tie the boat back up, and I sat on the edge of the gunwale and pulled my stockings and shoes back on. After he drove me back to TW, he told me he wanted to buy the boat. I assured him that I hadn’t done all that just to make a sale; I was truly grateful to him. He lied and said that he always wanted a boat, so why not just get the one that has so many happy memories? I didn’t believe him but said that since it was a preowned trade-in I’d give him the best deal I could, and even waived my comission. I brought him into my office and started the paperwork.

Since I figured I had him convinced that I was on his side, I made the riskiest move that my plan required; I made some insurance smalltalk and then said to him that I was interested in taking the same kind of policy out on my husband that he had on me. It was a total hunch on my part, but I could tell by the way Larry gaped that you had definitely taken out life insurance on me. So that made it clear to me that you were probably planning to kill me again, either when you needed money, or when you grew tired of me as a plaything, or both. Larry tried to act surprised that I was married, but I reminded him that he had signed our marriage license as a witness. He was pretty shaken by this, but I got him to agree to sell me a policy on you with the same terms as your policy on me, and swore him to secrecy not to tell you about it before I did — I was supposedly trying to impress you with how responsible I could be. I added that what we did on the boat was also a secret that no one needed to know. I think he was feeling a little guilty even back then, because it was only a few days before he showed up at my office with the insurance papers. I was impressed that you’d taken out a ten million dollar policy on me, but then it sunk in that you’d be killing me for it. I paid my premium in full with a cshier’s check, so that I wouldn’t have to worry about your policy being ineffective when the time came.

Around about this point, my work researching other transsexuals online had led me to Gisele, a petite Brazilian. She had been forced to work as a prostitute despite having studied nursing at university. No one would hire her. After exchanging emails for a while I decided that I needed to do something to get her out of there. We had a couple of really long international phone calls that convinced me she wasn’t running a scam, and then I wired her some money. I had her look into some stuff for me. Eventually she did the work on her end to set up an international foundation for assisting transgendered persons that served as a front for me. I could send more money, write it off as a charitable deduction, and it would be hidden when the time came for the cops to investigate me.

We’d talked at length about everything you had done to me, and she was a very sympathetic ear. We both agreed that there were some very evil people to be found in hospitals — it must have been something about having power over life and death that attracts them. I explained what I wanted to do, and she helpfully made a few suggestions of her own. She was the ideal accomplice toward my goal. After looking into the laws for various countries, “The Foundation” bought an old hacienda in Mexico, and paid for a visa for Gisele to move there and supervise the acquisition of certain pieces of equipment. There was a staffing issue I’d have to handle, but I’d already determined a likely candidate and was working on tracking him down.

Gisele said that she needed to meet you for some preliminary stuff, so that’s the real reason why I invited you on that vacation trip to Cabo. There really was a boat down there that Ari was interested in, and as salesperson of the month I got to go check it out, but I only decided to bring you for her reasons. I spun it to you as a free vacation in sunny Mexico, and once I modeled the new dental floss bikini I’d bought for the trip you agreed to come along.

Now what you didn’t know is that I’d been secretly visiting my friends at the hospital wearing my rings, and had shared my “secret” marriage to you with Stefan and Mama Rose I said that no one was supposed to know you’d married a patient, so they probably shouldn’t mention me around you. I explained that our little trip was actually a belated honeymoon, and showed them a picture from my wallet of me in my wedding gown. That had been easy enough to take — the camera you got me had a timer function, and I really was impressed with how well my dress fit and made me feel like a real bride, but it was all too tainted by your Evil.

I slipped you another roofie in the plane on the way down, so you were “too drunk” when the shuttle bus dropped us off at the hotel that I had to check us in, where I signed the register as “Dr. and Mrs. Michael Andrews.” I’d actually reserved their Honeymoon Suite; the story I told you about an overbooking screwup was a total fabrication. When the drugs wore off, you sobered up in a big bedroom festooned in roses and champagne, and remarked at the nice view of the ocean.

I told you I thought I could give you something better to look at, and unzipped my dress to show you my new lingerie. I had on a black satin bustier with push-up cups that made my Double-D’s look even bigger, and created an extremely deep cleavage. It had long attached garters that led to old-fashioned seamed black silk stockings, and I completed the look with five-inch pumps. There was a tiny matching g-string that I could have worn, but I opted to go bottomless, which certainly attracted your attention. We didn’t leave the hotel room for two days, eating only room service (and each other). I figured that was enough time to convince the hotel it was a legitimate honeymoon, so after that I could get to work.

I brought you to the boat I was there allegedly to see, and impressed you with my nautical skills, or maybe it was just the bikini. Whateever it was made it ridiculously easy to drug you again. I checked my GPS and sailed out to a previously agreed upon location, to rendezvous with Gisele. She’d taken a boat of her own from mainland Mexico. It was great to finally meet her in person. We hugged and she told me I was better looking than I ought to be, and I told her she looked cute and natural. I showed you to her and she swore something in Portuguese and spit at you. She took some blood from you and a few measurements and went back to her boat. I wished her luck and set sail back to our resort.

We went out dancing that night. I’d never been much of a dancer back when I was Doug, but I have a lot of fun on the floor now. There’s just something about wearing a little slip of a cocktail dress and getting out there to shake my stuff that’s very liberating. Maybe it’s because I have better stuff to shake now, but I’m much less inhibited than I was as a guy. And with the size of the Margaritas we were drinking, I got even less inhibited.

When I woke up the next morning naked and cuddling up to you, I feared that maybe you’d drugged me this time, but then memories of the events of the previous evening started waking up in my brain, and I realized that tequila had been the only drug involved. I recalled that you’d ripped my dress off as soon as we got in, and had started by kissing every inch of my body, and I do mean every inch.

But before I could repay the favor and launch an oral assault on your inches, you noticed a basket on the bedside table that was full of complimentary items for the honeymooning couple to enjoy, and your eye was attracted to a bottle of massage oil. Your hands then roamed all over me, making me feel soft and warm and tingly all over. You took extra time to give my breasts a special treatment, and “the girls” really appreciated the attention. I wanted you inside me so bad, but then you rolled me over and gave me the most incredible backrub I’d ever had — I swear you had me purring with delight. But you didn’t stop there. You then oiled and massaged my feet until they were ready to go dancing again, and then you worked the stress out of my calves, and went on to the back of my thighs and then relaxed all the muscles in my magnificent booty.

I was so mellowed out that the intrusion of your oily finger didn’t faze me. That is until you started moving it around in there, and that started my motor running again. I was disappointed when you suddenly popped out, and if I’d been more sober and less horny I would have known what to expect next. But since I wasn’t, the well-oiled Monster knocking on my backdoor came as enough of a surprise that I couldn’t clench down fast enough to keep him out. Because of all the oil it went very smoothly, and it wasn’t long before I pushing my hips back toward you with each of your thrusts. For some reason, you seemed to have more staying power than usual, and you had to ride my ass long after my first orgasm before you had yours.

And we collapsed in an oily, satisfied heap. I woke up before feeling a little sore and ashamed, and briefly thought about fetching a stent from my bag, lubing it up and giving you a taste of your own medicine. But I opted not to, since that might make you decide not to do it again. Even though you had violated me so many different ways in the past, I still wanted you to violate me some more. Hormones can really fuck you up.

I let you have a day to yourself to go play golf, while I went and sat through a sales pitch. Besides regular hotel rooms, the resort also sold timeshares. The smartly-dressed Australian woman selling them did a decent job, but she went for a really softer sell that I would. I went over to introduce myself, but she said she’d seen you and me by the pool and someone had told her we were the newlyweds in the Honeymoon Suite. I said that it would be great if we could come back every year and relive the romance, so I thought a timeshare might be a good way to do that. Once I let her know that my husband was a surgeon, she knew she had a big fish on the line. I let her talk me into paying a down payment for a luxury condo every year the week of our anniversary, but of course I’d have to check with my husband before signing anything.

It really sickened me how in love with you I had to pretend to be, but it was necessary for my plan. If they ever investigated what I was doing in Mexico, I’d have to make sure there were plenty of witnesses that only saw a happy couple. I went out and picked up some nice new dresses, and made sure I met you in the lobby with shopping bags so that people could overhear me telling you that I’d bought something incredible that day. That way they could think I was talking about the timeshare, and you could remain clueless. I got up early and signed the papers and called my bank to approve the payment. I’d have to cash in some more bonds, but it would be worth it. Too sonn, it was time to go home, but at least I managed to keep you from finding out that we were on our honeymoon. That part of my scheme went off without a hitch. It gave me confidence for what would follow.

The scariest part of my plan came next. I made a deal with Jack. In exchange for my working a couple of shows at Vixens, he’d get me a meeting with a low-level mob guy he knew. Oddly enough, since you’re not supposed to use an alias on stage, I didn’t get to use the stripper name you’ve stuck me with. I used an abbreviated version of my middle name and went out as “Bria.” I didn’t worry that it would hurt my real job because even if a potential customer happened to be there it would only make a sale that much easier if the guy had already seen me naked. The little head would do all the thinking and I’d be set. I did three stage performances with Ali a night, but I also had to agree to offer lapdances afterward. It was skeevy and gross and I wouldn’t want to do it again, but I think I left all my patrons satisfied.

Patch, the guy Jack introduced me to, was a big slab of beef with no neck and muscles on top of muscles, a serious tough guy. But when I told him that I was interested in taking a meeting with “The Yugoslavians,” he paled noticeably. He told me I’d be getting way in over my head, and that these guys didn’t mess around. He said that whatever it was I wanted, he could set me up with someone else that could get it for me. I had to summon up every drop of courage Doug ever had to keep from bolting out of there. Instead I told Patch that my husband had unfinished business with the Yugoslavians that I wanted to settle. He ironically told me I had pretty big balls for a chick, and agreed to set up a meeting for me. I gave him your name so they’d know it was legitimate, and he made a couple calls on his cell. He scribbled out an address, and told me I was to go there alone at 9:30 the next night.

I was very nervous. It took me a couple hours to get dressed; I kept changing my mind about what kind of image I wanted to project. I finally settled on my charcoal gray pinstriped business suit to show that I was serious, with a pink silk blouse to show a hint of feminine vulnerability, and my calf-high black leather boots to project an aura of toughness. I looked up the address in several web maps, and printed them out. I was completely unfamiliar with that part of town. At one time, it had probably been home to some of the upper crust, but now it was mostly run-down old townhouses. My directions led me to an old gray stone building with no lights on. I parked my car in the street and prayed that it would still be there when I got out.

The entrance was below street level, so I had to go down a flight of stairs to get to the door. I’ve never felt weaker than at that moment. I clung to the wrought-iron railing to keep my knees from wobbling. The door was illuminated by a very dim yellow light fixture, and I couldn’t see a doorbell. I took a deep breath and then brought my elegantly manicured hand up to knock, but the door opened in front of me before I even touched it.

The guy who held the door open was like a butler out of an old horror movie. Although he was around six foot-eleven, he seemed to move with an odd grace. He was dressed in a black mourning suit with a starched white shirt and a gray vest under it and he wore white gloves on his giant hands. He asked my name and I had to swallow hard and clear my throat before I could speak. I said I was your wife and needed to talk to someone about you. He gave me a thorough pat down, rifled through my purse, and did basically everything short of a fill strip search. He was very professional, though. Never once did it seem like he was trying to cop a feel. When he was sure I wasn’t armed, he led me down a gloomy hallway to an antique six-panel oak door. He had me wait while he went inside. There were only the two doors, so I guess he felt it was safe to leave me alone.

Standing in that hallway waiting for I don’t know how long, I felt trapped. My better instincts were all telling me to flee, give up my plans, and run away to start a new life somewhere with my girlfriend. But I held my ground. I remembered that I was doing this to protect all your future victims and I found some strength to continue. Eventually the big scary butler came back and showed me into the room. The two brothers were seated behind their enormous desk, but I still got a sense of size from them. And it seemed like very inch of them that wasn’t encased in a tailored Italian suit was covered in curly black hair.

Janos introduced himself and his brother Milos, and gestured for me to take a seat in the hard wooden chair opposite their desk. He was all smiles, but it was the smile of a shark, with an obvious danger lurking below the surface. He said that he hadn’t realized that you had a wife, especially not one as attractive as me. I thanked him and said that we hadn’t been married long, but I could show him a marriage license if I needed to, but he waved it off as unnecessary. I thanked him for agreeing to meet me. He nodded for me to continue, and I said that I wanted to know if you still owed them any money, so that I could see about settling your debt.

Janos stood up and said that money matters are men’s work, and that I shouldn’t worry about such things. I said that you didn’t tell me everything about our finances, so I didn’t trust that you were through paying off your debt. I added that I had some funds that you didn’t know about, so I might be able to pay them more than you could. Milos looked at me and said something in their language, and Janos said that his brother thought I looked like a prostitute — is that how I got my money? I said that I was a salesperson for leisure watercraft, and I could get them a good deal on a boat if they ever wanted one. I tried to make small talk and ask why they were known as Yugoslavians, instead of Bosnians or Serbs or whatever, since Yugoslavia didn’t exist anymore. That was a mistake. Janos reddened and went off on a long rant about how a people are more than a flag, how a nation is more than a line on a map, and how Yugoslavia will always exist as long as her children remember her.

Eventually, I was able to bring the conversation back around to you. It seems that you were still into them for a quarter of a million. I said I could probably get that for them; it would just take me a couple of days to move some money around at the bank. I asked where and how they wanted their payment, and whether I had to pay them through some kind of front. Janos said I was pretty smart for a woman and gave me the address to an antique shop where I’d be buying an expensive vase that originally came from Napoleon’s palace, at least that’s what its papers would say.

I thanked him for letting me settle your account, and asked if I could have a small favor. I wanted them to call you and remind you about the money you owed them. (My plan needed you to be desperately afraid of them.) Milos said that my request was reasonable, but before they let me go I would have to do them a favor in return. He suddenly got very scary and very serious and said that when a man sends his woman to pay his debts for him, it’s a sign of disrespect to his creditors. They would have to show you a similar disrespect by using your woman.

I tried to get up and leave, but Milos was at the door before me, and he grabbed my arm. Janos came around the other side and held my other arm. I pleaded with tears running down my face for them not to do this, but they just started cutting my jacket off of me with knives. I asked them if they realized that I used to be a man, so trying something with me might be a little gay, and Janos just slapped me hard and told me not to be a lying bitch. Milos had slashed open my skirt and my blouse was in tatters and he was teasing my nipples with the point of his knife. I begged him not to cut me; I promised I’d willingly do anything for them if they just didn’t hurt me.

I had to prove it by taking Janos into my mouth and getting him off without letting my teeth anywhere near him. I was horribly ashamed at myself for going along with them, but I did it. I even fought the urge to bite down when Milos dryly forced himself into my ass. I screamed as well as I could with my mouth full, but the vibration only served to make Janos hump my face faster, and his brother seemed to think it was a race. He pushed harder and faster, with every thrust sending a shockwave of pain through me. I just wanted it to stop. Finally, Milos grabs my hips and bucks a couple times, and I can feel his ichor oozing inside me. It wasn’t long after that Janos was holding my head in place, forcing me to swallow in order not to choke. Once he was out of me he punched me in the head for letting his brother win.

The allowed me to gather the rags that had been my clothes, and I limped out to my car.
I covered myself as best I could and drove to Sinder’s for a hug, a good long cry, and a shower that wasn’t nearly long enough. The ordeal had been enough to have me questioning the brilliance of my scheme. But, hey it wasn’t like it as the first time this girl’s been forced to have nonconsensual sex. I’ve withstood worse. Like it or not, I needed those thugs. Something had to get you afraid enough to go along without questioning too much, and also I needed a viable suspect to give the cops. I figured I’d make sure to record their threat to you over the phone, so that when you went missing they’d be the main suspects.

Of course, they had to go and change their part of the plan. I was out in the pool when I heard the little popping noise, so I came in to see what had happened. There you were holding Milos’ gun with the big silencer on the end and a faint wisp of smoke coming out of it. There was Milos, on the floor of the foyer, bleeding his life out through a gaping hole in his chest. You were just kind of staring blankly. It seemed obvious to me that he had come after you and the two of you had struggled, and he gun went off. I had to send my plan into overdrive, and fortunately you were in a state of mind that had you ready to be told what to do.

I made it clear that you understood that Janos was going to kill you if we didn’t get this right. You had to disappear. I told you to call Larry and borrow his boat, to make sure you were seen by plenty of people, so that it would look like you were trying to flee the state by sea. There happened to be a problem with old boats like his and the fuels they sell these days. If there’s too much ethanol in the gas, it dissolves the fuel lines and they catch fire. If Larry’s boat were to catch fire while you were supposed to be on it, then they’d probably declare you dead. I had an old surplus inflatable life raft in my closet that I told you had been Doug’s, and said you could use it to make your getaway.

I pointed out that it would be better of course if they found a body in the boat, so if you could steal one from the hospital that would be good, and I gave you a fresh hairbrush and toothbrush to get his DNA on that I could say were yours when it came time to ID the corpse, and you needed to try and make sure his head blew up so dental records or facial reconstruction would be out of the question.

I gave you a headstart before I called the cops and said I’d meet you at midnight at Pier 17; and kissed you goodbye. It was annoying dealing with the police. I told them I’d been swimming and might have heard a faint noise, but nothing like a gunshot. But when I came in there was a body on the floor, you were nowhere to be seen, and your car was gone. You’d conveniently left a trail of footprints when you ran through his blood puddle. The cops asked me if I recognized the deceased, and I said I wasn’t sure. I thought it might be a guy you owed some money.

They wanted to bring me in for questioning, but I was damp and wearing my short cover-up robe over my bikini, so I got the cop to let me go up to our room to change. (You’d never noticed that I’d snuck my things into the empty closet in the master bedroom.) The police questions were a pain, but I told them mostly the truth. Some of them got real interested when I got to the part about how I used to be a man, but for the most part it was pretty open-and-shut: clearly, you’d shot Milos and fled. They mainly wanted to make sure I didn’t know where you were. They must have been checking phone logs, because after I’d been there for a couple hours, this guy brought a piece of paper to my cop, who then asked me who Larry was, and I said he was our insurance rep and a good friend. I’d even sold him a pleasure boat not too long ago.

When they finally were done with me, a cop drove me home and let me into the crime scene just long enough to pick up some clothes, and told me to spend the night at a friend’s house. I drove to over to Sinder’s where we swapped, just in case I as being watched. I strapped down my giant boobs, put on some uncomfortably flat shoes and a wig, and drove off in her car, while she sat by the window and watched television, while wearing a wig of her own and a padded bra under my clothes.

I took a wandering route to lose any possible tail, and drove to Pier 17, where I learned how you’d overdone your part of the plan. First, you didn’t want to steal a body from the hospital, so you just grabbed some homeless guy and bashed him on the head. Then, you decided to bring Larry with you on the boat and bashed his head, too. About the only good idea you added to the plan was when you left me a voice mail on my cell telling me that you were going away with Larry out of the country for a while, but you loved me and I shouldn’t worry for you. You gave me the hairbrush and toothbrush, and I put you in the trunk of Sinder’s car.

I still had a key to the warehouse at Edwin, so I drove over there. Fortunately, there’s plenty pf manufacturing going on in Mexico. I found a row of pallets that were going to Juarez, and figured out that the one at the end of the row would be the last one onto the truck, so I pried open the heavy machinery crate and squeezed you into it, along with an oxygen tank, a water jug, and a diaper. I put an extra sticker on the side of the crate, an orange triangle that wouldn’t mean anything to someone who wasn’t looking for it. I checked the manifests and got the ID of the truck that would be taking this shipment south. I locked up the warehouse, and no one should have noticed anything.

I parked the car in the street behind ours, and then changed into black-on black-clothes for my venture into cat burglary. The Websters were out of town visiting their daughter in Portland, so I had no trouble crossing through their back yard and into ours. It pays to get to know the neighbors. I had a little trouble hopping the fence, but once over I slipped across to the downstairs bathroom window that I’d left unlocked, and said a silent prayer that the cops hadn’t figured out the code to turn on the alarm. I pushed the window up and it opened, and no sirens went off. Relieved, I climbed in the window. You know, you never really realize how big your butt is until you try to fit it through a window. I had a brief Winnie the Pooh moment where my legs were flailing in the air helplessly until I was able to stop panicking and carefully wiggle myself in.

I snuck upstairs and swapped your toiletries for the ones with the new DNA on them. I was grateful that the police hadn’t already swept the house for them. I guess they would have needed me to tell them which toothbrush was yours, since they couldn’t just go by the one with the Y chromosome. I hoped I didn’t leave any trace of your real genetic code. I slipped back out the way I entered and then changed back into my disguise in the car. I stopped at my favorite internet café and sent the info to Gisele before driving back to Sinder’s. We turned out the light and went to bed, and had a little fun role-playing as each other before we undressed.

Now I wasn’t there, but the next major step in my plan was when Gisele met the Edwin shipment at a truck stop just outside of El Paso. She flirted with the driver enough to go back to his truck with him for a little fun. Fun for her, at least. After messing around a little, she injected him with a sedative, and then used his keys to open the back of the truck. She found the marked crate and pried it open. The drug in your “oxygen tank” did the trick, and you were completely unconscious. She hauled you out, (her broad shoulders were an asset for a change) and cleaned out your other evidence, then smuggled you in her car to the hacienda.

Meanwhile, back in the states I was playing my role of confused wife of a fugitive, then they found the wreckage and I morphed into grieving widow. The cops were a pain for a while, but ultimately, they closed the case on Milos’ murder naming you the shooter. When you were declared dead, I arranged a funeral and some of the hospital people showed up for you, but all my friends showed up for me, so I win. As I was about to leave the grave where they buried the poor guy you killed under your name, a big black car rolled up, and Janos got out. I told him I was really sorry about his brother, and he said he was really sorry about my husband, sorry that he didn’t get the chance to kill you himself. I said I hoped there was no more bad blood between the two of us. He urinated on your grave and said that we were now square.

I didn’t want to look bad for the police, so I had to spend the next few months at home. Gisele emailed me updates every so often, with pictures of how your procedures were doing. I must say I was quite impressed with how you were coming along, and I was anxious to see you in person, and finally my timeshare week came up and I flew down to Cabo and put in an appearance at the resort, but then took a boat from there over to the mainland and Hugo the all-around caretaker, gardener, and general stud muffin on staff here met me and drove me out here, and Gisele introduced me to the rest of the staff. Talking to the people made me realize that my Spanish is very rusty. Gisele teases me, because it’s not her native tongue either but she’s pretty much fluent. I’ve been here for a while to oversee your treatment.

I suppose at this point I should talk about the man I know as Dr. John Smith. It’s probably not his real name. He was chased out of the U.S. for practicing medicine without a license, after his license was taken away for performing unethical surgeries, and had to find work abroad. He made a name for himself performing unusual cosmetic operations for people in fringe subcultures, like the guy who was into amputees and wanted a healthy leg cut off, or the girl who thought she was a cat and got her nose and ears altered. But primarily, he liked to work on transsexuals. He’s an artist at reshaping human anatomy; his work is very beautiful. However, he’s not so good at making sure all the nerves are connected. I’ve seen pictures of some of the vaginas he’s made, and they look incredibly realistic, but the girls they’re attached to are extremely disappointed, since they can’t feel anything at all down there. The online transgender community regularly issues warnings about this guy, warning people not to use him.

I read one of those notices and knew he’d be just the guy for my project, but it took me forever to track him down. I finally caught an email address for him that worked, and I sent him the details of my proposal, or your proposal I should say. I sent him fake messages to make it seem like it was all your idea. You see, there were some mobsters after you and you had to disappear so you wanted a whole new look. You knew that doctors always make the best patients, and you didn’t want to be second-guessing him all the time. But fortunately you had a solution: your patented Sleeping Beauty Treatment. You could get drugged into a coma, and then he could do all of his procedures on you, and then you’d wake up a whole new person. You sent a notarized document promising not to sue him regardless of the outcome, and if he had any questions regarding specific changes he was to ask me. It probably wouldn’t have convinced anyone in the States, but it was good enough for him.

That’s right, Darling. While you’ve been snoozing, I’ve had an unethical crackpot who nonetheless is a brilliant and talented surgeon working on remodeling almost every part of you. By the way, does that description remind you of anyone, maybe someone you used to be? He was really keen to try some things he’d never done before, so the results were less than ideal, but there’s no way Janos or the cops or anyone could possibly recognize you now.

I suppose you’re wondering what exactly was done to you. First of all, we needed to make you shorter. He took three inches out of the bones in your thighs and upper arms, but that still didn’t seem like enough, so he took a couple more inches out of the double bones in your shins and forearms. It left a nasty scar on your left calf, but we covered it up with a beautiful tattoo of a wisteria vine climbing your leg. Those operations made you about five foot eight, but that still didn’t seem short enough to me, so he did this thing where he pushed two of your vertebrae together and you lost another couple inches.

But now your hands and feet just looked too big for your arms and legs. I sent him the file that described what you’d had done to mine, but he wasn’t as good at it as the guy who did me. We don’t have the same quality of electrical muscular stimulator thing that you used on me, but the theory is that you probably only have half the range of motion in your new little fingers that your old ones had. It doesn’t look like you’ll be able to make a fist, and you can just forget ever performing surgery again. On the plus side, your fingerprints are completely different. Your feet aren’t quite as flexible, either. The consensus is that you’re not likely going to be able to run very fast or jump very high.

We talked about removing a couple ribs to make your shorter torso look better, and Dr. Smith had this idea to also try something he called “ribcage recontouring” where he cracked each rib and took a little bit out of it to leave you smaller all around. The downside on this is that your lung capacity decreased; you just can’t take deep breaths anymore. When he put in the internal mesh to tighten your waist like a built-in girdle, it reduced your capacity even more. The monitor here shows all your shallow little breaths.

Why did you need a tiny waist? Because you’re a girl, of course. That’s the whole point of the Sleeping Beauty Treatment, isn’t it? Although I’ve taken to calling your version the Snow White treatment because the thing you’re in reminds me of her glass coffin. To go with the tiny waist, he also did operations on your bones to make your hips wider and your shoulders narrower.

You’ve been on an elevated dose of female hormones ever since they cut your balls off the first day you were here, and they filled you out nicely. You’ve got decent curves in your hips and butt, with only a little cellulite, and your boobs came out as really cute natural B-cups, but the silicone pushed them up to D’s.

Your face is a masterpiece. After Gisele finished your electrolysis treatments, the doctor worked his magic and gave you a tiny chin and a cute button nose and a much softer brow. I’m not sure but it even seems like your eyes open wider. You’re actually quite pretty. There were a couple of problems. For one, when he went to trim your Adam’s apple, we think he severed your vocal cords, so you might be mute when you wake up. The other problem was that your old teeth didn’t fit in your new jaw, so they all had to come out. The silver lining is that now that can’t identify you through dental records. We brought a local dentist in to fit you with a set of dentures. I’m surprised you didn’t pull mine out; it really would have solved your “how can I force a coma girl to give me oral sex without her biting my penis off” problem. I considered getting one of the boys here to rape you, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask them. I’m settled on periodically raping you myself using my model of your old Monster.

Speaking of which, your pussy is a jewel. It looks like something out of a magazine; all the little parts are perfect. You probably don’t have any capacity for sensation, but you’ve had enough orgasms. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll be able to come from nipple stimulation alone, unless he broke something there putting your implants in.

What else do I need to tell you? Well, you’ve got valid traveling papers that show you to be a Guatemalan national, possibly in Mexico on your way to illegally entering the United States. Since you gave me a stripper name, I gave you one. You are Nevada Blanco, which is sort of Snow White in Spanish. I have got a visa for you, but it comes with a catch. I sent a picture of you to Janos, and he thought humiliating you would be way more fun than killing you. So you’re welcome to go home if you’re willing to work as his maid, and probably his occasional sex toy. Otherwise, we’re going to dump you in the streets down here with only your ID papers. You can’t write; you can’t speak; you have no money; how long do you think you can survive? I’ll let you decide your own fate.

You might be remembering that I told you at the beginning of this story that my success as a salesman came from my ability to tell a lie and make it convincing, so you just have to wonder how much of what I told you was true, and how much was just pure unadulterated bullshit. Maybe this is all just a bad dream of yours. I’ll let you hang onto that glimmer of hope while you’re waiting to wake up. I want to see the look on your face when you know.