USB - Unexplained Sexual Behaviour Chapter 1
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Chapter One -- Gamer in a Suit
"You look like a gamer in a suit," Paddy McClintock said to Taylor Averille.
"Even your name isn't right. What the fuck is Taylor? It isn't one thing or the other," Paddy sat behind his huge oak desk, one leg resting on the other.
He took a long sip of his coffee and looked up at Taylor.
"You still here?" he sniffed.
"So I take it that's a no to PostPay?" Taylor replied smugly.
"And that attitude isn't helping you kid. The code looks fine but you need to get a haircut, lose the earrings, drop the attitude and get a partner who knows something about business."
"Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out," Paddy said dismissively and picked up his Wall Street Journal.
Taylor shut the door behind him and carried his backpack through the maze of desks in the open-plan office making his way to the elevators. He noticed that a disproportionate amount of staff working at Paddy's investment company were women. They weren't all young but most of them were; they were all stylishly dressed: power suits, killer heels, nylons, red lipstick, coiffed hair. Young, old, fat, thin, tall, short, they all had class; they looked like they belonged right here in the offices of McClintock Developments.
The men too, although most were down to their shirtsleeves, wore Brooks Brothers, Brioni, or Giorgio Armani, natty ties and crisply ironed shirts. The women leaned over desks chatting and flirting, skirts dangerously high on the thigh. Men stood in groups looking seriously concerned about something. It didn't look like anyone was working but Taylor knew better. The best analytical minds in Chicago worked for Paddy McClintock.
Taylor walked down Van Buren Street ripping off his tie. He dumped it in a trash can and crossed South Columbus Drive and entered Grant Park near Buckingham Fountain and turned left towards the gardens. He found an unoccupied bench away from the crowds and sat down feeling dejected.
Paddy McClintock had been the fifth investor in a row who had turned him down.
At twenty-five, with boyish good looks, shoulder length blonde hair and a slim build he did look like a gamer in a suit or possibly even a skater-boy in a suit. It didn't matter; he couldn't get anyone to take him seriously. He had the goods. His codes were clean slick and bug-free but it was hard trying to get somebody to believe in him, to invest in his startup, to take him seriously.
He bet those skinny-ass bitches at McClintock's got taken seriously. For some reason an attractive woman in a power-suit and heels carried more credence than a young man in a cheap suit from Suitsupply.
Taylor sat hunched over, staring at the ground, dragging his already scuffed brogues through the gravel like a petulant child. The sun reflected off a chink of metal buried in the sand. He wouldn't have taken any notice but the toe of his shoe swung back through the gravel and partially exposed the object.
Taylor recognised it immediately. It was a USB flash drive.
Taylor poked at it with his shoe and it broke free of the pebbles. It looked intriguing. He'd seen plenty of novelty USB drives before; in his line of work they were like nails are to a carpenter. He'd seen racing cars, guitars, aliens, teddy bears, hotdogs; one guy even had a penis-shaped USB drive.
He leaned down and freed the drive from the sand and rubbed it on the fabric of his pants. It was matte black and metallic and appeared to be set with some kind of red stones around the edge that glowed dully. When he picked it up he would have sworn that the red stones flashed brightly for a second and that it vibrated in his hand sending a little shock through his fingers. He nearly dropped it but he held onto it, in fact it seemed almost glued to his fingers.
He examined the USB drive, turning it over in his fingers. It looked expensive, not the cheap, plastic-cased utilitarian jobs you often found discarded in the street. It was likely someone had lost it.
As a software coder and programmer Taylor knew the dumbest thing anyone could do was to connect a drive to your device when you had no idea where it came from. It was like playing Russian roulette. It could contain a virus, a hack, a Trojan or malware. It most likely contained porn but it looked too elegant, too opulent, to contain something so prosaic.
Taylor knew that he should drop the USB back on the ground or toss it in the nearest bin but he slipped it into his pocket. He picked up his backpack and made his way to Union Station. It was a one mile walk but the walk allowed him to clear his head and he began to write code in his subconscious. By the time he arrived at his one bedroom walk-up he had forgotten all about the USB drive. But it remained in his suit jacket pocket; the little red stones were glowing, pulsing, vacillating.
After a microwave dinner Taylor took a shower and changed into jeans and a T-shirt and sat sans shoes and socks in front of his favourite computer and worked on some of the code he had conjured up during the journey home.
"It's shit!" he slammed his hands down on the keyboard and then deleted what he had written.
He got up to get a beer and noticed that it had gotten dark while he was working, the only light in the room came from the screen of his PC and the twinkling LEDs from the CPUs of his other workstations. On the way back from the refrigerator he thought he noticed a faint glow coming from his coat. He went over to where it was hanging on the back of the door and put his hand in the pocket. His fingers curled around the USB drive. He knew that he was imagining it but the drive seemed to vibrate in his hand.
Taylor pulled the drive out of the pocket and was surprised to find that the little red stones were in fact flashing sequentially, almost like a beacon. He found that quite incredible because the USB drive had no power source; none that he could he see anyway. Maybe it had a tiny NiCad battery inside it or something, but that made no sense.
Ignoring the warnings that were screaming at him in his mind he took the USB drive over to his least vulnerable personal computer, a standalone Sony Vaio laptop that was at least seven years old. He double checked that the Vaio was not connected to his network by fibre, Wi-Fi or Bluetooth and it wasn't.
Taylor scrutinised the USB device once again; it looked almost otherworldly, mystical, magical, like a miniature version of the black monolith from 2001 A Space Odyssey. He felt it vibrate in his hand and emit a minute electric charge. The red stones were now flashing erratically, almost like the device was excited to be near the PC.
The computer finally booted up and the Windows logo appeared and Taylor logged on. He looked at the USB drive again anxiously; something deep inside was telling him not to do it but he ignored the warning and slammed the drive into the USB port.
Taylor half-expected the PC to halt and catch fire or for some radical virus to execute a program that took control of the laptop or lock him out but at first nothing happened. Then a string of code appeared on the screen but the code was using symbols that Taylor had never seen in his life. They looked almost alien.
Then the screen filled with what looked like text but it was illegible, just a series of random symbols and cyphers. The red lights on the USB began to pulse rhythmically. The unintelligible symbols became glyphs and then what Taylor was almost certain were hieroglyphs and then the text seemed to cycle rapidly through a series of archaic languages: Hebrew, Latin, Etruscan, and numerous dialects that he didn't understand, until finally the text became English.
Taylor was amazed. Not only with the rapidity of the changes from unintelligible unknown symbols, to ancient languages, glyphs and calligraphy but with the appearance of the symbols and ancient languages themselves, because it was simply not possible for the computer to generate them. Put simply, the programming language embedded in the Sony Vaio CPU did not support them.
The screen became stable and it appeared that the program had finally settled on the English language as its means of presenting an interface, the red stones glowed a steady dull ruby-red.
Taylor stared at the screen and presumed that whatever software was installed on the USB drive was some kind of elaborate hoax, most likely a spear phishing scam. Whoever had thought up the ruse had gone to extraordinary lengths to build the USB and load the sophisticated program onto it. He was glad that he had plugged the USB into his old standalone laptop; the program looked like it would cause chaos if it was released onto a network.
Confident that the program was confined to the old Vaio and could not access his other computers, Taylor thought it might be fun to play along. He read the instructions on the screen.
Congratulations. You have been granted the most extraordinary and invaluable privilege. You have been selected to undertake a life changing manifestation that will grant happiness and fortune depending on how you use the gift being offered to you.
This is an unprecedented and unique experience but there are precedents and protocols that you must agree to before we proceed.
Do you agree to participate? Y/N'
Taylor hit the 'Y' key on the keyboard.
The screen refreshed itself.
We understand that at times you might become confused or have concerns so to that end we have provided you with a Help function. It is visible to you at the bottom right of your screen.
Taylor saw the little Help icon at the bottom of the screen and he nodded.
Good. You can see it. Feel free to use the function whenever you are unsure.
Taylor was taken aback. Could the hoaxers see him? Did they see him nod? Were they accessing the camera on his laptop? The indicator light wasn't glowing to indicate the camera was switched on.
Never mind let's see where the hoaxers were going with this. It looked like it might be fun.
You have a burning desire to be successful, to fulfil your dreams and wishes and we have a power unimaginable to you that can ensure you achieve these goals. It just won't be in a way that you expect. It will be challenging and difficult at first but if you use the special gift we are about to bestow upon you wisely you will succeed. Even if you are not astute enough to use the gift to fulfil your dreams and desires, you will have taken a unique and daring challenge that we are sure you will enjoy.
Do you wish to proceed? Y/N
Taylor pressed Y.
"This is going to be fun," he said to himself in darkened room.
Yes Taylor, this will be fun; but not in the way you are thinking.
Taylor was shocked. He was sure that the microphone function on this laptop no longer worked. The scam was very elaborate indeed. He was waiting for the program to direct him to connect to his home network or ask for his bank account details and when it did he would shut it down and wipe the computer clean and restore the factory settings or he might even just ditch it. It was old and outdated anyway.
These are the terms and conditions that apply to the gift which is to be bestowed upon you:
The gift cannot be returned for ninety revolutions
You will not be able to tell anyone else about your gift, as much as you would like to
You may use the gift in any way you choose but be warned: you will be held responsible for your actions
If you elect not to return the gift after ninety revolutions, the gift will be bestowed on you permanently and can never be returned
Do you agree? Y/N
"What the fuck?" Taylor stared at the screen.
The little Help icon on the bottom of screen suddenly activated itself and a textbox appeared on the screen.
Do you have a question Taylor? A concern? Doubts?
Why had the Help function activated itself? Never mind.
'Who is bestowing this gift on me,' Taylor typed, feeling a little cynical.
The cursor just blinked. There was no answer.
'Why me?' he typed.
The... I'm not sure what your kind call it... the rune, the oracle, the device... sensed that you are worthy
'Where did it come from?' he typed and tapped his fingers waiting for a response.
Nothing... just the blinking cursor. Obviously the Help function had a selective response feature. It wouldn't answer questions that it did not understand or was prevented from answering by the programmer.
'What will my gift be? The oracle or whatever it is should be able to answer that' he typed.
It won't be what you expect but it will be wonderful and astounding. You might be disappointed at first but if you use the gift wisely it will not only bring you good fortune it will bring you great pleasure
The Help function was 'all assistance short of actual help' Taylor thought.
"Fuck it," Taylor whispered.
He closed the Help function and pressed Y.
Your journey begins now. Enjoy your gift. Please remember the terms and conditions that apply.
The screen on the laptop suddenly went blank and it appeared that the computer had shut down.
"I knew it. It was just a scam," Taylor went to rip the USB out of the laptop but when he touched it, it gave him a shock.
This was not a little tingle, it was full on zap.
Then the ruby lights on the USB drive which had become dull suddenly illuminated to full brilliance; they were so bright they were hard to look at. The fan on the Sony Vaio began to whirl so fast that it sounded like it might disintegrate. The computer actually began to shake.
A tiny pinprick of white light appeared in the centre of the screen, pulsing rhythmically and morphing into a series of ever-changing shapes. Taylor leaned forward, his nose almost touching the screen trying to discern the patterns when suddenly the screen exploded into a kaleidoscope of brilliant colours that almost blinded him. Some of the colours were indescribable, he had never seen them before, it was like he was having an out of body experience. A loud thrumming noise filled his head and seemed to get louder as the colours on the screen got brighter and changed faster. He felt like he was undergoing sensory overload and then he blacked out.
*****
Taylor knew there was something wrong as soon as he awoke. He was sprawled in front of the laptop with his head on his hands and he woke up feeling like he had been asleep for days but was not rested. The events of the previous night played out across his conscious, but that wasn't the only concern he had.
He just didn't feel right.
His body felt different somehow. He remembered coming out the anaesthetic after having his appendectomy and he felt very much the same way; like someone had invaded and altered his body. He didn't hurt; he just felt peculiar, like he didn't belong in his own skin.
His jeans were too tight around his ass but too loose around his waist and his t-shirt was too tight around his chest. Something was going on between his legs, he hadn't awoken with his usual morning glory, or nocturnal penile tumescence as it was correctly referred. In fact nothing seemed normal down there at all. It didn't seem wrong; it just seemed different. He also sensed things differently; like he'd had some sort of epiphany that had given him clarity of thought from a new perspective.
Taylor needed desperately to pee and upon entering the bathroom it became clear why he felt so different. It was because he was not a he; he was a she.
Taylor was stunned. It was Taylor's face staring back but it was subtly different. The cheeks were more prominent and were fuller and the chin was a little more pointed and the nose not as prominent. It was still Taylor but a feminine version of Taylor, the neck appeared more slender, likely because the thyroid cartilage seemed to have disappeared.
But the most significant change Taylor could see was the set of pert breasts that swelled the front of her t-shirt. The nipples were prominent through the cotton fabric. Taylor ripped off the t-shirt and sure enough a pair of perky breasts, proportionate to her body size adorned her chest. Her stomach was flatter, the waist was small and the hips a little wider and the jeans would have fallen off Taylor's significantly slender frame if not for the plump but firm buttocks holding them up.
Taylor was dreaming but still busting for a piss and struggled out of the jeans and underpants. Taylor was amazed to see a curved pubis covered in a sparse patch of pubic hair which warranted further examination, but first, if Taylor didn't piss right now an embarrassing accident was unavoidable.
Sitting on the toilet came naturally; but of course it would as there was no penis to point at the porcelain. Finishing her business Taylor dabbed at that place with TP and flushed.
This was just bizarre. Taylor was evidently dreaming; likely brought on by that stupid USB program that she had stupidly loaded up on the old Vaio. Taylor went to the bedroom and stripped and stood before the mirror.
Sure enough it was Taylor's face... but then again it wasn't. It was feminised and the long blonde hair framing the face only made it more effeminate. It was Taylor's body, the freckles and moles were in the same place, the silvery scar on the calf from the childhood skiing accident, the appendix scar on the lower right side of the abdomen. But the body was more slender, the hips wider, the waist smaller, the skin softer. Turning side on the belly wasn't quite flat, it swelled a little but in a sensual way, the breasts were small, perfectly shaped and proportional to the frame, with pink berry-like nipples.
Turning front on again Taylor's eyes were drawn to the pubis, the curve of the flesh beneath the belly leading to the valley between the legs. It was covered in a downy layer of soft hair. Taylor felt the heft of the breasts, softly tweaking the nipples until they engorged and then ran her fingers down the curve of her waist, across the little swelling of the belly and finally into the mesh of fine hair between the legs. The nipples radiated soft ripples of delight, but when her finger touched what lay between the folds of the vulva it radiated a fiery, sensual, almost lecherous ring of pleasure that Taylor found hard to describe.
Of course it was a dream.
Boys often fantasised about having a female body. He remembered in his teens sitting in the bleachers with his friends watching the cheerleaders practice. He secretly envied the girls their curvy forms, their long legs sheathed in shimmering pantyhose, buttocks clad in tight panties, little skirts flicking around firm thighs, heaving breasts and tousled hair. Pretty faces with blue eyes accentuated by dark eyeliner and mascara, rouged cheeks and plump pouty lipsticked lips.
He was sexually aroused, as were the other boys. The boys described in great detail what they would do to those girls if they ever got hold of one, as unlikely as that would ever be. Then one of the boys asked the question that the others were thinking but were too afraid to extrapolate.
"What would you do if you were a girl?"
Of course they had joked and quibbled about how they would never come out of the bedroom. How they would be the biggest slut ever, enjoying the woman's body to the fullest in an orgy of debauchery. Thinking like a man thinks; unable to think like a woman.
"Is that gay?" someone had asked.
"Only if she takes up the ass," some bon vivant carped, and the subject matter changed and they moved on.
But at some stage, all men and boys have pondered that exact question: What would you do if you were a girl?
And now Taylor was.
Before the USB Taylor thought of himself as him or he. Since the transformation Taylor had been unable to think in gender terms referring to Taylor only as I, it or they.
Now Taylor thought of herself as she or her. As a girl. As a Woman.
It was too much; she wanted to wake up from this dream. This wasn't the gift that the USB had promised. Where was the happiness and fortune to be had by changing gender? But the oracle had prophesised that the gift wouldn't be what Taylor expected but it would be wonderful and astounding. That Taylor might at first be disappointed but if the gift was used wisely it would not only bring good fortune, it would bring great pleasure.
Well Taylor was disappointed and she wanted to give the gift back and become Taylor again, Taylor the man not Taylor the woman.
She suddenly felt very weary and decided that sleep would help. Sleep was the solution. She would wake up from this dream and all would be as it was before she had slammed that USB drive into the old laptop.
She fell on the bed and pulled the covers over her new body. It felt weird having the weight of her untethered breasts yank at her torso and to not have to adjust a penis and scrotum into a comfortable position. It didn't matter; when she awoke all would be normal.
When Taylor awoke all was normal. It was as normal as it was going to be for ninety revolutions, which she presumed referred to the earth rotating on its axis. It was normal as it was going to be living life as a woman for ninety days.
Taylor was still a female.
She recalled the time that she sat in the bleachers with her friends hypothesising what they would do if they were suddenly to become a woman; the crudity and vulgarity of what they had said they would do. Something had changed, she wasn't thinking like that anymore. But she was still curious.
Taylor went to the bathroom and rummaged in her travelling toiletry bag and found the shaving mirror and brought it back to the bed. She lay down on the bed and put a pillow under the small of her back and opened her legs. She held the shaving mirror between her thighs and explored the intimate parts of her new body.
She explored her vulva and outer labia nestled in the thatch of pubic hair. She opened her labia to expose her labia minora, the coral pink inner lips and her clitoral hood. She parted her labia minora and inserted a finger into her vagina but it was occluded and painful so she withdrew it. She manipulated her clitoral hood and a rather pleasant sensation radiated from it. If asked she would compare it to the feelings she had when her fraenulum was manipulated when she had a penis.
Taylor opened her clitoral hood and stroked her clitoris directly. She gasped. The little bud was very sensitive; almost too sensitive. She withdrew her finger and then delicately circled it with the pad of her fingertip. That felt nice. Very nice.
Her vagina began to lubricate and she gathered a few dewy droplets with her fingertip and softly rubbed the secretions on her clitoris. Her breathing became laboured as the sensations slowly intensified. Taylor imagined she could lie there for hours just gently stroking herself, allowing the delicious responses and excitement to slowly radiate through her pleasure centres. But there was also a deep longing to bring on her climax, she wanted to experience her first female orgasm and she rubbed herself harder and faster.
The feeling was hard to describe. It was like lying on the beach and feeling the tide coming in, the warm foam lapping at her toes, then the silken wavelets crept up her legs and then the wave became a flame that began to glow, redder and redder and then melted into white light.
Taylor cried out as she lay on the bed writhing, her hand pressed between her legs, the white light became a kaleidoscope of colourful butterflies flying in waves over her body and then morphed into the crescendo of an earth-shattering tsunami of gratification and contentment. It was incredibly wonderful; simultaneously delicate and sublimely intense.
Taylor lay panting on the bed as the film of perspiration on her body cooled and the tide of pleasure receded.
She sprang to her feet. It was time to stop vacillating and complaining and to start living with her new body, after all it was going to be hers for ninety days. It was time to take it out for a test drive so to speak.
Taylor inspected herself once again in the full-length mirror but this time she was critical. The transformation had morphed her anatomy from male to female but had done nothing else. There was still some landscaping to do. She went into the bathroom and ran the hot water tap and filled the sink. She lathered her legs, replaced the blades in her Gillette Fusion razor and carefully shaved them. She looked critically at the thatch of pubic hair and decided that it too needed to go. She very carefully and gently lathered and removed the offending foliage and was very pleased with the result.
Finally she shaved her underarms and checked the results in the mirror. There was nothing she could do about her lank blonde hair for now and her eyebrows needed shaping but she would leave that to the experts. She took a long hot shower, luxuriating in the feel of the hot water on her freshly shaved legs and pubis. She washed and conditioned her hair and towelled herself dry.
She looked at her face critically in the mirror. She wasn't beautiful but she wasn't unattractive. Undoubtedly the application of makeup and a good hairstyle would help.
Now... what to wear? Taylor's jeans no longer fit her and if she wore them she would look like a hobo. She remembered that Taylor had a pair of black compression tights that he wore when working out during the winter months and she dug them out. It was funny how she thought about her male alter ego as another person entirely.
She found an oversize t-shirt that looked good on her and was pleased to find that Taylor's Nike sneakers still fit. His underpants were useless to her so she shimmied into the tights sans underwear, pulled on the t-shirt, found some clean socks and put on the Nikes. She didn't look too bad with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Taylor checked her wallet. She had ninety dollars in cash. She gave a small prayer to the oracle, or whoever was now the master of her destiny, that her name was gender neutral because the name Taylor Averille was on her credit cards, driver's licence and everything else of importance. She got close to the mirror and held her driver's licence up next to her face. The face in the photograph was close enough to her own for her to pass any rudimentary inspection. Driver's licence photos were never meant to be glamour portraits anyway. Everything else was the same except her weight and sex but whoever bothered to look at those?
Taylor threw on a denim jacket, grabbed her keys and jammed her wallet into her backpack and went outside.
She faced the world with both trepidation and excitement. There was nothing for her to worry about; it wasn't like she was a man going out dressed as a woman and her voice had changed because of her altered physical characteristics. She quite liked the sultry sound of it. Taylor had to admit that she was quite excited to be going shopping.
"Let's take this puppy for a spin," she giggled to herself.
She supposed that she looked quite plain and dowdy being sans makeup and being dressed down, but that was fine. She didn't want to draw attention to herself, at least not until she had made some significant changes to her appearance and her wardrobe.
The issue for Taylor was that she was a twenty-five year old woman who knew nothing about being a female. Taylor, the male Taylor that is, had a very specific type of woman that attracted him and now that he was one, so to speak, that's how she wanted to present herself. She just didn't know how to do it. She knew that people would assume that she knew how to do these things; it would have been part of her growing up.
Taylor realised that she should have done some online research before she left home but she was not to be thwarted. She sat in the Passion House Coffee Roasters and sipped a latte and went to work on her tablet. Her friend Google advised her that just one block over on Sawyer Avenue was Penny Lane Studios where it was claimed; a complete makeover could be achieved in two hours. She was lucky. There had been a cancellation and she took the vacated appointment for that afternoon.
This would give her a few hours to shop. Male Taylor never thought of shopping as something to be enjoyed, it was a necessity but something had changed. She was excited. She smiled to herself and wondered if her credit cards were going to vibrate like the alien USB when they realised the pasting they were about to take.
A ten minute Uber ride got Taylor to the Walmart Supercentre on Wellington Avenue. It would do for a start, Taylor needed a basic wardrobe; she would worry about getting designer labels later. She went straight to the ladies clothing section and browsed the racks knowing that browsing would attract a sales assistant. She dismissed the pretty little thing who looked at Taylor like she had dogshit on her shoe and a few minutes later a warm, matronly woman saleslady approached her to see if she needed assistance.
Taylor had had enough time to concoct a story: She had recently come home to find that her boyfriend had thrown her out and her malicious so called best friend had moved in. Her clothes had been thrown in the street and had been picked over before she arrived at the flat to find herself homeless. She had money and had found somewhere to live but she literally had no wardrobe whatsoever.
Lilith, the saleslady was only too willing to help, especially when she found out that Taylor intended to buy a complete wardrobe and other necessary accessories from the store.
"Let's start with underwear shall we?" Lilith smiled.
"Yes; lets," Taylor gave her what she hoped was her best smile.
"I see that you are not wearing a brassiere," Lilith said reproachfully.
"I know; that bitch tore up all my underwear," Taylor lamented.
They were now in the lingerie department and Taylor was excited. Not titillated like a man would be, imagining women wearing sexy lingerie, but excited at the prospect of wearing pretty undergarments.
"Bra size?" Lilith asked.
'Ah, the first stumbling block,' Taylor thought.
Then she saw the sign: 'Our trained professionals will assist you to find your correct bra size. Please ask for our complementary bra fitting service'
"You know, my old bras didn't fit me that well. Why don't we get a complete new sizing?" Taylor smiled and Lilith approved.
Lilith took Taylor into one of the fitting rooms and had her remove her jacket.
"This will work better if you take off your t-shirt too but I understand if you're shy," Lilith said but halfway through the sentence Taylor had her t-shirt pulled over her head.
Lilith took a tape measure and measured around Taylor's torso under her breasts and had Taylor breathe out and took a measurement then she did the same around the fullest part of her bust, then she consulted a sizing chart.
"Wait here," Lilith said quite curtly but Taylor appreciated Lilith's assistance.
She came back in a few minutes with three plain bras.
"I had you pegged as a 34B as soon as I saw you but we'll try these on and she what fits best. Don't worry about style, just the fit, once we have you sized you, you can choose whatever you like from our selection," Lilith said.
She helped Taylor try on two of the bras and Taylor took particular notice of how Lilith adjusted bra straps. The second bra, a 34B, fitted perfectly and Taylor immediately felt relief once her breasts were supported. She put on her t-shirt and was pleased with the effect.
"While we're here with the tape we might as well do your hips and waist," Lilith put the tape around her hips and waist.
Because she was wearing leggings there was no need for her to take off any clothing.
"Size six, but you knew that I suppose, unless you've put on or lost any weight," Lilith said.
"I did lose some weight very recently as a matter of fact," Taylor said cheekily.
"Well I must say I like your figure. I'm not a fan of these little stick-insect fashion models getting around on the TV and social media," Lilith sniffed.
"Thank you," Taylor blushed.
"You need to fix your hair and makeup though," Lilith brought Taylor back to earth with a crash.
"Come see me when you've finished choosing your underwear and we'll look for some clothes," Lilith left Taylor to browse through the lingerie section on her own.
Taylor liked the panties, especially the spandex-blend fabric. She toyed with different types: hipster, bootleg and bikini and then she selected half a dozen matching bra and panty sets of various colours; good fitting but unembellished. Then she treated herself to some nice fancy bras and panties. She made herself stop when it dawned on her that she would only need enough underwear for ninety days. She returned half the underwear back to the racks.
Next she moved onto the hosiery section and using the sizing chart she selected half a dozen pairs of pantyhose and holdup stockings mainly flesh-toned but a couple of pairs of black nylons too. Her male alter ego did not understand why modern women eschewed hosiery, Taylor admired a well turned leg sheathed in delicate nylon. He thought a woman wearing a suit or dressed to the nines who presented bare-legged to be underdressed; like a man wearing a suit without a tie. Female Taylor was of the same opinion and could hardly wait to try them on but it would wait until later.
She went back to the fitting room and put on a pair of panties and a bra, keeping the price tags so she could pay for them. She located Lilith who was waiting patiently for her with a shopping trolley and Taylor put the underwear and hosiery in the trolley. She and Lilith went on a small shopping spree with Taylor having to remind herself constantly that she only needed three months' worth of clothing and not to be too extravagant.
"Shoes?" Lilith raised her brows questioningly, looking reproachfully at Taylor's sneakers.
Taylor had to suppress an almost uncontrollable urge to buy a disproportionate amount of shoes for her needs. She always thought it was a myth about women wanting more shoes than they needed. She settled on two pairs of high heels: one pair of plain black pumps to go with the business suit she had selected and a pair of red ankle-strap stilettos. A pair of cute but practical flats was thrown in the trolley, along with a pair suede ankle-boots and she was done.
She asked Lilith to scan the items that she indented to wear from the store and went back to the fitting room and emerged fifteen minutes later wearing a pair of high-waisted blue skinny-jeans, a white longline tank t-shirt with an ivory waterfall cardigan over, tan suede ankle-boots and a textured blue silk scarf.
Taylor's ears were pierced and had remained so after the transition so she was able to wear a pair of simple silver drop earrings, accompanied with a matching necklace and bracelets she had picked up in the accessories section. She also added a large makeup case to her purchases, along with some perfume and deodorant. She had used the perfume and deodorant on herself but the makeup remained a mystery.
"Well, that's an improvement," Lilith clapped her hands together lightly, applauding her acumen in transforming Taylor from a dowdy frump to a woman with class.
Lilith's advice had been invaluable when Taylor was trying to mix, match and accessorise her outfits.
When Lilith scanned her credit card Taylor couldn't help but think that had she come in here yesterday as a male she would have spent a fraction of the money and left with half as many clothes but would still be adequately kitted out for three months. Girls had it so much harder!
Except for having a plain face and unkempt hair, Taylor looked quite presentable.
Taylor loaded her purchases into the trunk of an Uber and rode it to Penny Lane Studios. She created a stir when she arrived at the salon and began to unload her accoutrements; one of the stylists came out of the Studio to assist her, for which she was grateful.
The young woman who assisted her was also to be her stylist and was named Gail. It was obvious that Gail was not impressed with Taylor's lank blonde locks and pale bare-skinned face but was too polite to comment. Once again Taylor had fabricated a story.
"I just came back from working as a volunteer in Tuvalu, helping to set up the island's technical infrastructure," she said.
"I returned with only the clothes on my back and haven't seen a hairdresser or beauty therapist for over a year. I promised myself a new wardrobe and a full makeover when I returned home," Taylor smiled.
"Let's tackle your hair first. Any particular style or colouring you want? How much do you want trimmed?" Gail asked, running her fingers through Taylor's tangled thatch.
"Just have at it Gail. You do whatever you think will suit me. Something sassy but still professional looking," Taylor said.
After nearly two hours of shampooing, blow-drying, colouring, cutting and styling, Taylor's dirty blonde mane had been transformed into a contemporary style: platinum blonde shoulder-length waves of soft flaxen curls with white highlights. She and Gail were both delighted.
"Ok honey I have to attack those eyebrows now that I've finished with your hair. They look like Angelina Jolie on a bad day," Gail scoffed.
Fifteen minutes of waxing, tweezing and shaping left Taylor with nicely shaped soft angled arches which Gail defined with an eyebrow pencil.
"I think you look lovely Taylor and you have beautiful skin. I'm going to pass you over to Miriam to finish your makeover," Gail led Taylor out of the hair salon and over to the makeup station.
"Hi, I'm Miriam, what can I do for you?" the pretty little makeup artist asked.
"I'll say the same thing I said to Gail. I haven't worn makeup for over year; I've nearly forgotten how, so just do what you think is best," Taylor smiled.
"I'll leave you girls to it. Come say goodbye before you leave Taylor, I'd love to see the final results," Gail squeezed her hand and went back to undertake her last cut and style for the day.
"Hey Miriam, do you mind if I film the makeover, it will help me get my makeup right later. As I said, I'm very rusty," Taylor asked.
Miriam look around the salon and then back to Taylor.
"Shelly... she's the owner, doesn't allow imagery to be taken inside the studio but in your case I'll make an exception. Give me your phone," Miriam held out her hand.
Miriam set up Taylor's Galaxy S20 on the cosmetics table and adjusted it so that it faced Taylor who was reclining in the chair wearing a protective smock over her clothing, then she went to work.
Taylor was delighted with the results. When she removed the smock and looked at herself in the mirror she looked nothing like the scarecrow who had stepped out of her bedsit earlier that day. All modesty aside she looked amazing; she was not a classic beauty but she was unconventionally alluring.
Gail told her she was beautiful on the way out of the salon and gave her an air-kiss so as not to mess up her makeup.
It was a short walk down Sawyer Avenue to her walk-up apartment but with all of her purchases she needed an Uber. She apologised to the driver for the short ride but she tipped him handsomely. She noted that the young dark skinned man was very attentive and took a particular interest in her ass when she bent over to pick up the packages.
It just showed her how shallow men were in some regards. Not one man had paid her any attention when she left home this morning. A change of clothes, some hairstyling and an application of makeup had turned her from a scarecrow into an enchantress. Every man walking by looked her up and down appreciatively as she made the three trips from the Uber to her flat to unload her purchases.
Taylor made space in the wardrobe and cupboard drawers for her new clothes; she pushed her second self's male attire aside to make room. She contemplated packing all of Taylor's male attire away but she would need it again in three months. She still thought of her current condition as temporary.
Taylor opened up the makeup case she had purchased at Walmart and gazed upon it with wonder. She had watched Miriam turn her from a plain-faced homely woman to a captivating young lady using the magical notions, powders and concoctions contained in the cosmetics case.
Now she needed to learn how to do it herself.
She downloaded the video she had taken on her phone in the beauty salon onto her network and brought it up on one of the screens and set the makeup case, bushes and applicators up on a little side table. She took one last selfie and then wiped her face clean using face wipes.
Three hours later she was confident that she could apply her own makeup and not end up looking like Ronald McDonald or the bride of Frankenstein. She looked quite attractive actually.
She spent some time walking in her new heels to get used to them and practiced sitting with correct posture. Everything about being a woman seemed difficult and convoluted and she became exhausted with it after a while.
It was late and she was tired and hadn't eaten but she had no appetite. She drank a beer while she checked her email and messages and then stripped and took a long hot shower ensuring that her hair stayed dry by using a shower cap. She slipped into her recently purchased satin and lace babydoll pyjamas, relishing the luxurious feel of the fabric on her flesh.
She decided that her breasts and vulva needed further examination and rubbed out a nice orgasm before she fell asleep.
Life as a woman was complicated but she had to admit that she had enjoyed today. There were eighty-nine days to go and she had a lot to do.
The next day she woke up still feeling a little uncomfortable in her own skin. Coffee seemed to fix that. She spent some time in front of the mirror examining her body, Gail had done an outstanding job on her hair, it really suited her. Taylor was keen to use the makeup again to try some different shades, colours and techniques but she had work to do.
Taylor fired up her network and started working. It wasn't lost on her that women were supposed to be especially good when it came to multitasking. She started to run the code she had recently edited through a debugging program and then pulled up her list of potential investors and put a line through Paddy McClintock, allowing the debugging program to run in the background. Taylor had taken his PostPay app to most of the big software companies and finance houses with little success. He was not interested in any of the places where young kids sat around in plastic chairs and bean bags wearing jeans and shorts and flip-flops. He didn't need software developers; he needed programmers who could adapt the code he'd already written and a market manager to get the retailers to come on board.
It was now time for the new improved Taylor to try. It was time to see if the USB oracle or whatever it called itself could deliver on its promise to bring Taylor success and good fortune.
She pulled up one of her letters of introduction and redrafted it using the correct pronouns and tidied it up a little. She had taken quite a few selfies last night while she was practicing her makeup techniques and she brought up what she considered to be the best of them and loaded it into her photo editing software. She played with the shade and colour intensity a little to improve it. She didn't feel guilty, why should she? Didn't women alter their appearance using makeup to make themselves look better so what was wrong with a little touch-up?
Once again she silently thanked her parents for naming her Taylor. It would have been difficult, almost impossible, to replace Taylor's male identity with her own if he had been named Thaddeus or Arthur or some other masculine sounding name.
She cast her eye over the remaining companies on her list and selected three of what she considered to be the best prospects and fired them off letters of introduction ensuring she attached a sample of her code and a copy of her picture. She crossed her fingers and went back to debugging. Around lunchtime she was starting to feel hungry so she showered, brushed her teeth and her hair and fixed her makeup. Last night she had, with help of her friend Google, mastered a few makeup techniques and developed a couple of distinctive 'looks'. She was wearing her 'day look' which made her face look fresh.
Taylor slipped into fresh underwear, once again delighting in the feel of the silky garments on her skin. There were some aspects of being a girl she found quite delightful. It was cool out so put on some black spandex leggings having first put on a pair of stocking footlets. She rummaged through her purchases and found a pink long-sleeved t-shirt over which she wore the same ivory waterfall cardigan and a textured blue silk scarf that she had worn yesterday. She slipped her feet into the suede ankle-boots, sprayed herself with perfume and put on some earrings.
Stepping outside into the brisk cool autumn weather she felt a sense of achievement and of peace and contentment. The trees lining her street had changed colour and were vibrant red, orange and yellow against the pale blue sky. The streets were busy, especially Milwaukee Avenue, and she noticed that she attracted more than a few appreciative glances from the men who passed her by. She wondered if all women felt that they were being ogled by the men around them. Except for the tight-fitting legging which accentuated her tight ass and long legs she was hardly dressed provocatively.
She walked the few blocks to the Passion House Coffee Roasters and ordered a late breakfast and a large batch-brew coffee. While she waited for her order she fiddled with her phone. She checked to see how the technology finance companies were faring on the Nasdaq. Her brunch arrived and she tucked into it and sipped her coffee; she wasn't very ladylike shovelling the food into her mouth but she needed fuel, she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a proper meal.
Her phone pinged and she picked it up and was surprised and delighted to see an email from Bradley Freeman, the CEO of FreeCom, a finance technology company. He stated in his email that he was very interested in Taylor's product and had an opening at five o'clock that afternoon if she would like to come for an interview. Taylor replied that she would indeed like to come into FreeCom for an interview but she tried not to sound too eager.
Her food tasted even better now that she'd had one positive response to her proposals but Taylor had been down this road before: excited at the prospect of getting a financial backer and then disappointed when the prospective client turned Taylor down. But this time it wasn't the gamer in a suit who would be attending the interview. It would be a sophisticated attractive young woman... if she could pull it off.
Taylor went back to her home and pulled up her financials. She had spent more money than she had intended to yesterday and Taylor's credit card account was already substantially low before yesterday's splurge. If she didn't get someone to option her PostPay app soon she would be struggling to meet her financial commitments. She would have to get a day job. Taylor would be like the other schmucks writing code for some big software developer. Making a decent living but hating the job.
She opened the debugging program she had left running while she was out and found a few improvements that she could make to her code so she got busy doing so. Every time she changed a line of code she needed to retest the app for functionality. It was a long and tedious task but to her it was like creating art. After a few hours she needed a break so she fired up the Vaio and inserted the alien USB drive. The red stones around the dull matte-black edge of the flash drive remained dark and unlit and the program window remained blank.
"Eighty nine days to go I guess," Taylor snatched the USB out of the Vaio and tossed it into a drawer where she kept a plethora of computer peripherals and accessories.
She checked the time and realised that she had better start getting ready if she wanted to make her appointment on time. She wished she had something better than the navy blue suit with chalk stripes that she had bought at Walmart yesterday but her funds were limited. It was nice, in simple sort of way. She fixed her makeup putting on a little more eyeliner and mascara to emphasise her green eyes then she stripped naked.
Taylor carefully opened the package of L'eggs Silken Mist ultra-sheer run resistant pantyhose. The male Taylor was turned on by women's legs encased in nylon and her female doppelganger was not disappointed when she slipped the silken garment onto her legs. They felt delightful; the sensuous feel of the sleek fabric against her skin was wonderful. She pulled the gusset tight around her abdomen, they were sheer-to-the-waist and she admired the look of her buttocks and pubic mound sheathed in the delicate garment.
She very naughtily rubbed her clitoris through the delicate fabric and the feeling was very enjoyable but she had things to do and couldn't afford to waste time playing with her body. She pulled a pair of white satin panties up her legs and smoothed them around her buttocks, the sensuality intensified by the feel of the pantyhose. She put on a matching satin and lace bra and a long-sleeve navy-blue satin blouse which she struggled to button because it buttoned on the opposite side to what she was used to.
She stepped into the skirt and zipped it closed and straightened the hem which came to mid-thigh, a little shorter than when she had hurriedly tried it on in Walmart. Never mind; she hadn't met a man yet who complained that a woman's skirt was too short. She brushed her hair and put in some gold round earrings and put on the matching necklace and bracelet. She misted herself with perfume and then slipped into her plain black pumps with the three inch heels.
Taylor had practiced walking in the shoes the previous evening between bouts of makeup practice. It wasn't really that hard; she had found four simple cues to walking in high heels: take smaller steps, put the heel down first, walk so that one foot came down directly in front of the other with her toes pointing straight ahead, and walk upright with improved posture.
She couldn't imagine herself running down a cobbled street or skipping down a flight of stairs but with concentration she could get around quite confidently.
Taylor summoned an Uber, put on her jacket, picked up a black leather handbag into which she had already tossed her necessities, and stepped outside to wait. She wished she had bought an overcoat and decided it would be her next purchase. While she waited for the car she again considered the encumbrances of living the life of a young woman. It was complicated and required a lot more attention to her appearance than being a man did but there was a certain satisfaction and enjoyment in the little rituals.
When the car arrived she opened the rear door and climbed in and realised that she was very unladylike in her efforts. It was her first time in a skirt outside the house and she realised that she would need to pay attention to that aspect of her ensemble. She was sure that the gentleman passing her house enjoyed the panty flash and acres of thigh she presented as she climbed into the SUV so she needed to exercise a little more decorum.
She checked her phone while the driver took her down to The Loop to the offices of FreeCom. She took more care alighting from the vehicle and did so with propriety and dignity but she did notice that a couple of men turned her way to watch. She went inside and checked the directory and then entered the elevator to take her to the eighteenth floor to the FreeCom offices.
Two men waiting for the elevator stood aside to let her enter the car first. One stood beside her during the ascent and the other went into the back corner and fiddled with his phone but she could feel his eyes on her legs and ass. Men were pigs but she had to admit that male Taylor did exactly that, he ogled women whenever the occasion presented itself.
Taylor presented herself to a pretty receptionist in the entrance lobby and the receptionist checked her computer screen and smiled back at Taylor confirming that indeed Mister Freeman did have an appointment with her at five o'clock. She put a phone to her ear and pushed a button and announced that Taylor was present and then she directed Taylor to an office at the end of the corridor.
It was one of the few single offices on the floor. Most of the floor space was taken up with open plan workstations where men and women were busy tapping keys and pointing at screens. A small glass-walled conference room was filled with a group of men and women in their shirtsleeves standing around a whiteboard contributing their input while a tall handsome young man wrote code on the whiteboard with a marker.
Taylor smoothed her skirt and straightened her jacket before she entered Bradley Freeman's office. He was on the phone but smiled at her and waved her in, pointing to a cluster of chairs arranged around a coffee table in the corner of the office.
Taylor tried to sit demurely with her ankles crossed as she had practiced at home, but she was wearing leggings at the time and hadn't had to deal with an inherently delinquent skirt that kept wanting to ride up her thighs. She gathered the material under her legs and was able to stop it but she saw that Bradley was amused by her antics. Taylor blushed; this wasn't how she wanted the interview to proceed.
Bradley hung up the phone and came around from behind his desk and beamed at her and offered her his hand. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to stand but she didn't want to have to wrestle with her skirt again so she remained seated, returned the smile and lightly shook his hand.
"I'm Bradley Freeman and you're Taylor Averille so that's the introductions out of the way so let's get down to business. I like what you sent me," Bradley took the seat beside her.
Taylor blushed and Bradley looked confused but then a smile lit up his face when he realised that she had got the wrong idea.
"I meant the code sample you sent me Taylor; although I will admit the picture was nice too but it doesn't do you justice," Bradley grinned.
When Bradley smiled he was extremely handsome. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, he was fit and tanned and had a full head of hair that was either bleached by the sun or had been professionally highlighted. He had dark eyes and full lips and Taylor was confused by how she felt about him. This was the first time that she had been close to a man in an intimate setting since she had transformed.
Male Taylor, despite his interest in nylons and lingerie, had never once considered wearing women's clothes and certainly had never been attracted to another man. But there was no doubt that Taylor was attracted to Bradley Freeman. The monolith or the oracle or whatever the USB called itself had not only changed Taylor's body, it had also changed her perspective. Had it also had changed her sexual preferences?
"Well thanks for the compliment Mister Freeman but can you tell me what you liked about my code?" Taylor was here to get commercial backing not to flirt.
"Well I've seen similar apps of course but your coding is clean, it's sharp and it's good. Some of the other programs I've seen are boated and clumsy. You've shown me the front end; what can you tell me about the work engine?" Bradley asked.
The pretty receptionist entered and placed coffee on the table and Bradley poured for them both.
Taylor used the same spiel she had used on Paddy McClintock and other potential investors before him, but this time her quarry seemed engrossed in what she had to say.
"PostPay takes a percentage of the profit from the retail sales and collects interest on the loan and collects late fees which is how most of these lending apps work but the interface isn't anywhere nearly as clunky as most of the others. Once the customer makes the purchase the item is immediately routed from the vendor's warehouse and picked up a courier for delivery. The customer gets almost instant gratification," Taylor started to explain.
"The software resides on a standalone network but interfaces with the customer through the app, and the vendor, delivery agent, and lender seamlessly through their own network. Everyone makes a small profit and the customer is more likely to pay out the loan quickly and make more purchases with the app. The more purchases made the more money everyone makes and the customer is paying the best interest rate available," Taylor finished her blurb and took a sip of coffee.
"What I see as the biggest advantage of my app is that if a customer wants to make a purchase from a vendor that isn't signed up to PostPay, the software will locate the nearest financial institution that supports PostPay and will make the transaction on PostPay's behalf, splitting the profit."
"The customer just scans the app on a credit card scanner and the transaction takes effect seamlessly. The vendor is informed that PostPay has sanctioned payment through an accredited third party financial institution. Hopefully the vendor signs up to PostPay to cut out the middleman, bringing more retailers into our fold and increasing profits," Taylor completed her pitch.
"Well it looks like a sound financial investment to me, but tell me, why haven't any of the other big players taken up your proposal?" Bradly asked.
Taylor balked. She didn't want to use subterfuge but she had no choice.
"I was in partnership with my cousin for a while. I did most of the program development and coding with his assistance. He did the legwork, trying to garner support and investment from the finance technology companies. He fell flat and lost interest in the project so I fired him. He currently has no ties or pecuniary interest in PostPay," Taylor explained.
"It's kind of embarrassing. He has the same name as me," Taylor blushed.
"But I bet he isn't as comely," Bradley smiled.
Taylor frowned.
"Hey, it was meant as a joke. My family has two Leslie's, both cousins, same as you. One is an oversize truck driver and the other is a yoga instructor and it might surprise you to know that the woman is the truck driver. One should never make assumptions," Bradley thought that he had diffused the situation but Taylor still felt uneasy about the compliment.
"Come on, let me show you around the place," Bradley arose and Taylor followed suit.
She appreciated Bradley looking away from her as she struggled to stand with some modicum of decorum. The high heels and short skirt were giving her more grief than she had counted on but it looked like they may have done their job. She could just as easily have come to the interview dressed in a pantsuit and flats but there was doubt that wearing the skirt and heels worked in her favour.
Bradley took some time to show her around the open plan office where a lot of the workstations were vacated as it was past quitting time. He showed her the conference rooms and coding rooms where, he explained, most of the brainstorming and concept development took place. Next he showed her the management offices and the affiliated company executive offices where Taylor would work if her bid was successful.
The fourth cup of coffee she had drunk that day in Bradley's office was demanding release and she spied the ladies restroom and excused herself.
She went to a stall and did her business. When she came out an older attractive slim woman was standing at the vanity putting on lipstick. She was wearing a designer short-skirted power-suit and the red sole of the killer heels, visible as she leaned close to the mirror, indicated that they were Christian Louboutin. The woman had defined cheekbones and full pouty lips onto which she was applying blood-red Guerlain Rouge Jewel Lipstick. Her jet-black hair was styled in a severe shoulder-length bob.
Taylor washed her hands and fixed her own lipstick while the woman beside her liberally sprayed herself with Clive Christian Number No1 perfume. The woman dropped the perfume into a Hermes handbag and turned to study Taylor.
"What are you doing here Kmart?" the woman looked down her nose at Taylor.
The woman's accent was European or Slavic, almost exotic.
"I'm Taylor Averille and I have a meeting with Bradley Freeman," Taylor smiled and offered her hand.
The woman just stared at Taylor's outstretched hand like she held a turd in it.
"And they let you in here dressed like that?" the woman sniffed.
She turned her back on Taylor and strode out of the restroom, her heels clicking on the tiles.
"Bitch!" Taylor whispered under her breath.
This was the first time Taylor had encountered animosity from another woman but she had only been a woman for two days now and she knew women could be bitchy.
When Taylor came out into the corridor Bradley Taylor was deep in conversation with the bitchy woman.
Bradley's eyes lit up with a genuine smile when Taylor came out of the ladies room.
"Ah, Taylor Averille meet Veronique Pascal... Veronica meet Taylor," he made the introductions.
Veronique put out her hand and Taylor took it and Veronique pulled her close and gave her an air-kiss on both cheeks.
"Wonderful to meet you," Veronique's smile was painted on her lips.
"Veronique. That's a very exotic name," Taylor returned the smile.
"It's French but I am Ukrainian by birth, I left the Ukraine when I was a girl. I abbreviate it to Veronica; some Americans find it difficult. Taylor sounds like it originated in the South. Are you from Arkansas? Tennessee? Alabama perhaps?" Veronique said disparagingly.
"Born and bred in Chicago Illinois. Go Bears!" Taylor made a half-hearted air punch.
"Hey! A smart, attractive woman who follows football," Bradley gave Taylor a high five.
"Real women love football; smart women follow the bears," Taylor recounted a meme she had seen.
"Ah, you are referring to the game of fumble-ball, drop-ball, throw-ball played by large men with padded shoulders and small brains, not the beautiful game," Veronique turned down her lips.
She looked like the villainess Katinka Ingabogovinanana from the Zoolander movie and Taylor supressed a smile.
"If I take up Taylor's proposal you ladies may end up working closely. Veronique is FreeCom's marketing manager," Bradley explained.
"Well it was wonderful to meet you Taylor, but I have a dinner engagement so excuse me. See you tomorrow Bradley," Veronique turned and walked away, presenting her curvy figure, tight derriere and long legs sheathed in black fully-fashioned stockings.
Bradley tried not to stare but couldn't help it.
Bradley noticed that Taylor saw him watching Veronique as she walked away and he blushed. Taylor burst out laughing.
"She's something alright. Total bitch but the best marketing manager in the business," Bradley grinned.
"Yes. She's something alright," Taylor smiled.
Bradley glanced at his watch and looked surprised.
"Wow! I didn't realise it was so late. I hope I haven't kept you from something important?" Bradley looked genuinely concerned.
"Nope. Just a microwave dinner and an evening refining my code," Taylor smiled meekly.
"Hey. Look... I don't want to be forward; we've only just met. But would you like to join me for dinner? Nothing fancy, just a steak and a beer at Gibsons," Bradley gave Taylor that boyish grin.
Taylor looked apprehensive.
"You can tell me more about PostPay; make it a working dinner and then I'll drop you off home," Bradley's smile widened and Taylor couldn't help but return it.
"Great. Let me get my things from my office. Do you mind calling for a reservation while I pack up and get my car brought around front?" Bradley put his hand lightly in the middle of Taylor's back and guided her back to his office.
The ride to Gibsons in Bradley Freeman's late model BMW was comfortable despite Taylor having to constantly adjust her skirt. She wished the hem was just two or three inches longer, it's not like she was flashing her panties but the skirt rode high on her thighs whenever she sat down. Bradley Freeman seemed very amused by Taylor's efforts at maintaining her modesty but he was too much of a gentleman to say anything.
Taylor had managed to snag a table away from the crowd and she and Bradley each grabbed a glass of Gibsons Gold Helles Lager at the bar before they sat down. They ordered steaks and Bradley splashed out on a bottle of Rutherford Hill Merlot. The alcohol flowed freely as did the conversation.
Bradley was very interested in hearing more about PostPay but didn't go so far as committing FreeCom to the startup. They soon exhausted that discourse and moved on to talking about their personal lives as new acquaintances are want to do.
Taylor found it easier than she expected to adopt her male alter-ego's identity as her own and just change the gender to fit. She was born in the suburbs of Chicago twenty-five years ago and had no siblings, her mother and father had died in a helicopter crash over the Grand Canyon five years ago. Other than her uncle and aunt, her cousin with the same name, and two other female cousins she has no other family. She had completed her schooling at the Illinois Institute of Technology and worked for a few tech companies but has been working full time developing PostPay for the last six months, living off her parents life insurance (which was nearly exhausted but she didn't tell him that).
She lives alone in one a bedroom apartment on North Troy Street and does not have a boyfriend. The story she told was true, except that until two days ago she had been a man not a woman.
Bradley Freeman had also graduated from IIT but obviously a lot earlier than Taylor. He too had worked at various tech companies whilst undertaking a business degree. He had started FreeCom as a boutique tech company which diversified into financing tech startups and taking them on as subsidiaries.
He was thirty eight and divorced with no children, he didn't say if he had a current girlfriend but Taylor doubted that someone with his good looks and outgoing personality would remain unattached for long.
The wine on top of the beer was starting to affect her as was Bradley's smooth talk; he was an engaging and entertaining conversationalist. They spoke about current events and of course they both had a passion for the Bears who were having one of their best seasons in 2018.
Taylor was confused by her attraction to the man. She was still coming to grips with being a woman. She had managed the physical changes remarkably well but the changes to her psyche were a different matter. She found herself admiring men as well as women. Was she bisexual? She supposed that at some stage she would find out. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have sex as a woman. The two orgasms she had experienced so far were wonderful; the build-up was far more protracted and the climax itself was intense and prolonged and although her orgasm originated in her clitoris, her whole body seemed enmeshed in the phenomenon.
Time flew and Taylor was enjoying herself; really enjoying being a woman possibly for the first time. They finished the evening with two rounds of Jack Daniels and by then Taylor was well and truly inebriated. Bradley seemed to be handling his drink better but he was in no condition to drive.
"Look Taylor, I'm sorry. I promised you a ride home but I'm obviously in no fit state to drive. I'll get us a car and drop you off. I'm not blaming you but I've found your company so delightful that the evening has got away from me," Bradley gave her that grin again.
"Nonsense Bradley. I'm a big girl and I can find my own way home; I'll get an Uber," Taylor countered.
"Don't be like that. You know I don't want anything to happen to you, let me at least see you safely to your door," Bradley said sincerely.
Taylor stood up and realised that she was a little tipsier than she thought.
"A car might be a good idea. But let me pay for half. You order one while I visit the restroom," Taylor said.
She had to concentrate on walking and wished she could take off her heels. She made it back to their table without incident.
Bradley gallantly put his overcoat around her before they went outside as it was bitterly cold and windy. The town car was idling at the curb and he got the door for her. Taylor was too cold and tipsy to worry about her dignity as she scrambled into the back of the car, all ass and heels. Thankfully the car was toasty warm.
Bradley bundled in after her and slammed the door. Taylor gave the driver her address and began to struggle to get out of the coat.
"Here; let me help you with that," he leaned into her and put an arm around her to get hold the far side of the coat while Taylor bent forward slightly and tried to get her arm out of the sleeve.
They both started to laugh at the absurdity of it. Taylor's arm sprang free and she fell back, pinning Bradley's arm behind her which elicited another bout of raucous laughter. Bradley tried to pull his arm free causing Taylor to fall against him, her face inches from his. She gazed into his dark eyes and he into her green eyes. She could see the question on his face and she answered it by pressing her lips to his.
He kissed her and held her tight against him. Taylor pushed the bunched overcoat out of the way so she could feel his body, her breasts pressed into his chest and she felt her nipples begin to tingle. It felt different but it felt nice, as did Bradley's tongue in her mouth. He was using just the tip, being gentle, sensual. It was different being the submissive acquiescent partner but it felt so right.
Taylor returned Bradley's kiss and when his hand went inside her jacket she didn't stop him. He unbuttoned the top of her blouse and his fingers fumbled with the catch on her bra. They were cold against her skin but she didn't want him to stop. When Bradley hefted her breast and stroked her nipple she gasped into his mouth. The feeling was uniquely pleasant, she felt her nipple engorge.
The car braked suddenly and the couple were jolted. Bradley abruptly withdrew his hand and broke the kiss. Taylor looked bewildered.
"What did I do?" she searched his face.
"You? Nothing. It's what I did. I'm not that guy Taylor. This is wrong. You've been drinking, I'm the person in authority and you want me to back your startup," Bradley shook his head apologetically.
"So you're the one with the power in this situation, is that right?" Taylor asked him.
The time spent in the fresh air and the back seat tussle had sobered her up somewhat.
"I'm sorry Taylor," Bradley said humbly.
Taylor scooted the overcoat out of the way and clambered over Bradley so that she was straddling him. She put her hands on either side of his head and lowered her face to his. She crushed her lips against his and slipped her tongue into his mouth.
"Who has the power now?" she smiled down at him.
"You're amazing," Bradley smiled up at her and Taylor lowered her face to his and kissed him passionately.
She felt him cup her buttocks in his strong hands and squeeze; she was also pretty sure that she could feel his erection pressing against her. They kissed for a while and then the car slowed down.
"North Troy Street you love birds; you wanna give me a house number?" the driver said, the amusement in his voice evident.
"Just there," Taylor swivelled in Bradley's lap and pointed to her walk-up.
She leaned down to kiss Bradley again and the car stopped.
"Are you coming in?" she whispered.
"I'm not sure I should," Bradley said bashfully.
"Well I figure you're far too much a gentleman to leave a girl half-cooked and I'm not going to do the walk of shame from your place," Taylor smiled at him coquettishly.
"Are you sure?" Bradley searched her face.
Taylor nodded and untangled herself from him.
"Come on up Bradley. No obligation. Just two adults enjoying the perfect end to a lovely evening," Taylor said soberly.
"No obligation. This is nothing to do with PostPay?" Bradley restated.
"I'm not a hooker Bradley. I'm not for sale," Taylor said solemnly.
Bradley looked both anxious and apologetic.
"I'm joking you dummy. Come on," Taylor leaned in and kissed him quickly.
She took his coat and stepped out of the car and put the coat on for the short trip to her front door while Bradley took care of fare. He got out and pulled Taylor into his arms and kissed her. He started to shiver.
"Let's get in out of the cold," she allowed Bradley to put his arm around her and she led him to her front door.
She had to disengage to find her keys in her handbag.
"Are you sure? Are you positive?" Bradley asked again.
Taylor unlocked her door and put out her hand. Bradley took it and she ushered him inside.
The alcohol had mostly worked its way out of her system and Taylor was feeling both excitement and trepidation. She felt both licentious and inquisitive. What would it be like? She would soon find out.
Taylor's small apartment was lit only by the glowing screensavers on her workstations and she made no effort to turn on any lights. She shucked out of Bradley's overcoat and took his hand and led him to her bedroom. She switched on the bedside lamp and turned around and Bradley pulled her into his arms.
They kissed passionately, his hands once again finding their way inside her jacket and blouse and began to caress her breasts. Taylor sighed as her nipples hardened and tingled. The feeling was subtly erotic and it began to spread. She felt herself becoming wet.
Bradley eased himself out of the embrace and started to undress and Taylor took off her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.
"Don't take off any more clothes. I want to do it; it's like unwrapping a present," Bradley grinned.
He kicked off his shoes and socks and shucked out of his shirt and pants. Taylor was amused. Now that she was in the obverse position she realised that there was no way that a man could undress erotically like a woman could. Bradley was stripped down to his briefs, the bulk of his semi-erect penis bulging the pouch. Taylor wanted to touch it. To reach out and feel the heft and heat of it and the anticipation was making her wet.
Bradley kissed her again and then began to undress her. He undid the remaining buttons on her blouse and removed her brassiere. He paid some attention to her bosom using both his hands and mouth. He kissed her soft milky breasts and his lips found her nipples and Taylor moaned when he began to use his tongue and then his teeth. Taylor guided his face from one breast to another in turn, as her nipples became highly sensitive.
Bradley continued to use his mouth on her breasts as he unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor, pooling around her ankles. Then he kissed her again and held her close; she could feel his erection pressing against her body. It was warm; his body was cold.
"Let's get under the covers," Taylor whispered, kicking off her heels.
She hooked her fingers in the waistband of her pantyhose, intending to peel them off along with the panties she wore over them.
"Leave them on. They'll keep us warm," Bradley whispered in her ear and squeezed her buttocks.
"Really? Is that all?" Taylor smiled coyly.
"Ok. I like them," Bradley smiled sheepishly.
"I get it," Taylor whispered and squeezed his cock through his underpants.
She got it. Her male alter-ego also liked women to leave on their nylons during sex and she had to admit that she liked the silky feel of them too when Bradley stroked her buttocks and thighs. She was becoming wetter and he hadn't even touched her there yet.
They slipped under the sheets and pulled up the covers and Bradley lay on top of her. He kissed her and she liked feeling his hard body lying on top of hers. He slipped his hand between their bodies and tugged at her panties. Taylor scooted up a little and let him slip them off then she took off his briefs. The feel of his hard cock pressing on her thigh was very erotic.
She reached for it, feeling the girth and the heat and the pulse of the powerful appendage. She scooped a bead of pre-ejaculate and coated his glans with the slippery fluid. She began to stroke it and it was Bradley's turn to gasp.
Bradley put his hand between Taylor's legs and she opened them wider for him. He massaged the tops of her thighs, lightly stroking her flesh through the gossamer pantyhose. He pressed his lips to hers as his fingers found her sex.
She was wet; her secretions had soaked into the crotch of her pantyhose. He opened her labia and pressed his finger on her tender nubbin, circling it through the translucent material. Taylor groaned and lifted her hips up off the bed, encouraging Bradley to press harder on her clitoris whilst she writhed beneath him.
She stroked his manhood, feeling it become fully tumescent, the veins pulsing under the sleek delicate dermis. Bradley drove his tongue into her mouth and snagged a nail in the diaphanous pantyhose and tore a hole in the crotch. His finger snaked inside and circled her clitoris. Rings of pleasure spread from between Taylor's legs and she felt a yearning, a need to feel Bradley inside her.
Taylor guided Bradley's phallus to her vulva and Bradley pushed it inside the hole he had ripped in her pantyhose and nestled his glans in the folds of her labia. She bit her lip and winced as Bradley pushed the head of his penis inside her vagina.
"Am I hurting you?" Bradley said; the concern in his voice evident.
Taylor wrapped her nylon-sheathed legs around his waist and lifted up her pelvis, slowly driving Bradley's hard cock inside her. She cried out as Bradley's penis tore her hymen.
She hadn't thought about the fact that she was a virgin; it had never entered her mind.
The pain was short and sharp and the wonderfulness of his cock filling her vagina and the magnificent sensations that erupted from her clitoris as his pubis pressed on it surmounted the pain which became a dull ache.
"Oh, Taylor you are so tight," Bradley groaned as his cock slid in and out of her velvety sheath.
The feeling was indescribably sublime and Taylor clung to him with her arms around Bradley's neck and her legs locked around his waist. She encouraged him, deliberately rubbing her nylons on the delicate skin of his flanks.
Bradley didn't take long to climax, which Taylor didn't mind one bit. She had been on the edge of extremis since he had entered her. The dull ache from her shredded hymen, the deep sense of fulfilment that came from deep inside her vagina and the scintillating rings of intense pleasure radiating from her clitoris combined to generate an orgasm of tumultuous gratification.
She felt Bradley's cock swell and quiver inside her and she knew that he was ejaculating. This spurned her on and amplified her pleasure. She screamed with the intensity of it and clung to Bradley, shaking and quivering as he jackhammered his cock in and out of her sodden cleft. Bradley kissed her hard and she returned it, slipping her tongue into his mouth.
They remained clenched together until their climaxes subsided. They kissed and petted for a while but they were both exhausted and it was late. They fell asleep in each other's arms.
Taylor awoke the next morning, her vulva sore but in a contented sort of way. She put out her hand but the bed was empty, however she could still feel the warmth of Bradley's body on the bedclothes.
She heard a noise and Bradley emerged from the bathroom. He was freshly showered and fully clothed. He came over and sat on the side of the bed and leaned over and kissed her.
"Sorry; I bet I have morning-breath," she smiled up at him.
"Nonsense. Thank you for a wonderful evening," he kissed her again and mussed her hair playfully.
"No, thank you," Taylor stretched.
"When you're up to it call me later today and arrange a meet. Let's talk some more about PostPay," he said.
"After lunch?" Taylor asked.
"Better yet; let's do lunch. I'll text you ok?" Bradley leaned down and softly kissed her hair.
Taylor nodded.
"By the way; I think you started your period," he whispered in her ear.
"I'm sorry," she frowned.
"Don't be sorry. You're beautiful," he kissed her again and then got up from the bed and left.
To be continued
USB - Unexplained Sexual Behaviour Chapter 2
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Chapter Two - Katcha Kovalenko
Taylor had not started menstruating; she had torn her hymen when she lost her virginity. There was in fact little bleeding, just a small dried patch on the inside of her left upper thigh and a few spots on the sheet.
She went back to sleep until around nine and then got out of bed and went for a run, had coffee and played with some code. At eleven she showered, did her hair and fixed her makeup. She decided to wear a short grey pleated-skirt with dark mauve opaque tights to keep her legs warm, a light-pink knit sweater with plain t-shirt under and her tan suede ankle-boots. She accessorised with a white wool scarf, gold earrings and bracelets.
Just as she had finished dressing she received a text from Bradley Freeman: 'The Gage 1230'.
Taylor took the Blue Line 'L' which took about forty minutes to get to the Loop and during that time she thought about the previous evening. Was having sex with Bradley a good idea? Did it imply that she was easy and available to him whenever he wanted? Did he think that, despite her objections to the contrary, she expected him to favour her business proposal in return for fucking him?
She didn't regret losing her virginity; it was a memorable experience but had it come at a cost to her integrity? She would soon find out.
It was a five minute walk from Monroe Station to The Gage restaurant on South Michigan Avenue located just across from the Crown Fountain. The place was busy and she told the hostess at the door that she was meeting Bradley Freeman and was directed to a booth where Bradley was sitting with Veronique Pascal.
"Hello Kmart," Veronique gave her a bright-red lipstick smile displaying her perfect white teeth.
"Behave Veronica. Hello Taylor, please join us," Bradley greeted Taylor by standing and kissing her cheek.
This gesture was not lost on Veronique.
"So we are saying hello the continental way? Very friendly Bradley," Veronique said cynically.
"Hello Bradley, hello Veronica," Taylor replied, a little miffed that Veronique had joined them for lunch.
Bradley scooted over so that Taylor could sit and he sat beside her, opposite Veronique.
The waitress arrived and as Veronique and Bradley were ready to order she allowed Bradley to order on her behalf. Veronique ordered a farmer's salad and Bradley ordered a crab Louie sandwich. Veronique had a Sauvignon Blanc and Bradley and Taylor agreed to share a pitcher of IPA.
"I don't normally drink at lunch but you need a cold ale to wash down a good crab Louie, besides we have something to celebrate," Bradley beamed.
Taylor looked a little bewildered. She thought that she was joining Bradley for an informal lunch.
"I've decided to fund your startup," Bradley beamed.
"You are?" Taylor was delighted but a little dumbfounded that FreeCom had made the decision so quickly.
"I worked the financials this morning and Veronique consulted with some of our big retailers and they all reacted positively. What do you think Taylor do you want to come on board FreeCom?" Bradley asked.
"Sure. I mean yes. I mean of course," Taylor stammered.
"Congratulations Kmart; now you can buy some clothes," Veronique quipped but she was smiling.
"But seriously; the retailors and vendors I spoke to this morning are very excited," Veronique patted Taylor's hand affectionately.
Drinks arrived and toasts were made. The sandwich, as promised, was delicious although Taylor figured she'd need to double-distance her run the next day to work off the calories. Bradley's hand strayed to her legs under the table and he stroked her knees a little. It was nothing overtly sexual, Taylor knew he had a thing for nylons and his fingers softly circled her inner thigh, it was more comforting than sexual and she quite liked it.
"Ok, so what do you say we finish up and go back to the office and commence this venture?" Bradley announced as their plates were being cleared.
"I'm hardly dressed for work," Taylor protested.
"I'll give you a dispensation, just this once," Bradley joked.
They walked the couple of blocks back to FreeCom and took the elevator to the eighteenth floor. Bradley cheekily squeezed her butt in the elevator. He was standing beside her at the back of the car as it was crowded with employees returning from lunch. Taylor brushed his hand away. She was flattered by Bradley's little gestures but wasn't sure if it was genuine affection or if he was taking liberties.
Did he think that because he was funding her startup that he owned her body or that she was obliged to let him fondle her whenever the fancy took him?
Bradley had texted ahead and one of the small conference rooms was set up for them.
"I gotta take a leak; shouldn't have had that second glass of beer. You ladies go on and I'll catch up," Bradley peeled off towards the men's.
"I'll take a restroom break too," Taylor had gone at The Gage but the brisk walk through the cold Chicago streets had done its job.
Veronique followed Taylor into the ladies and they took a stall each. They finished at the same time, washed their hands and stood shoulder to shoulder at the mirror fixing their lipstick. When Taylor turned to leave Veronique suddenly turned her around and pressed her against the wall and leaned into her.
"Be careful of Bradley. He's a charmer and a pretty good lay but he's a ruthless businessman. He didn't get where he is by sharing all his toys," Veronique's bright-red lipsticked lips had formed the kind of sneer that only European women seemed to be able to master.
Taylor just nodded and turned to leave.
"I'm serious Kmart, be careful. You write good programs but you are not business savvy," Veronique stepped back and let Taylor leave the restroom.
They were joined in the conference room by a serious looking young man who it turned out was from FreeCom's legal department and he ran Taylor through the contract. His name was Hugh Fleetwood and he rambled on for what seemed like an eternity.
"Look, most of it is just boilerplate but the gist is: PostPay, which is described in these documents as a company wholly owned by Taylor Averille, becomes a subsidiary company of FreeCom but you maintain control of your company," Hugh Fleetwood explained.
"What this means is that as a subsidiary of FreeCom you get to use all of FreeCom's resources to promote and implement PostPay's business model and to carry out the daily technical, economic and financial undertakings of the company. Profits made by executing this business model are shared equally between FreeCom and PostPay," Hugh extrapolated.
"I also have documents here ready for you to sign in order for you to copyright your software and system architecture; I can't believe that you haven't done so already,' Hugh said in an admonishing tone.
Taylor blushed.
"That's why I never disclosed the whole program and architectural hierarchy and only provided samples to potential backers," Taylor said in her defence.
"So anyway... You're going to want to take most of this to your own legal counsel to have it reviewed and revised before you sign it, except for the copyright registration which I suggest you sign right now," Hugh Fleetwood finally stopped to take a breath.
"Wow that's a lot!" Taylor, whose expertise was in coding and programming, had never realised how complicated the corporate and legal side of her product would be.
"Look Taylor. It's not that hard. In simple terms I give you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars up front as a goodwill payment. PostPay becomes a subsidiary of FreeCom but you maintain the controlling interest and we split the profits fifty-fifty," Bradley gave Taylor that boyish grin again.
"Well that sounds good to me. Where do I sign?" Taylor returned the grin.
"Wait!" Veronique interrupted.
"As much as I want to get to work selling PostPay to my clients, promoting the product and making us all lots of money, I think we need to ensure due diligence is done here. We are offering Miz Averille a good deal I'm sure, but this is all happening very fast and Miz Averille is not effectively represented. This could lead to complications down the track if, and I doubt it will come to that, but it will become an issue if Miz Averille challenges the deal later. Let's all meet our legal and moral obligations," Veronique put her expertly manicured fingers on top of the documents.
Bradley's smile morphed into a scowl but his demeanour changed back to one of pleasantness almost instantly, it was like watching some therianthropial being.
"Of course you are right Veronica, I think we all got caught up in the moment," Bradley nodded sagely, but it was obvious that he was hoping to have the contract signed today.
"I'll sign the copyright registration now because that protects me," Taylor tapped the document in front of her.
Everyone around the table agreed.
"And I'll deposit the advance into your account as a gesture of goodwill. It'll give you a little stipend to start with," Bradley patted Taylor's hand.
"Ok we're done for now," Hugh Fleetwood gathered the documents together, put them in a binder and handed them to Taylor.
"As soon as your legal counsel has reviewed the documents, send me any proposed changes and we'll nut it out and get this deal signed. I want to start making money," Bradley stood and the rest of them followed suit.
Bradley escorted Taylor to the foyer.
"Dinner again tonight?" He smiled at her.
"I don't think so Bradley. I've got a lot to get through here," Taylor nodded at the files that she was clutching to her chest.
"Ok, I get it and call me Brad please," he leaned in and kissed her cheek chastely.
All of this was witnessed by Veronique who was standing in the doorway of her office watching intently.
Taylor took the L back home and dropped the documents on the bench next to her workstations and did a little dance. She knew that if anyone saw her doing her little jig she would be terribly embarrassed but she was just so excited. Female Taylor had been able to achieve in three days what her male alter-ego was unable to accomplish in two years. The oracle in the USB was right!
There was a knock on the door which surprised Taylor. She seldom had visitors, especially at this time of day. It was late afternoon.
"You live here like this Kmart?" Veronique looked disparagingly around the apartment.
Veronique had barged into the apartment as soon as Taylor opened the door.
"It's Walmart! I bought my clothes at Walmart!' Taylor stamped her foot indignantly.
"Tomayto - tomahto. Tomorrow we will go shopping and I will dress you like you own your own company. I need to be able to sell you Taylor; you are part of the PostPay brand now," Veronique continued to look around the little apartment with distain.
"We'll find you somewhere decent to live, you can't stay here," Veronique waved her hand dismissively.
Taylor's high spirits dissipated instantly and she stepped up to Veronique, standing only inches away and stared into her icy blue eyes.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Taylor glared at her.
Veronique didn't flinch. She searched Taylor's face, and then she bought her hand to her cheek and softly stroked it.
"You are a very stunning woman; not a classic beauty by any means but any bimbo can be pretty. You are far better. You are interesting... intriguing. You behave like a woman who is not sure of whom she is, like you are new to being a woman. Your behaviours seem almost rehearsed," Veronique smiled at Taylor.
Both women were tall and they stood eye to eye, only inches apart.
"You don't have a dick under that skirt do you Kmart?" Veronique put her hand under Taylor's skirt and grabbed her between the legs.
Taylor refused to be intimidated and she stood still, glaring at Veronique while she felt her pubis through her satin panties.
"Well did you find one?" Taylor glowered.
"Did I find one what?" Veronique tilted her head questioningly.
"A dick," Taylor hissed.
Veronique slipped her hand inside the waistband of Taylor's tights and found her sex. She slipped a finger inside Taylor's labia and stroked her sex.
Taylor trembled.
"No. I found something better," Veronique removed her hand and bought the offending finger to her lips and licked it.
Veronique leaned in closer to Taylor, her lips actually touching Taylor's earlobe, sending shivers down her spine.
"You taste good. I'm sorry for doubting you," Veronique took a step back.
"But we don't have time for this mischief. I know a boutique law firm that specialises in corporate law; I use them myself and they have no affiliation with FreeCom or Bradley Freeman. I took the liberty of sending copies of the contract over to them for review," Veronique was suddenly all business.
Taylor's shoulders drooped and she suddenly felt exhausted.
"Why are you doing all this Veronica? Helping me with legal assistance, finding me a new apartment, shopping, what the fuck?" Taylor was confused.
Veronique stepped back into Taylor and but her hand on her upper arm in a comforting gesture.
"Because it's my job. I have to sell PostPay and I have to sell you along with it. I can't have some gangly computer coder accompany me to business meetings. I need a smart sassy executive who looks like she can kick ass and take names; someone who looks the part; someone who looks like they own a successful finance technology company."
"You are part of the brand, whether you like it or not," Veronique explained.
Taylor nodded; it made sense now.
Veronique leaned even closer, her body pressing against Taylor's.
"And also because for some reason I like you Taylor," Veronique gently kissed Taylor on the lips.
The kiss was fleeting, Veronique's lips felt like the fluttering wings of a butterfly, her breath tasted like sweet like nectar but tinged with spice like cinnamon. Taylor stood stiffly with her arms by her side, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted.
Veronique turned away and picked up her handbag from where she had tossed it on the couch.
"Be ready tomorrow at nine. We have a viewing at nine-thirty then we are going shopping. Check your account; the advance should be in there by now. We are going to deplete it a little tomorrow," Veronique's heels click-clacked on the boards as she walked to the door.
She let herself out.
Taylor still stood stock still with her hands by her sides.
"She called me Taylor," Taylor whispered and then she smiled.
Taylor had a quiet night home alone, she fielded calls from Brad Freeman pestering her to go out for drinks, then later for dinner and finally he offered to come around to her apartment. She respectfully declined each invitation despite his insistence.
Taylor checked her bank account online and was delighted to find it had swelled considerably. There was an accompanying email from her bank requesting she come into the branch and talk to their manager about opening an investment account rather than the savings account she currently held with them.
She slept soundly after pleasuring herself. During the act her mind kept vacillating between images of Brad Freeman fucking her hard and Veronique Pascal kissing her deeply whilst she used her fingers on her sex. She imagined she could feel Veronique's finger still inside her cleft.
She was ready to go at nine and just as well. Veronique texted her and told her that she was waiting in a town car outside. Taylor was wearing the same outfit she had worn yesterday only with a fresh t-shirt and yellow tights this time.
Taylor clambered into the back of the car to find Veronique wearing her usual dark designer short-skirted power suit and Christian Louboutin's. She winced when she saw how Taylor was dressed but said nothing.
"Good morning Veronica," Taylor used her abbreviated name.
"Good morning Taylor," Veronique leaned in and kissed each of Taylor's cheeks.
Veronique smelled wonderful. Taylor appraised her sharp cheekbones, full lips and severe black bob and had to admit that she was envious. She was wearing black fully-fashioned stockings and Taylor thought that she might like to try them... once she had the clothes to match of course.
The driver stopped outside of the 'Millennium on LaSalle' located at 29 South LaSalle Street right on the Loop; it would be walking distance to work. An impeccably dressed and attractive real estate agent met them in the foyer; the agent and Veronique exchanged air-kisses whilst Taylor settled for a handshake.
She was shown to a one bedroom apartment which she immediately fell in love with. It was modern and impeccably furnished; 745 square feet and open plan. She could take it for $3,300 per month or $4,300 furnished as is.
Taylor signed the lease then and there, taking up the agent's offer of letting the apartment furnished.
"Ok Taylor, you have somewhere to live, now let's get you a wardrobe," Veronique said when they climbed back in the limo.
Taylor and Veronique spent four hours shopping, taking time out for a quick lunch. The raided every high-end shop on the Magnificent Mile and managed to fill the town car with boxes, shopping bags and suit-carriers. They took it all back to Taylor's new apartment and Veronique helped Taylor put away her purchases in an ordered fashion so that she could easily coordinate her wardrobe.
They went back to Taylor's old apartment and dropped Taylor off. They agreed to meet for drinks and dinner that night.
"Are we friends now Veronique?" Taylor asked her before alighting from the car.
"I don't know what we are Taylor, but we are something," she kissed Taylor's cheek in farewell.
Taylor packed up all of her male clothing into boxes which she labelled 'store'. Taylor probably wouldn't keep most of it anyway when she transitioned back into a man; male Taylor would need a corporate image when he reappeared. She packed her personal possessions, which were meagre to say the least. Except for the lingerie and hosiery, the Walmart wardrobe went into boxes labelled Goodwill.
She had purchased all new cosmetics and toiletries so except for the computers, there was nothing in the apartment she needed or wanted. She took her personal possessions and two suitcases full of necessities and was ready to leave; her town car would be here soon. No more Ubers for Taylor. A moving company would come and put what she needed to keep into storage and drop the remainder at Goodwill. Some tech wizards from FreeCom would relocate her computers to her new apartment. She was ready to leave her old life for good.
"Shit!" she said when she was on the apartment stoop.
She gave her things to the driver and rushed back inside. She opened the drawer where she kept the plethora of computer peripherals and accessories and took out the magic USB drive.
"I can't lose that now can I? Don't want to be stuck in this body forever," she smiled to herself and dropped the USB into her purse.
Taylor put away her things and stood in the middle of her new apartment and pinched herself. This had to be a dream. How could this have possibly happened? It wasn't a dream but it was certainly a miracle. She took the matte-black USB device out of her purse and stared at it. It remained dull and lifeless.
"Eighty six days to go. I need to get PostPay established and think of an exit strategy. Somehow female Taylor needs to disappear and male Taylor needs to reappear. Plenty of time to think about that," she said to herself and headed to the bathroom, she was keen to try her new rainfall shower.
Taylor stripped and luxuriated under the warm water for thirty minutes, dried herself and brushed her teeth and her hair having put on a fluffy bathrobe. The central heating in the apartment kept the temperature at a comfortable 78 degrees. She clutched a gin and tonic and looked out the full-length windows at the cityscape watching the night begin to fall.
She had shopped online for groceries and essentials whilst she was out shopping with Veronique and had the food and beverages delivered, pre-approving access to her apartment with the concierge. She was thinking she could get used to this luxurious lifestyle where necessities were taken care of for her. She wasn't rich yet but she was comfortable and well prepared for the profits from PostPay to keep her and after her, her male counterpart in the luxury that she was about to become accustomed to.
It had been another long day and Taylor would have been more than happy to spend another night alone, this time in the luxury of her new digs, but she had committed to dinner and drinks with Veronique and she was determined to meet her obligations. Beside, Veronique was fascinating and Taylor wanted to find out more about her.
Taylor fixed her hair and makeup and surveyed her new wardrobe. She selected a simple but elegant black longsleeved cocktail dress and laid it on the bed. She rummaged through her new lingerie and selected a black satin and lace bra and panty set and Jonathan Aston 12 denier seamed holdup stockings. Imported from London they were a luxury she could now afford.
Being a woman was still very new to Taylor and whilst she had experienced some of the drawbacks of being female, the little delights such as wearing alluring lingerie were exciting. She slipped into her underwear and put on and adjusted the dress, checking herself in the mirror. She opened the jewellery case in her walk-in closet and selected silver drop earrings set with emeralds and the matching necklace and ring. Veronique had assured her that the expense was worth it as the stones accentuated her green eyes.
Taylor excitedly slipped her feet into the black Manolo Blahnik stilettos and took a turn around the room; she was getting better at walking in heels. She sprayed herself with perfume, packed only the essentials into her clutch purse and put her Max Mara Manuel black camelhair coat over her arm.
"Ok honey, let's take this new girl out for a spin," she chuckled to herself as she called the elevator.
She stopped in the foyer to put on her coat and saw a passing housewife dig her husband in the ribs when he stared at her. Taylor smiled and tied the belt tightly around her waist and pulled up the collar in anticipation of the cold wind that would greet her on the street. The bar-restaurant was only two blocks over and she wanted to walk to clear her head.
The hostess at the chic establishment took Taylor's coat and directed her to the bar where Veronique stood looking magnificent in a simple red Claudie Pierlot stretch-ponté mini dress, sheer taupe hosiery and cherry-red high heels. There were three handsome well-dressed men paying attention to her as she engaged them in conversation.
"Ok gentlemen, time for you to shoo, my friend and I have much to discuss," Veronique waved the men away.
"Maybe we could stay and keep you company. Two beautiful ladies such as yourselves deserve to be pampered. Let us buy you dinner," one of the men replied as Taylor arrived at the bar.
"Hello darling, wonderful to see you again," Veronique caught Taylor off guard as she pulled her tight and kissed her passionately on the lips.
Still holding Taylor in her arms Veronique turned to the three astonished men.
"Are you still here? As you can see we have no use for men," Veronique mocked the man who had offered to buy them dinner.
The men dispersed and Veronique released Taylor and then kissed her chastely on the cheeks.
"Hello Taylor. Sorry about that but rather than waste time trying to discourage those men it was easier to pretend that they have no chance of fucking us," Veronique reached for her drink.
Taylor was still taken aback but she recovered.
"How do you know they wanted to fuck us, they seemed nice enough?" Taylor countered.
"They are men. They have dicks. Unless they are gay they want to fuck us," Veronique waved her hand dismissively.
"Now let me get you a drink. Two Absolut Crystal's on ice please," she called out to the bartender.
"How are you finding your new living arrangements?" Veronique studied her from over the rim of her glass.
"I can't believe that less than a week ago I was living in a rundown walk-up, wearing department store clothing, watching the last of my savings dwindle, schlepping PostPay around town with no one showing any interest. It's almost like a dream," Taylor confided.
"Don't complain Taylor. People... women in particular, have had it far worse than you and have overcome their adversity. Just enjoy what you have. You think it is some kind of miracle but believe me, I've seen PostPay and I see the potential. It's your work; you've earned everything you have," Veronique said soberly.
"Thank you," Taylor smiled.
Veronique seemed to have transformed from a cynical bitch to her best friend in very short timeframe.
"Come on; let's get some dinner," Veronique swallowed her drink and led Taylor to the dining room.
They ate lobster and made girl-talk. Taylor was guarded and listened intently to what Veronique had to say, picking up her nuances and her way of communicating, storing the information to assist her in projecting herself as a confident, feminine, powerful woman.
They drank champagne to celebrate and over dessert they spoke business.
"Make sure you listen to your lawyers tomorrow Taylor. Make sure that the contract is exactly what you want it to be, that it suits you. PostPay is your commodity, make sure you keep ownership," Veronique warned her.
"That's twice now that you have hinted that Bradley Freeman might not be all that he seems," Taylor frowned.
"Oh Bradley is a wonderful man. We were lovers for a while and have been business partners for quite some time and he has treated me well and I have worked hard for him. But he is still a man and you are still a woman. Men... particularly powerful men, often see women as prey, especially if they are vulnerable."
"You came to see him dressed in your Walmart suit, eager to make a deal, you had been rejected by numerous other financiers. He won't admit it, he was probably not even aware of it himself, but you were vulnerable."
"Like I said, Bradley is a nice guy but it is likely that he would be unable to control a subconscious urge to take advantage of you. It's just the way men are. Even the nice guys," Veronique shrugged.
Veronique insisted on picking up the tab, despite Taylor's new-found wealth.
"Shall we have a nightcap?" Veronique asked as they collected their coats.
"Where?" Taylor asked.
Taylor thought that she would be tired but the contrary was true, she was hyped up and far from sleepy.
"Your place is closer," Veronique said straightforwardly and opened the door and held it for Taylor.
The women huddled together as they made their way through the cold quiet windy streets, their heels skittering on the pavement.
Inside Taylor's apartment it was warm and cosy; the subdued lamplight gave the place an intimate ambience. Taylor hung up their coats and settled Veronique onto a white leather lounge. She poured them both a generous measure of scotch, kicked off her heels and settled down next to Veronique and folded her legs under her.
"I like this place Taylor; it's good for you," Veronique smiled.
"You should like it. You picked it for me," Taylor smiled back.
"Well, I have taste and I think you might be getting a taste for the finer things in life too. You certainly know how to shop," Veronique sipped her drink.
"One again with your assistance. You have a very good sense of style," Taylor countered.
"Things are moving fast for you Taylor; enjoy it, but like I said, just make sure you remain in control of your destiny," Veronique said earnestly.
Taylor scooted closer to Veronique, her scent was heady.
"You seem very cautious and have a contemptuous attitude to men. I sense that you have been wronged by a man or by men at some time," Taylor reached out and put a comforting hand on Veronique's shoulder.
"Hah! If you only knew Taylor! If you only knew," Veronique sighed.
"So tell me. Tell me why you don't trust men," Taylor whispered.
Veronique's icy-blue eyes searched Taylor's emerald eyes and then she stroked Taylor's cheek affectionately.
"It is not a good bedtime story Taylor. It will give you bad dreams," Veronique's smile was blanched.
For some reason Taylor felt sympathy for this bold, cold, confident women, she sensed a vulnerability. She snuggled up to her and put her head on Veronique's shoulder.
"Tell me anyway. You said we are not friends but we are something. So tell me about yourself and maybe we can be friends," Taylor nuzzled her forehead against Veronique's neck.
"Ok Taylor, but I warned you," Veronique whispered.
*****
Katcha Kovalenko had just turned eighteen when her mother came to her with the proposal. They were living in a tiny crowded government subsidised flat in a crumbling concrete apartment block in Lviv and living hand to mouth.
"Tatyana's daughter Irena is making a lot of money working as an au pair in Germany. She sends her mother two hundred Euros a month and she is living well in Bonn."
Tatyana was their next door neighbour and recently she seemed to be living a lot better lifestyle than the other families on their floor. Katcha was well aware that her friend Irena had gone to Germany for work; Irena had been very excited about the prospect.
"You meet this man at Uzhhorod station on Friday. He will get you into Munich through Slovakia and Austria to meet the people who run the employment agency. This man is a good man, Tatyana vouches for him, he took care of Irena and now she lives well and her mother is well cared for," her mother handed her a card and a train ticket.
"So it is all arranged. I have no say," Katcha said heatedly.
"The factory where you work in is closed. You are out of work. We are nearly starving. Be kind to your mother, go to Germany and get a good job. You will be happy and I will have some money to live on," her mother stroked her daughter's hair, just the way she had when Katcha was a little girl.
Her mother knew how to make Katcha feel guilty and how to get her to bend her mother's wishes.
"Wear you best clothes, you will need to look good," her mother said.
The conversation was over.
Katcha came out of Uzhhorod railway station looking confused and a little frightened. She was turning the business card that her mother had given her over and over in her fingers.
"Katcha? Katcha?" a big bellied man in his forties who had once been handsome but had let himself go approached her.
He was smiling and he looked happy to see her.
"I'm Uri. I'm here to take you to Germany," he took her little suitcase and indicted for her to follow him.
"It will take us about a day to get there. We have a few stops along the way," they were walking to the car park.
They halted next to a windowless white transit van.
"Sorry about the mode of transport, we had a bus but it broke. You know how reliable our Ukrainian vehicles are," he joked.
"Anyway it won't hurt that you are incognito so to speak. None of you girls have work visas but that won't be a problem when we get there, the agency will fix that up for you," Uri smiled and Katcha nodded.
"Speaking of visas, better you give me your passport now so that if we get stopped I can hand all the passports to the police or border guards," he put out his hand.
Katcha rummaged in her backpack and pulled out her passport and handed it to Uri.
Uri opened the document and checked it and then put it in his jacket.
"Come, meet the others," Uri opened the sliding door to the transit van.
The cargo compartment of the van had been fitted with padded bench seating and four other girls peered out the door at her.
"Girls; meet Katcha. Introduce yourselves, make her welcome. Show her where the snacks and drinks are stored. Katcha is our last passenger at Uzhhorod, next stop is Trnava in Slovakia so if you need to piss go now," Uri grinned showing tobacco stained teeth.
"Up front is Chessa, he will share the driving with me," Chessa turned in his seat and waved.
He was younger that Uri and very handsome.
"Ok. Let's go," Katcha climbed into the van and an attractive blonde girl offered a hand to help her while Uri tossed Katcha's suitcase into the rear of the cargo compartment.
She watched Uri take a small valise out of the glove compartment and toss her passport in it. The valise appeared to have all of the girl's passports in it.
"I'm Anna, this is Gordana, this is Zoya and this is Olga," the girl who had assisted Katcha introduced her to the other passengers.
They were all girls in their late teens or early twenties, all trying to look their best in their cheap clothes, home-cut hairstyles and bargain-bin shoes. All of the girls had the same story: no work, no prospects, poor families, desperate for a better life.
They were all excited about going to Germany for work. They all knew other girls who had gone there and found work as au pairs, nannies, housemaids, hairdressers, waitresses and other menial but well-paid jobs. There was also the opportunity for improvement; some of the girls had taken training courses. They had all been recruited by the same agency, the agency that had recruited her friend Irena.
What Katcha found a little unnerving was that just like her, none of the girls in the van had heard directly from their friends now working in Germany. They had heard of their good fortune from third parties.
The trip to Trnava took around six hours. The van bypassed Trnava itself and just as dusk began to settle the van turned down a dirt road surrounded by deep forest.
"Ok girls. Time for a piss break," Chessa called from the front.
The girls had been snacking and drinking the pop provided for them by Uri and they all needed to go. The van pulled into a clearing and stopped.
"Sorry there are no facilities here ladies, you will just have to go in the bushes," Chessa chuckled.
The girls hopped out of the van and found privacy where they could in the low scrub. Katcha pulled down her pantyhose and panties and squatted in the long grass and relived herself. When she came out of the scrub she saw that there was another van parked in the clearing and two other men were talking to Uri and Chessa, smoking cigarettes and haggling intently.
"Ok girls, over here please," Uri called to the gaggle of young women as they emerged from the scrub.
"Line up here please; the agency guys want to meet you," he said.
"This is Peter and this is Gunther. They work for the employment agency," Uri pointed to the two brutish looking men.
Katcha suddenly felt trepidation and fear wash over her. She felt cold and numb but she did what she was told. The girls lined up and looked at each other nervously, a couple of them were obviously thinking the same thoughts as Katcha and began to shake and Olga began to cry.
The men spoke to each other in guttural German-accented Ukrainian, they were arguing about something. Then the two German men came over and looked at the girls. They treated them like livestock, lifting their chins, examining their bodies, squeezing them here and there.
"What's going on?" Katcha asked.
"Nothing. Nothing. These are the men from the employment agency; they will take you the rest of the way," Uri said dismissively.
Katcha did not believe him.
Gunther went over to the other van and bought out a roll of blankets which he dropped on the ground.
"Gunther will try the blonde and I will try that one," Peter pointed at Olga.
Gunther came over and took Anna out of the line-up, gripping her by her upper arm. He stopped to pick up a blanket and led her into a smaller clearing in the scrub. Peter, a large-framed man in his forties came over to Olga who was standing beside Katcha and tried to do the same but Olga struggled and cried out. He raised a hand to slap her but Katcha leapt in front of him.
"Leave her. She will be no good to you. She will fight and kick and cry and struggle. Take me. I won't give you any trouble, I'll show you a good time," Katcha said, almost retching as she spoke.
"Sure. Why not? I just need to take care of my needs right now, you're all available to us anytime we want anyway," Peter took her by the arm, picked up a blanket and led Katcha into another small clearing where he unrolled the blanket.
"You know what is about to happen?" Peter unbuckled his belt, unzipped his flies and pushed his jeans and his underpants down to his knees.
He had a large gnarly erection, just visible in the fading light.
Katcha was resigned to her fate. At least she had spared Olga, who appeared to be the most innocent of the girls. She began to unzip her skirt.
"Hey! We have no time for that!" Peter pushed Katcha down onto the blanket.
He lifted her skirt and tugged her pantyhose and panties down her thighs and shoved Katcha onto her back. She opened her legs as wide as the bunched up underwear would allow and Peter knelt between them.
"You're a good girl. No fighting. No stupidity. You will do well in Munich. Don't bite me when I kiss you or I'll punch out your teeth," Peter grunted.
Katcha knew that it was most likely an empty threat. Where they were going they would want the girls to have all their teeth.
Peter lay on top of her and poked at her vagina with his big hard cock. Katcha was no virgin and she knew it would hurt her if he put it in her unlubricated.
"Here. Let me," Katcha reached down and took the monstrous organ in her hand and began to stroke it.
Peter crushed his lips on hers and drove his tongue into her mouth and Katcha opened her mouth and let him. In fact she even encouraged him, using her own tongue on him while she stroked his throbbing cock extruding as much pre-ejaculate as she could. She worked the slippery fluid on the head and shaft, lubricating it as best she could.
He started to jab at her vagina again and it hurt, so Katcha guided his phallus between her labia and rubbed the head on her sensitive lips. She wasn't aroused really but the feel of his manhood pressing into her sex induced a Pavlovian effect and she began to secrete vaginal juices.
Peter was impatient and he drove his huge cock inside Katcha causing her to wince with the pain of it. She refused to let him know he had hurt her and she put her arms around his neck and her legs around his back and rose to meet his trusts, returning his passionate kisses.
Her body betrayed her. Katcha liked sex and the feel of this brute's body on top of her, his pubis pressing on her clitoris, his thick cock filling her sheath and the fervour of his kisses caused Katcha to become aroused. She held on to him tightly as he fucked her hard and fast and she rode along with him to a shattering climax. She couldn't help but moan with lust but hoped the other girls didn't hear.
When Peter had finished with her he climbed off and fumbled around pulling up and fixing his trousers. Katcha began to sob but she choked it down. She felt disgusted with herself but at the same time she was proud that her survival instinct had prevented her from being hurt. She pulled up her pantyhose and panties.
"You are a good fuck. You will make plenty money," the man said gutturally and then roughly grabbed her arm and dragged her back to the vans, stopping briefly to pick up the blanket.
Anna was standing back in line, she was crying quietly. Her nylons were laddered and her hair was dishevelled and it looked like she had the beginnings of a black eye.
"So... two thousand American dollars each right? They are worth it," Uri lifted his chin to Peter.
Peter looked at Gunther and he nodded. Peter handed Uri a fat envelope and they shook hands.
"Watch the girls awhile. I want to fuck one before we leave," Uri said and Chessa grinned and nodded.
Olga was spared and Uri and Chessa dragged Zoya and Gordana into the bushes.
Peter and his friend stared menacingly at the three remaining girls.
Peter came over to Katcha and lifted her chin. She stared back at him defiantly.
"I think I'll go again," he grunted.
This time he took her around the back of the van and pushed her face-first into the side of it. He dropped his pants, kicked her legs apart and pulled down her underwear just enough so he could get inside her. He held onto Katcha's hips and fucked her; she pushed out her ass to assist him. She was not in any way aroused this time but it didn't matter, she was still wet from his cum and her own vaginal secretions.
He came quickly and dragged her back to the line. Zoya and Gordana were being dragged back to the line-up, Gordana was sobbing but Zoya held her head up high.
"Ok. Get in!" This time there was no pretext of friendship and the back of the new van was bare except for the now cum-spattered blankets.
It was dark but Katcha could see Uri hand the valise containing their passports to Peter.
The girls clung to each other for comfort and mutual support as they consoled and supported each other. Katcha and Zoya were indignant, refusing to show any remorse. Gordana was sobbing uncontrollably and Anna was catatonic. Olga, the only girl who hadn't been raped, was shivering frenziedly with fear.
"Shut up back there or I'll come back and kick your asses!" Gunther shouted at them.
The girls tried to sleep in the back of the van but it was cold and uncomfortable. They huddled together for warmth. In the morning they stopped in another forest clearing and the girls were allowed to urinate.
Peter took Zoya into the bushes and used her and then Gunther took Olga. Zoya was her stoic self when she returned but Olga was an emotional wreck.
The girls arrived at their final destination; an apartment block on the outskirts of Munich. The girls were directed to pick up their belongings and followed Peter and Gunther up several flights of stairs and were bundled into a well-appointed reception room. An attractive stylishly dressed woman in her late thirties was there to greet them; she spoke Ukrainian with a Russian accent.
"I am Yana and I am your boss. You girls should consider yourselves lucky. Many of your kind spend their days in cramped cells where they service customers all day and all night. Here you will each have your own room, which you will be required to keep spotlessly clean," the woman announced.
"You will be ready to start work at six in the evening until six in the morning. Two of you will rotate through the day shift from six in the morning until six in the evening to service any day customers."
"There are clothes, toiletries and other necessities in your rooms; food will be delivered. There is a kitchen for you to share where there are snacks and drinks. Drinking is permitted but don't get drunk when you are working. We have a no drugs policy, unless I prescribe them."
"We provide birth control pills and condoms. If you contract an STI because you didn't use condoms, the cost of the doctor will be deducted from your pay. You will each be given a check-up before you start work," Yana took a breath.
"This isn't what I came here for," Zoya said indignantly.
Yana ignored her and continued.
"I have your passports, this place is secure and all of the doors and windows are locked and alarmed. You will be billed for your rent, lodgings, clothes, food, drink and any incidentals. You have each incurred a debt of ten thousand Euros for your employment placement and the transport."
"The brothel takes fifty percent of your earnings to pay off your debt before we deduct your living expenses but the remainder is yours to send home or to put in a bank account of your choosing. Any questions?" Yana inspected her nails studiously.
Yana did not expect any questions.
"Good, pick up your belongings and follow me," Yana led the bewildered young women down a corridor and allocated each of them a room.
Katcha was surprised at the opulence of her room. It was well appointed with brocaded curtains and wallpaper; there was a chandelier and wall sconces, a huge Dresden ornate upholstered bed with antique gold patina. A large teak armoire and chest of drawers contained a selection of clothing, lingerie and shoes that would require further investigation.
The ensuite bathroom was also opulent with a huge bath and a walk-in shower with gleaming stainless steel fittings. A selection of toiletries and cosmetics were supplied and laid out ready to use.
Katcha heard the door open and she came out of the ensuite with some trepidation thinking that Peter or Gunther may have come to use her again but she was surprised to see it was Yana who had entered and seated herself on a red velvet chaise lounge.
"Peter tells me that you were the most compliant of the girls," she said matter-of-factly.
"I'm not stupid. As soon as they lined us up in the forest I guessed what was going on," Katcha replied.
"Do you mind if I get undressed while we talk. I need to take a shower," Katcha began to unbutton her blouse and kicked off her shoes.
"No. In fact I insist on it. I'm here to inspect you as well as to talk," Yana smiled up at her.
"The other girls will soon settle down. This is not such a bad life. They will earn more working here than would have as a nanny or waitress."
"Except that they will be forced to fuck fat old men and suffer vicious sadists twelve hours a day, seven days a week," Katcha spat back, stepping out of her skirt.
"The more clients you see; the more money you make. You are not stupid, if the men ask for special services you make them pay for it," Yana said calmly.
"Special services?" Katcha shrugged her shoulders and removed bra.
"Don't be obtuse; you know what I mean. You seem pragmatic and I heard how you offered yourself in place of Olga in the forest. The girls are already looking up to you. I will of course be their Madame and meet out rewards and punishments as necessary but I want you to be their confidant; the person they can turn to for advice and comfort," Yana replied.
"And?" Katcha raised her brows as she stepped out of her cheap denim skirt.
"And you will pass on to me anything I should know about. Any secrets or issues that they might be keeping from me," Yana smiled conspiratorially.
"And how much extra will you pay me for this service?" Katcha asked, shimmying out of her pantyhose and panties.
Katya stood naked, proud, tall and indignant. She was thin, with small firm breasts, long legs and a thatch of black pubic hair between her legs which contrasted with her flawless alabaster skin. Yana studied her from where she lay on the chaise lounge.
"Asking for more money already; you are a girl after my own heart. Come. Let's get you showered," Yana arose from the lounge and took Katcha's hand and led her to the bathroom, unbuttoning her own blouse with her free hand.
Katcha soon settled into the routine at the brothel. She and Zoya proved to be the most resilient of the girls, Anna and Gordana adapted to their imprisonment but Olga became even more insular and detached. She walked around like a zombie.
One day, not long after they had been abducted, the girls were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee laced with vodka discussing how they had been duped. They started to argue amongst themselves as to who was responsible; most of them blamed their friends who had told them that they were working good jobs and being well paid.
"You are stupid!" Katcha had been silent up until then.
"My mother gave me the business card for the employment agency and booked my train ticket to Uzhhorod. She encouraged me; in fact she was insistent," Katcha said angrily.
"What about you?" Katcha pointed to the girls gathered around the kitchen table.
"My mother," Zoya spat.
"My mother too," Gordana said, shaking her head.
"And mine," Anna sighed.
"What are you saying? Are you saying that our mothers trafficked us? No! Never!" Olga fled the room sobbing.
One week later Katcha found Olga hanging from the ceiling in her bathroom. She had hung herself using her pantyhose tied into a noose and had shit her pants when she died. Katcha told Yana and bathed Olga's body after Peter and Gunther cut her down. They removed Olga's body when the other girls were busy and Katcha never told the others what had happened. She vowed that nothing like that would happen to her; she would survive no matter what.
Yana told the other girls that Olga had been moved to another brothel in Bonn because she was not a good fit here. The girls soon realised that they were a trafficable commodity and by the end of Katcha's first year all of the girls had moved on to other brothels elsewhere in Europe; only Anna had returned to the Ukraine after she paid off her debts, the others remained working as prostitutes.
New girls had replaced them and Katcha was now Yana's trusted aid, running the day to day activities of the brothel and she had earned some freedom. She had learned enough German to converse with the locals and made frequent trips into Munich. She sent her mother two hundred Euros a month despite the fact that she knew her mother had betrayed her, however she had no inclination to return home.
Yana told Katcha that Alexi Kamerov, a Brigadier in the Bratva, or Russian Mafia, was flying into Munich from Paris. Yana had been selected to run a larger establishment in Paris and she would recommend to Alexi that Katcha replace her as the Madame here in Munich.
"You have learned how to run the business, you are good with the girls and the clients like you. I think you are ready Katcha," Yana said.
"Make sure everything is perfect for when Alexi arrives. I want the girls looking their best," Yana patted Katcha on the shoulder affectionately.
Besides learning how to run the brothel, Katcha had learned about clothes, fashion and style and had improved herself. She was no longer the skinny girl from Lviv wearing her denim miniskirt, cheap pantyhose and scuffed high heels. When Alexi arrived he was served a drink and settled in the salon by Yana. She called out to Katcha to bring in the girls for his inspection. Katcha led them in.
Katcha had developed her own distinctive style. She had dyed her hair jet black and had it cut in a severe shoulder-length bob. She was wearing a short-skirted black suit, expensive four-inch high heels and fully-fashioned stockings. Her makeup was as severe as her clothes and her hair: her smooth unblemished ivory skin the ideal palette for the mauve eyeshadow, black eyeliner and mascara, sharp rouged cheekbones and full blood-red lipsticked lips.
Alexi was immediately taken with her and Yana's jealousy was evident.
Alexi was a brute of a man with a leonine head but was very handsome despite the scar that ran down the left side of his face from forehead to chin. He wore an Amani suit and walked and spoke with authority.
"Who is this?" he nodded at Katcha.
"This Katcha Kovalenko. She has been one of our best earners, a favourite with the clientele and she is my right hand woman. She is the one I told you about; the one that I recommend take over from me here when I go with you to Paris," Yana explained.
"Hello Katcha. Do you know who I am?" Alexi took her hand and kissed it.
"Yes, I know who you are," Katcha replied bluntly.
"You don't sound impressed," Alexi smiled.
He didn't let go of her hand.
"You are a man. You want to fuck me or you want to make money from me; that is just what men do," Katcha said dryly.
"Katcha! Hold your tongue!" Yana lashed out at Katcha.
"I like a woman who has attitude; who is not afraid to speak her mind. I will take her to her room," Alexi grinned.
"But Alexi... I have all these other girls here for you. They are younger and prettier than Katcha and not as well used," Yana whined.
"Where is your room?" Alexi ignored Yana.
"Come," Alexi still had hold of Katcha's hand and she curled her fingers in his and led him to her room.
Alexi locked the door, took off his jacket and pulled Katcha into his arms and kissed her. She responded and kissed him back, putting her arms around his neck and rubbed her body against his.
"I would like to take my time with you but I'm here on business and in a hurry," Alexi said.
"Then let me do my best to please you in the short time we have together," Katcha said, dropping to her knees.
She freed his penis from his pants. Working as a prostitute Katcha had seen hundreds of penises but Alexi's was the biggest she had encountered. It was just like his body, brutish and strong. She opened her mouth as wide as she could and took his glans into it, slavering at the corona with her tongue. She used her fingers to stroke the flesh that she was incapable of putting in her mouth.
"That's good," Alexi moaned.
Katcha forced her face further onto Alexi's cock, managing to get about half of it in her mouth. She expertly used her lips on the shaft and her tongue on the glans. Alexi lightly put his hands on her head but didn't try to force her, which she appreciated. She hated when men held her head and fucked her mouth.
Alexi allowed Katcha to suckle him for little while but she was so good that he was afraid that he would climax soon. Yes, he was in a hurry, but he wanted to fuck this gorgeous creature. He reached down and lifted Katcha to her feet and took her in his arms again. When he kissed her it was like being embraced by bear. He exuded strength and power and Katcha felt herself becoming wet, which was just as well because Alexi picked her up and laid her on the bed.
"Open your legs," he ordered, unbuckling his pants.
Katcha hiked up her skirt and pulled down her silk panties, leaving them draped around one ankle. She opened her legs as Alexi shucked out of his pants and climbed on the bed which creaked under his weight.
"Let me," Katya took his immense organ in her hand and guided it to her sex.
Alexi leaned down and kissed her and Katya positioned his glans inside her labia. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his flanks and put her hands on his shoulders and arched her back, impaling herself on his engorged cock. She kept still while her vagina dilated to accommodate his flesh, then she began to slowly grind against him.
"You are good," Alexi smiled down at her.
She began to slide his cock in and out of her slick velvet channel grinding her clitoris into the base of his penis to increase her own pleasure. She had never been so filled before and Alexi's cock awakened pleasure centres in her vagina that she didn't know existed.
"You are good too," Katcha kissed him passionately and allowed Alexi to increase the tempo.
Alexi pinned Katcha to the bed and began to fuck her earnestly, driving his cock in and out of her tight satiny cunt. She rose to meet his thrusts, hanging onto him as he ploughed her with his steely manhood.
They moaned in unison as Alexi's cock began to pulse and quiver and he spent his seed deep inside her vagina; Katcha writhed beneath him, grinding her pubis into his, eliciting her own climax. Her vagina spasmed and clutched at Alexi's quivering phallus, draining every drop of semen.
They lay in each other's arms basking in the afterglow of their passion for a while and then Alexi extracted himself from her embrace.
"I should bring you to Paris instead of Yana," he chuckled as he pulled up his pants.
"Check the books. Look for an entry under Ivana Kalchik," Katcha said, wiping her sodden vagina with tissues.
"Who is Ivana Kalchik?" Alexi was tucking his shirt into his pants.
"She is no one. She doesn't exist," Katcha pulled up her panties.
"What do you mean she doesn't exist?" Alexi was putting on his jacket.
"On paper she is one of your prostitutes but she actually doesn't exist except as a bank account which Yana dumps money into. She's stealing from you," Katcha hopped off the bed and straightened her skirt.
"Why are you telling me this? I thought you and Yana were friends?" Alexi paused at the door.
"I have no friends. I have no family," Katcha called from the bathroom where she was fixing her lipstick.
She came out of the bathroom to find Alexi was waiting for her.
"After you," he said, opening the door.
They went back to the Salon to find the girls and Yana waiting for them. Yana was dressed in an evening gown and was clutching her purse.
"Come Yana, we don't want to be late for dinner," he said brusquely.
Yana hooked her arm through Alexi's and gave Katcha a withering look.
"Ok girls, get ready for work. We're open for business again," Katcha clapped her hands and shooed the girls back to their rooms taking her place behind the counter at the entrance to the salon.
The next day Yana was dressed to travel and she had put her packed bags near the door ready to leave. She was giving Katcha some final instructions in anticipation that Katcha would be replacing her.
The outer door to the salon opened and Alexi came in accompanied by Peter and Gunther. A middle-aged mousey woman came in behind them.
Peter and Gunther picked up Yana's suitcases and Yana followed them out. She paused at the door and looked back at Katcha.
"Looks like you are not taking my place after all. Better get your cunt cleaned out ready for your first customer," Yana said bitingly to Katcha, nodding her head politely at the mousey woman.
Yana fell in behind Peter and Gunther and Katcha never saw her again.
"Don't just stand there; pack your bags I'm in a rush," Alexi said to Katcha.
"Where am I going?" Katcha asked, quite stunned.
"I'm taking you to Paris," Alexi replied reaching in his jacket for his cigarettes.
"Who is going to run this place?" Katcha asked.
Alexi nodded at the mousey woman who was busy behind the counter working the booking ledger on the computer.
"So where is Yana going?" Katcha was still a little confused.
Alexi just shrugged his shoulders but his eyes were ice-cold. Katcha knew not to ask again.
*****
"For eight years I worked for the Bratva in Paris. I learned French and English, I took degrees in commerce and business administration. More importantly I became a French citizen and changed my identity. I helped Alexi legitimise some of his business interests before I extricated myself from the Bratva and came to the USA," Veronique said.
"I told you, it is not a bedtime story," Veronique stroked Taylor's hair.
Taylor sat up and looked into Veronique's sky-blue eyes and saw the pain behind the fierceness. Taylor leaned in and kissed her softly and Veronique pulled Taylor into her arms and returned the kiss.
To be continued
USB - Unexplained Sexual Behaviour Chapter 3
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Chapter Three - What Happens to the Girls?
"This isn't a pity fuck Taylor. I'm nearly twice your age and I've reconciled what happened to me in the past; I've moved on. I'm a successful businesswoman," Veronique looked into Taylor's green eyes.
"I get it. You're a lot more experienced than I am in life and in business. Also I've never done this with a woman so you take the lead," Taylor began to shimmy out of her dress.
Veronique stopped her and rose off the couch, pulling Taylor up with her. She kissed Taylor softly, enveloping her in her arms and Taylor melted. This was so much different than being with Bradley, more sensual, more downright feminine. Veronique stroked Taylor's hair while she kissed her and slowly increased the intensity of the kiss, her tongue slipped into Taylor's mouth; just the tip.
Veronique finished what Taylor had started, slipping the cocktail dress over her shoulders, leaving her dressed only in bra, panties and the almost transparent Jonathan Aston 12 denier seamed holdup stockings. She caressed Taylor's breasts through the satin-and-lace bra, causing her nipples to engorge and then she freed the milky orbs from their cups and used her mouth. Veronique was slow and tactile, she suckled a nipple with her lips while her fingers stroked Taylor's other breast and then she swapped her mouth to the other teat.
Taylor gasped; she felt the tingling in her breasts spread through her body. Her lips felt like they were on fire and Veronique fanned the flames when she kissed her, this time using her tongue aggressively whilst tweaking Taylor's nipples and squeezing her breasts. Taylor tried to reciprocate and ease Veronique out of her Claudie Pierlot stretch-ponté mini dress but Veronique stopped her.
"Not yet. Let me show you how first," she whispered and Taylor understood.
She gave herself over to Veronique. The passion and desire radiating from Taylor's lips and her breasts spread down to her vagina and she felt her juices flow. She wanted Veronique to put her hand there but whenever she tried to prise Veronique's fingers from her breasts she wouldn't let go.
"Not yet. I know what you want but you can't have it," Veronique teased her.
Taylor's knees were beginning to shake and if Veronique didn't have her in a passionate embrace she would have slumped to the floor. The whole of Taylor's body was trembling with desire, every nerve seemed hypersensitive and raw, every sinew relaxed, her nipples were swollen as were her coral-pink labia and her clitoris.
Veronique suckled Taylor's nipples until Taylor thought the intensity of the pleasure would make her come and then Veronique abruptly stopped and fell to her knees. She slid her hands down the curves of Taylor's body whilst her tongue and lips slowly descended from Taylor's engorged nipples, down her belly, to the place where her pubis curved under her body.
Then Veronique put her tongue on Taylor's sex and Taylor moaned and her legs gave way. She fell onto the couch with her legs wide apart and Veronique seized the opportunity to bury her head between Taylor's thighs. She opened her up like a flower and the tip of tongue lapped at Taylor's clitoris.
Taylor screeched some vague obscenity and pressed Veronique's face to her quim. Veronique lapped at Taylor's cunt, letting the tip of her tongue lap across Taylor's clitoris only fleetingly. This drove Taylor wild with desire and frustration. Her nipples ached, her belly tingled and her cunt quivered, she wanted release so badly but still Veronique refused to use her mouth on Taylor's sensitive bud.
Taylor tangled her fingers in Veronique's hair and pushed as hard as she could, grinding her quim into Veronique's face. Veronique smiled and finally relented. She slipped two fingers inside Taylor's sodden vagina put her lips around her clitoral hood and used her tongue on Taylor's most sensitive part.
Ripples of delight radiated from Taylor's sex, amplifying the sensations Veronique had already ignited during her journey around Taylor's body. The ripples intensified and coalesced into a tumultuous orgasm that ripped through her very being.
"Oh god! Oh god!" Taylor screamed, driving her sex onto Veronique's lips and tongue.
Veronique used the pads of her fingers to massage Taylor's g-spot as her tongue lapped frenziedly on her clitoris. She rode Taylor's squirming body as her orgasm reached crescendo and slowly began to subside. Veronique removed her tongue from Taylor's tender clitoris knowing that it would be too intense; she lapped at her delicate cuntal lips instead and sipped the nectar trickling from Taylor's vagina.
Taylor rode her orgasm like a wave and as the intense sensations began to subside she slowly ceased quivering and shaking and lay sated with her legs spread wide, letting Veronique softly lap at her labia. Eventually Taylor eased Veronique's face away from her sex and Veronique smiled at up Taylor and leaned over her and kissed her. Taylor tasted her own secretions on Veronique's mouth.
Veronique broke the kiss and stood up. She stepped out of her dress, smiling down at Taylor as she did.
"Ok darling, my turn," she grinned down at her young lover lecherously.
*****
At nine in the following morning Taylor met with the law firm of Mulholland and Stamp. They were the small firm that specialised in commercial law that Veronique had recommended to her.
"I spent most of the night looking over the documents that Veronique sent over on your behalf. As it was explained to you at the meeting you had with FreeCom's legal counsel most of it is boilerplate and the gist of it is fair and equitable. You get to keep ownership of PostPay but it becomes a subsidiary of FreeCom and you split the profits equally," Terence Mulholland, a handsome young lawyer in a natty suit explained.
"I did find something in there that concerns me and should definitely be of concern to you. Buried in amongst some legalese is a clause that passes control of PostPay to Bradley Freeman in event that anything happens to you that prevents you from being able to adequately and competently operate the company," Terence pointed to a paragraph in one of the documents which Taylor tried to read but didn't really understand.
"Well here's what I want added to the contract. If for any reason I am unable to adequately operate PostPay or in my extended absence all of my propriety delegations and pecuniary interests in PostPay are to pass onto my paternal cousin Taylor Averille."
"Yes we have the same name but he is male, a coincidence that the whole family liked to tease us with when we were younger. He worked with me for a while when I was trying to get PostPay off the ground so I think it's only fair that he inherit if anything were to happen to me," Taylor explained.
"The easiest way to achieve that would be to make him a silent partner with the caveat that he takes control of the company in your absence or if for any reason you are incapacitated," Terence explained.
"Thank you," Taylor smiled.
"I can charge you piecemeal for reviewing and making changes to the contract or in the absence of you having your own legal counsel, you can engage us to be PostPay's law firm of record. Our costs are competitive and we are experts in the field," Terence smiled at Taylor.
"You come highly recommended by Veronique Pascal and although I haven't known her for very long I trust her. Let's say I engage you on a limited contract for one year and then we review proceedings and see how we stand," Taylor proposed.
"A fair and honest arrangement. I can have the changes you have proposed completed by this afternoon and also draw up a separate contract that engages your cousin Taylor Averille as a silent partner, which both you will need to sign."
"May I propose that I arrange a meeting with Bradley Freeman and Hugh Fleetwood this afternoon? You can swing by here on the way to the meeting and sign the contract engaging Mulholland and Stamp on as your legal counsel for a period of one year and I can accompany you to the meeting in that capacity," Terence said.
"Done," Taylor stood and offered her hand.
Terence Mulholland took her hand and shook it.
"See you at three o'clock?" Terence offered.
"Also done," Taylor said and smiled at Terence, aware that he seemed to be taken with her.
Taylor wore one of her newly purchased designer business suits to the meeting. She stopped at the offices of Mulholland and Stamp and was met by Terence Mulholland who escorted her to his office; she could feel his eyes on her ass but said nothing. It amused her how easily men could be distracted. She knew that her alter-ego would have been similarly taken with her ass and legs. She wondered when she transformed back into her male self if he would remember how women felt about being continually ogled.
They didn't stay long. Taylor scanned the changes that Terence had made to the contract with FreeCom and approved them. Next she signed a contract appointing Mulholland and Stamp as PostPay's attorneys of record. Finally she inspected the document appointing Taylor Averille, her male cousin Taylor, who no one but she knew was one and the same, as a silent partner in PostPay who would legally take control of the company in her absence or demise.
Terence Mulholland had solved Taylor's biggest problem without knowing it: how to get the company back into the hands of her male doppelganger. She put the document in her briefcase.
"All good work thank you. I'll have my cousin sign the partnership agreement and send it back to you to be notarised and filed," Taylor hoped she sounded sufficiently business-like.
"Good. I've sent the revised contract back to FreeCom and they have agreed to take the meeting this afternoon to finalise and sign the contract. I have a car waiting," Terence waved a hand at the door indicating that they were ready to go.
In the car on the way to the FreeCom offices Taylor was acutely aware that her skirt was sitting high on her thighs. She had crossed her ankles demurely but her long legs clad in seven-denier holdup stockings were a distraction for Terence and she took mild amusement in his efforts to not stare at them. She managed to extract herself from the car without showing her underwear; she was becoming quite adept at getting around in short skirts and high heels without surrendering her propriety or breaching etiquette.
It was obvious that Bradley was not happy when they entered the conference room at FreeCom. He seemed to be quietly seething and was flanked by Hugh Fleetwood on one side who appeared to be equally peeved and Veronique Pascal on the other. Veronique seemed to be smugly amused.
Terence assisted Taylor into her seat opposite Bradley and he took a seat beside her opposite Hugh Fleetwood. A printed copy of the contract lay in the centre of the table between them.
"Why the changes Taylor?" Bradley opened proceedings.
"Because if anything happens to me I want my company to pass onto a family member who was there when I first came up with the concept for PostPay," Taylor answered.
Bradley was a little taken aback. This was no longer the naïve young woman who had come into his office not that long ago in her cheap suit practically begging him to finance her project.
"But you said that he fell flat and lost interest in PostPay so you fired him and said that he has no ties or pecuniary interest in PostPay," Bradley countered.
"That's changed," Taylor said bluntly.
"If I may," Terence Mulholland interrupted.
"My client is well within her rights to determine who takes the controlling interest in her company in event of her absence. Nothing in the revised contract affects the business and profit sharing arrangements between PostPay and FreeCom. It's a win-win for you both," he patted the document on the table.
Bradley took a deep breath and then his demeanour changed.
"Veronica, you have clients and vendors ready to proceed and the app is available to be downloaded on all platforms?" Bradley asked.
"We have everything in place. The whole world is waiting for PostPay to go live. I've saturated the social media and conventional advertising markets, the interest in PostPay is phenomenal," she replied.
"All in such a short space of time," Bradley seemed surprised.
"You shouldn't be surprised Bradley; it's the world we live in and it's what I do for a living," Veronique countered.
"Fuck it! Let's get it signed and start making money," Bradley sighed.
He signed the document on the last page above his signature block and Taylor signed above hers. Bradley awkwardly tried to kiss Taylor on the cheek across the table so she stood up and walked around to his side of the table and hugged him and allowed him to kiss the side of her mouth. She hugged and air-kissed Veronique and shook hands with Hugh Fleetwood and Terence Mulholland. She could tell that Terence was hoping for a hug and a kiss too but Taylor was going to make him wait for that privilege.
Champagne was bought into the room and they all had a glass but Taylor was keen to get to back to work and Veronique could sense it. She too was keen to launch PostPay so they left the lawyers and Bradley to their man-talk and she and Taylor went around to the open plan office where the programmers and tech gurus were waiting anxiously.
"Let's make PostPay go live," Veronique announced and the office erupted in a cheer.
Then the staff began to pound keyboards and make and take calls.
PostPay was live. It was now almost a living breathing entity, selling products, arranging delivery, making transactions, transferring funds, extending credit to customers and making profits for the vendors, FreeCom and PostPay. Everyone was happy.
Taylor and Veronique went down to Taylor's new office which was next door to Veronique's. Taylor bought up a screen so they could watch the transactions in real-time. PostPay was having a phenomenal run. Taylor could already see where improvements could be made to the code to boost efficiency and she started tapping keys. Veronique paused at the door and looked back at Taylor locked in total concentration as she worked. She smiled to herself and left Taylor alone with her code, closing the door behind her.
Taylor declined an invitation to a celebratory dinner with Bradley, Veronique and some other key executives; she was busy writing and rewriting code. She wanted to be able to have version two of the software available for download to the app as soon as possible. The FreeCom offices became quiet as the employees left. She barely noticed that the lighting outside her office had become subdued and that she was the only one on the floor still working, she had no idea of the time.
When Bradley Freeman came into her office it was after midnight.
"Still beavering away," Bradley smiled at her from the doorway.
"Yeah, I lost track of time. I'm working on an update to improve PostPay's efficiency," Taylor stretched.
She had taken off her jacket to work and when she stretched her breasts pushed against her blouse. It was white silk and transparent, Bradley could see the lacy black brasserie she wore underneath it cupping her firm globes.
"That was quite a subterfuge you pulled, appointing your cousin as a partner in PostPay," Bradley took a step into the room and closed the door.
Taylor could see that he had been drinking.
"PostPay is my company Bradley. It is a subsidiary of FreeCom but a separate entity and I have to say I was a little miffed that you intended to take control of it in event of my absence," Taylor advocated.
"But I took all the risk. I provided the startup capital and advanced you a chunk of the projected profits," Bradley took a step closer and put his hand on the back of her chair.
"Come on Bradley, look at this," Taylor pointed to one of the screens which displayed PostPay's activity in real time.
"We are already well ahead of the projected profit margins. At this rate we will have recovered all of the startup capital by the end of the month and all of the income will be revenue, the operating costs are minimal," Taylor continued.
"You've become quite the little entrepreneurial financier haven't you? You're not just the pretty girl with the big intellect," Bradley put a hand on Taylor's shoulder.
"You've been drinking Bradley. Why don't we talk about this tomorrow?" Taylor made to remove his hand but he held on.
"You lured me into your bed and bewitched me," Bradley squeezed her shoulder tighter.
"I hardly think so Bradley. I would counter that you seduced me and that you already knew how much money PostPay would bring in," she tried harder to remove his hand from her shoulder.
"I think there is some truth in both our statements but now you keep declining to see me socially. Why is that?" Bradley would not remove his hand.
Taylor pushed herself out of the chair. It was on wheels so Bradley had to release her and step away to let her stand. She turned to face him, her back to the desk.
"Do you think that because you financed my startup and because I let you into my bed that one time that you now have use of my body whenever it suits you?" Taylor said angrily.
Even drunk and resentful Bradley was still a handsome man with his sun-bleached hair, dark eyes and full sensuous lips. She could smell his cologne over the booze.
"I was hoping it would be a mutual arrangement. In other words when it suits us both," Bradley stepped in close to her.
"I didn't see that in the contract," Taylor said sarcastically.
"I didn't think it needed to be," Bradley smiled and she could feel her heartbeat quicken.
"I think that's also something we can discuss tomorrow when you are sober. Please be a gentleman and hand me my jacket," Taylor said attempting to step aside.
Bradley closed into her and pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the desk. His lips chased hers as she tried to shy away but he held her still and closed his mouth on hers. She struggled but she was no match for him and his free hand slipped under her skirt. He found her sex. Because she was wearing stockings his fingers found the lacy satin panties clinging to her mound he was able to press his fingers into her cleft.
"Don't," Taylor gasped, struggling, his lips still crushing hers.
Bradley ignored her and began to work his fingers on her. He eased the gusset of her panties aside and circled a finger on her clitoris while another slipped into her vagina which he noticed she was becoming damp. He smiled and kissed her harder and slid his tongue into her mouth.
Taylor felt her body betraying her. She didn't want this man dominating her but she had to admit that his fingers expertly working her sex, his tongue insistently exploring her mouth, his tight muscled body pressed against her and his hard cock rubbing on her thigh were exciting her. She still fought him, even when he took her hand guided it to his erect penis straining at the fabric of his pants.
She instinctively clenched her fingers around it and squeezed. It would have been just as easy for her to squeeze his scrotum and make him squeal in pain and release her. Taylor didn't want Bradley to fuck her but she didn't want him not to fuck her either. Her mind wanted him to let her go and come back tomorrow and apologise to her for being so boorish but her body wanted him to put that steely hard cock of his inside her and fuck her until she screamed.
Taylor mustered all of her strength and put her palms on Bradley's shoulders and using the desk for leverage she was able to push him off her. If he was sober she would never had stood a chance.
"OK Bradley if this is what you want then get it over with. I've got things to do and places to be," Taylor gasped.
She spun on her heels and bent over the desk.
Bradley moved in behind her and lifted her skirt exposing the magnificent creamy globes clad in black satin and lace. He unzipped his fly and extracted his penis, a string of silver pre-ejaculate leaked from the eye. He eased aside the gusset of her panties and Taylor widened her stance and gripped the edge of the desk for support in anticipation.
"Go on; take what you think is yours then," she whispered.
"Oh my god," Taylor hissed when Bradley slid his cock inside her.
He filled her with his manhood and Taylor felt her secretions begin to flow. Bradley leaned over her, keeping her impaled on his cock as he reached around and unbuttoned her blouse. He extricated her breasts from the lacy brasserie and cupped them softly. Taylor squeaked like a little mouse when he used his thumbs on her hard nipples, circling the firm pink berries. Then he began to slowly fuck her and Taylor surrendered.
She pressed back against him and gyrated her hips like a slattern, wanting his cock deep inside her; wanting the base of his shaft pressing on her engorged clitoris.
Bradley tweaked her nipples and ground against her until she began to shake and stammer; her passionate cries incomprehensible as her orgasm began to slowly percolate. It began deep in her vagina where Bradley's glans pressed on her g-spot and melded with the intense tingling that was radiating from her clitoris.
Bradley moved his hands to Taylor's hips and he stood upright and began to plough his hard quivering phallus in and out of her tight, slick sheath. His pubis slammed into her buttocks causing them to quiver, filling the silent room with the 'thwok, thwok, thwok,' sound of their fucking. The fucking sounds harmonised with their little squeals and groans as their orgasms approached.
Bradly pulled Taylor's ass hard against his groin, driving his cock into her as far as it would go causing Taylor to gasp as she felt his phallus fill her and push deeper insider than she had ever felt before. His scalding semen erupted from his throbbing cock and her climax erupted and she began to shake, screaming obscenities into the night.
Bradley wasn't finished. As soon as he began to ejaculate he fucked her even harder, slamming his cock in and out of her tight channel. His semen blended with her vaginal secretion and began to ooze from her quim and run down her legs. Taylor felt like a whore and she wasn't sure if she liked it. As much as the pleasure she was feeling was indescribably wonderful, she felt like she had betrayed herself.
She lay bent over the desk panting heavily as Bradley slowly removed his penis from her bruised and swollen vagina. Another flood of milky viscous fluid trickled from her sex and ran down the inside of her thighs.
Bradley pushed himself off her and still breathing heavily he put himself away and zipped up.
"There's a good girl," he patted her bare ass and turned away from her.
Taylor was still bent over the desk trying to regain her composure when she heard his footsteps disappear down the corridor towards the lobby. She heard the ting of the elevator arriving as she gingerly pushed herself upright. She held her skirt out of the way and took a handful of tissues off the desk and wiped her sex and dabbed at the sticky dross on her upper thighs. The crotch of her panties was soaked and the tops of her stocking were dark and damp. She used some more tissues on those.
When she had her breathing under control she put her tender breasts back into the cups of her bra and buttoned her blouse. She picked up her purse and the used tissues. She took a risk and walked to the ladies room holding her skirt up out of the way of her thighs and used a warm soapy washcloth to better clean herself. She dried herself with a soft hand towel and dropped the sticky tissues she had used in her office into a toilet bowl and flushed them away. She dropped the washcloth and hand towel into the laundry bin and smoothed out her skirt, fixed her lipstick and brushed her hair.
Taylor studied her reflection in the mirror for a long beat and then she began to weep. She let it all come out and then she dried her eyes and fixed her makeup again.
As she walked back to her office, the patter of her high heels echoing in the quiet corridor seemed to accentuate her loneliness.
*****
Veronique answered the door to her apartment dressed in a cream silk nightgown. She was angry that Taylor had come to her in the early hours of the morning and would have turned her away if she hadn't sounded so distressed over the intercom.
"What? You couldn't call?" Veronique said sharply as Taylor burst into her apartment.
Veronique closed the door and locked it and turned to see Taylor standing in the middle of the floor shaking and crying.
"What's the matter?" Veronique went to her and enfolded her in her arms.
Taylor spewed out her story between crying jags, telling Veronique what had happened in her office.
"And I didn't know where else to turn so I came here," she finished her tale.
Veronique did not react how Taylor expected her to. She pushed Taylor away.
"Silly girl!" she slapped Taylor across the face.
Then she slapped her again.
Taylor just stood there stunned, her cheeks burning more with indignity than pain.
"I told you what happened to me in the forest when the trafficker dragged me into the clearing and then used me again up against the van. I told you how I set my resolve to use the tools I had to make a better life for myself."
"I told you how I was determined that it would never happen to me when I found Olga hanging from the ceiling with her panties full of shit," Veronique hissed.
"I warned you that Bradley would be unable to keep himself from taking advantage of you if you let him," Veronique went over to the bar and poured two tumblers of vodka.
"I didn't let him!" Taylor squealed indignantly.
"Didn't you?" Veronique handed Taylor the tumbler and she gulped at the contents.
"Easy. You have to work tomorrow," Veronique took the tumbler away from Taylor's mouth.
Taylor blushed.
"Well not at first but then I guess I couldn't help myself," Taylor admitted.
"Look. Everything you have up there is for sale to the right bidder. That's how you make your money," Veronique tapped Taylor on the side of the head.
"But this... this too is a commodity and you need to make sure you use it for own advantage," Veronique waved her hand at Taylor's body.
"You don't want to be a slut. That won't help you. But some strategic fucking can be used to your advantage. Don't worry I'll teach you. There are times to tease and times to please; these things are learned. The years I spent working in the brothels in Munich and Paris taught me many things. Men are easily manipulated if you know what you're doing," Veronique finished her drink and put the glass on the kitchen counter.
"Come. You can sleep here with me tonight, I have a negligee that will fit you and I'll give you some clean underwear tomorrow," Veronique began to dim the lights.
"I want to shower before I come to bed," Taylor said sulkily.
'No. I want to taste Bradley on your cunt. It will excite me," Veronique took Taylor's hand and led her to the bedroom.
*****
And Veronique did show Taylor how to use her sex appeal. She arranged a series of meetings and interviews with vendors and potential clients. Those that were already signed up to PostPay only required reassurance and wanted to meet the face of the company. A little flirting sufficed.
The big clients who were yet to commit required more attention. A dinner date, an intimate lunch, the more lucrative customers might get invited back to Taylor or Veronique's apartment for special treatment, but not before the deal was cinched.
After a month Taylor was comfortable with her role as both code writer and entrepreneur, PostPay's profits were exceeding all expectations. In fact Taylor was surprised at the influx of capital in her venture but too happy and content to question why her company's income far exceeded expectations.
She had tamed Bradley Freeman and set boundaries on their relationship. She would see him once a week for an intimate tête-à -tête. She enjoyed the coupling as much as he did and they established that the intimacy was only for mutual gratification, there were no implied or explicit pecuniary or propitious business implications.
She and Veronique worked closely together promoting PostPay and settled into a twice a week symbiotic sexual relationship.
Taylor also got to experience her first menstrual cycle and experience the joys of PMT and using tampons. She once again reflected on the trials and tribulations of being a woman. This was part becoming a woman that she would not miss when she returned to being her male self.
Two months after PostPay went live Taylor's life was turned upside down.
She was counting down the days until she would plug the USB into her old Sony Vaio and transform back into her male counterpart: the id, the life-force that was Taylor until he became a woman. Those memories and life experiences remained. It was impossible to wipe out twenty-five years living life as a man and replace them with a few months of living life as a woman, no matter how successful and exciting they have been. Taylor's core being was still that of the 'gamer in a suit', the longhaired Peter Panish skater boy with dreams of making it big with a 'shop now and pay later' app that benefited both the customer and the vendor.
Taylor took a break from the office and was sitting on the same bench in Grant Park near Buckingham Fountain where she found the USB. It seemed like a lifetime ago. A tall handsome man in a dark suit took a seat beside her, disturbing her thoughts. She was a little miffed; there were plenty of vacant benches in the park and she felt this man was invading her space.
She has become used to men hitting on her and she has also become a kind of minor celebrity amongst the technology geeks who think they have the next revolutionary app, game or online product. She's been hounded online and occasionally approached in person but this guy didn't look like a geek, he looked like a banker in his dark Brooks Brothers suit and loafers.
"You're Taylor Averille," the man turned to her and spoke without introducing himself.
He was handsome in a rugged kind of way, sort of like Sam Elliott in his forties and he had the same gritty Texas drawl blended with some California baritone that was kind of sexy.
"I'm not looking for the world's next best dating app or banking software," Taylor said dismissively.
"Well I hope not because I can't help you with that," the man smiled at her.
"Special Agent David Campbell," the man opened his jacket a little so that Taylor could see the ID clipped to the inside pocket.
Taylor felt her blood run cold but she remained calm.
"I can't see that properly, can you take it out please," she asked.
"No I can't. Not here. Please just behave like you are having a pleasant conversation with an acquaintance, it's possible that we are being watched," the Agent said, smiling like they were just engaged in a tête-à -tête.
Taylor felt lightheaded.
"Why? Who would be watching us?" she whispered.
"Never mind that for now. I'm going to stand up and walk away and you are going to wait five minutes and then take out your phone and pretend to make a call, just like you are ordering up a car. Wait another five minutes and then walk to South Columbus Drive and near the crosswalk you will see a black town car. Get in the back seat like it's the car you just ordered. Can you do that?" David Campbell said, all the time smiling like they were having a pleasant conversation.
"What if I say no," Taylor said defiantly.
"Then sometime soon when you least expect it, an FBI entry team is going to batter open the door to your apartment and you are going to be arrested by men wearing body armour, carrying high-powered weapons and they are going to cuff you and haul your ass away," he said, smiling sweetly.
Taylor began to shake.
"Try to behave naturally please. That scenario is unlikely because I know that you are a good person and that you are going to do as I ask," the agent continued to smile.
"I'm leaving now. See you in the car," he patted her knee like he was an old friend or an uncle or something.
Taylor sat still. She was stunned and all sorts of scenarios were playing out in her mind. Has FreeCom committed some Federal crime? What did the FBI investigate? Corporate fraud for sure, also intellectual property theft and embezzlement maybe? All she knew was that as far as she was concerned she had not committed a crime; unless being magically transforming from a man to a woman was a crime?
She took out her phone and saw that her hands were shaking. She fumbled, nearly dropping it but she recovered it and brought up her contact list. She scrolled through it and found her car company and pretended to call them. She knew that she was being ridiculous she could bring up any number but for some reason it was important to her that she was as authentic as possible.
Taylor took the phone from her ear after speaking to no one but pretended to order a car to pick her up. She waited five minutes and pretended that she had just received a text telling her that her car was here and she stood up and walked to South Columbus Drive. She felt like she was walking on a moving platform like the ones at the funfair where you take one step forward and two steps back, but she made it to the crosswalk and sure enough the town car was idling at the curb.
The traffic in the lane behind it was backed up and she heard an angry voice calling her a self-entitled bitch as the door opened and she climbed in. The car accelerated away so quickly that she was thrown back in her seat.
Sitting on the bench across from her was Agent Campbell trying hard to keep his eyes above her waist. Her coat was open and her legs were akimbo, her skirt had hitched up in her hurry to get into the car and the driver's expedited departure. She closed her legs, pulled down her skirt and closed her coat.
"Can I see that ID now?" Taylor said indignantly once she had gained her composure.
Agent Campbell produced a black wallet. He had put the ID card back into it and she could see the emblem of the FBI and text certifying that the signature and photograph belonged to Special Agent David Campbell. In the other compartment was a gold shield and a white card signed by the Director of the FBI charging Special Agent Campbell with the duty of investigating violations of the laws of the USA. She had never seen FBI ID before and she supposed it could easily be faked but she decided to accept that it was real for now.
"What do you want Agent Campbell? Am I under arrest?" Taylor asked.
"You are not under arrest but what I want from for you is to spend the afternoon with me while I show you something," Agent Campbell said.
"Why Agent Campbell... we have only just met," Taylor smiled salaciously.
"I'm sorry that didn't come out right," he blushed at the accidental double entendre.
Taylor felt a little more in control. She pulled out her phone and opened the calendar.
"I have a meeting with some sales executives from Nordstrom this afternoon," Taylor scrolled down through her appointment list.
"Veronique Pascal can handle that meeting. Soliciting clients is her forte anyway," Agent Campbell responded matter-of-factly.
Taylor's eyes narrowed. The FBI seemed to know a lot about her business.
"Call her and make an excuse. An old friend has arrived in Chicago unexpectedly and cold-called you on a hunch that you're in town. You haven't seen him for years and you are on your way to O'Hare to collect him and catch up; you trust her to take the meeting with Nordstrom," David Campbell smiled and once again she was reminded of Sam Elliott.
"You have this very well planned," Taylor commented.
"Of course we do; we're the FBI," David's smile widened.
"Also it will explain why you got into a town car if anyone was actually watching you."
"Don't you know?" Taylor asked.
David just shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal that he didn't.
Taylor made the call and talked about some other business with Veronique while the town car drove to O'Hare International Airport, stopping briefly at the passenger pickup point and then accelerated away. The car sped up, slowed down, changed lanes, and barely made it through changing traffic lights. It entered and left several parking garages by different entrances and exits and it was obvious to her that the driver was shaking any tail there may be.
"They probably wouldn't have had time to organise a tail but it pays to be careful," David said, anticipating Taylor's next question.
"Who are they?" Taylor was about done with the cloak and dagger routine and wanted him to get to the point.
"All in good time Taylor... is it ok if I call you Taylor?" he gave her the heartbreak smile.
"Sure, why not. We're old friends aren't we?" Taylor said smugly.
The car pulled into the underground car park of a two story nondescript concrete and steel building and Taylor and David alighted. He took her to an elevator and punched in a code that took them to the second floor. He escorted her along a dim passageway to a room that he opened using another passcode.
"So what was it you want to show me?" Taylor said.
She was invited to sit at a conference table where a laptop was plugged into an overhead projector. There was no one else in the room and there was jug of water but only two glasses in the centre of the table. Taylor figured that they were not going to be joined by anyone else.
"I'm going to show you some images, some of which will shock you but I think it's important that I put the purpose of this meeting into context," David said.
Taylor said nothing. She was apprehensive but had regained some of her composure. David took a seat and began to work the laptop.
An image appeared on a screen that had been lowered from the ceiling. It showed ten white girls standing next to a Toyota people-mover and two menacing looking, heavily tattooed white men handing a carry-bag to two smaller Hispanic men.
"This was taken outside of Nogales Arizona. The two Hispanic males have illegally transported the women across the border and are delivering the girls to two known Bratoks," David explained.
"A Bratok is a soldier in the Russian Mafia, known colloquially as the Bratva. The girls are Ukrainian nationals and arrived in Mexico on legitimate tourist visas arranged for them by an employment agency in the Ukraine and some of them think they are going to be united with family members living the US and the remainder, most of them, think they are going to find profitable employment. They know that they are entering the US illegally but at this stage they have no idea what awaits."
Taylor suddenly felt sick. She remembered the story that Veronique told her about her previous life as Katcha Kovalenko, being trafficked from the Ukraine into Germany.
"Here was an aerial picture of the Toyota Granvia stopped next to a warehouse in Phoenix. Note the line of men waiting to enter the warehouse. An FBI entry team busted into the warehouse but not until after the men had had loaded up the girls and hit the road. Inside they found that part of the warehouse had been partitioned into small cubicles containing mattresses and a bedsheets. There was evidence that the girls had been forced to entertain multiple sex partners during the two hour stopover. You see where this is going?" David said deliberately.
Taylor nodded.
"This was the girls final destination. It's a ranch just outside of Las Vegas. They had already been 'conditioned' as they call it, by the stream of men who paid to use them in the Phoenix warehouse. The girls lived in a big dormitory under the strict control of the Bratoks until they were farmed out to a string of brothels throughout Nevada and California. Some were shipped east to work in brothels there," a series of pictures showed the long barracks-style building surrounded by smaller farmhouses.
"We shut this one down but they pop up like mushrooms elsewhere across the US. As long as there are men willing to pay for sex with young pretty girls the trade will continue. Here look," a series of images of recently arrested young scantily dressed young women with soulless, dejected looks on their faces followed.
"What happens to the girls?" Taylor whispered.
"Unfortunately they are treated as illegal immigrants. The justice system grinds them up and they are deported. Some are so desperate that they go back to the employment agency and offer their services again, knowing they are going to be trafficked. The madams, usually hardened former prostitutes themselves go to jail, come out, and go back to work. The Bratoks are seldom caught," Agent Campbell sighed.
"But why are you showing me this? Why am I going to be arrested if I don't cooperate?" Taylor was close to tears.
"Look at this," David did something on the computer and a series of graphs and financial data filled the screen.
"On the left are the projected earnings of PostPay. In the middle are the reported earnings of PostPay and on the right are the unreported earnings," David pointed to each set of figures and the graphs with a laser pointer.
Taylor gasped. The unreported earnings were staggering.
"Can you guess why these figures look like they do?" David said with some finality.
Taylor was not an idiot.
"Money laundering," she sighed.
"Money laundering indeed," David patted Taylor's hand, a gesture she found strange given the circumstances.
He tapped the keyboard and the images changed.
Veronique Pascal and Bradley Freeman are dining with a very handsome man whose face was disfigured by a scar that runs down the left side of his face from forehead to chin. In another image they are standing at the bar of a swank restaurant drinking with the brute of a man. They are smiling. In another, Pascal is getting out of car and the big man is getting out the other side.
"Alexi Kamerov, Brigadier in the New York Bratva; came to the USA seven years ago. Veronique Pascal arrived one year later on a Green Card. Her permanent residency status allowed her to enter into business with Bradley Freeman. They are tied to several other subsidiaries of FreeCom that we suspect are also laundering money for the Bratva," David clicked the mouse and the screen went blank.
"But I didn't know," Taylor was crying now.
"I believe you Taylor but the prosecutor's office will have no problems proving to a judge and jury that your rags to riches story only transpired because you allowed your startup to be used for money laundering. Not only that but the worst kind. The money is the proceeds of human trafficking and sexual slavery," David said dryly.
Taylor took a packet of tissues from her purse and dabbed at her eyes.
"Ok David. I'm not stupid. What do I have to do to stay out of jail?" Taylor straightened up in her seat and looked directly at David.
To be continued
USB - Unexplained Sexual Behaviour Chapter 4
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Chapter Four - Remember, I'll be Watching
"I won't lie to you Taylor; it's going to be dangerous," David Campbell said.
"We strongly suspect that Veronique Pascal and Bradley Freeman are involved in a conspiracy to conduct money laundering contrary to the Money Laundering Control Act of 1986 but we can't tie them specifically to Alexi Kamerov or his people trafficking operation."
"We have some evidence but not enough to make a case. The best evidence would be to get them to admit to it in person and then we introduce our corroborative evidence to support the allegations. That's where you come in," David explained.
"How do I come in? What can I do?" Taylor was confused.
"I'll send you the data on the unreported income being generated by PostPay and the code that will provide you access to the illegal income streams. You're a whiz-kid programmer so it would be believable that you discovered the scam yourself. You confront Veronique with the evidence and tell her you know where the money is coming from and that you want a cut."
"Then it's over to you to do whatever it takes to get Veronique or Bradley Freeman to admit that the proceeds come from Alexi and his people trafficking enterprise. You will, for all intents and purposes, become a confidential informant," David said to a sceptical looking Taylor.
"How do I do that?" Taylor furrowed her brow.
"That's up to you. The alternative is to get swept up in the web when we take them all down," David said coolly.
"You mean the guys dressed in body armour carrying high powered weapons breaking down my door I presume," Taylor sighed.
David nodded sagely. He saw the fear on Taylor's face followed by resignation and couldn't help but feel sorry for her.
"Look, you won't be out there on your own. I'll be keeping watch," David patted Taylor's hand but she immediately withdrew it.
"How keeping watch? Where exactly will you be?" Taylor said tersely.
"It's best that you don't know. We don't want you constantly looking out for us or behaving unnaturally because you think we're watching. I want you to behave as normal as you can," David replied.
'Normal! I'm a man trapped in the body of woman, an experience that was until today not entirely unpleasant. I finally have my dream come true and my startup is a raging success, I'm rich, I have friends and now this!' Taylor thought to herself.
"So what's it going to be Taylor?" David looked at his watch to indicate that time was critical.
Taylor sighed and nodded her head.
"Ok give me your phone. We'll track you my GPS and cell-tower triangulation but there may times when you have no coverage so we will put a small transmitter in your phone. It doesn't have much of a range but we can use it to pinpoint your location and find you if the other two methods are no longer available," David explained.
"One of your methods of keeping watch?" Taylor managed a feeble smile.
The briefing went on a while longer and then David took Taylor back down to the garage. He handed Taylor her phone just before she climbed into the rear of the town car.
"Good luck. Remember, I'll be watching," David patted her shoulder but it seemed to her that he wanted to do more, maybe hug her.
She noticed that he looked at her legs when she climbed into the car. No matter what the situation men were incorrigible around a pretty woman.
The ride back to Taylor's apartment was a lot shorter because the driver was able to drive there directly, there being no need to shake a tail. The car pulled up right outside the entrance to the Millennium on LaSalle and the driver, who hadn't said a word during the whole trip, turned in his seat.
"David Campbell is one of the good guys but don't fuck him over because he might look like a he just left prep school but he can be a ruthless prick," he said and then got out of the limo to get the door for her.
He did not stare at her legs.
Taylor made it up to her apartment before she began to shake. She fell onto the couch and sobbed uncontrollably until she was cried out. She felt exhausted and she made her way to the bedroom, disrobed and ran the bath. She poured herself a stiff drink and went back to the bathroom and stood before the mirror and examined her body. She had been a woman for long enough now that it no longer surprised her to see herself that way, but her body still fascinated her.
Having said all that, Taylor was looking forward to becoming her male self again in the near future. As she lowered herself into the bubbles she wondered if her forthcoming gender change might be her salvation. If she could play out the time she had remaining as the female Taylor until it was time use the USB to transform back into her male self she could save herself from prosecution and incarceration.
Female Taylor will have disappeared, taken by the Bratva perhaps, never to be seen again. Her cousin would come forward as her rightful successor. If she could get the FBI to hold off until then, the male Taylor could sell PostPay to Bradley Freeman who she knew wanted control of it. Male Taylor could not be indicted for money laundering because he had no knowledge of it. He would walk away with a healthy profit and work on another venture.
All of sudden there was light at the end of the tunnel.
Taylor luxuriated in the bath longer than she should have. She had been away from work for most of the day and she had a stream of texts from Veronique and an accumulation of email to deal with. But the bath was sumptuously warm and inviting and now that she'd had a drink to take the edge off and possibly has a solution to her conundrum, not all seemed lost.
She put down her drink and allowed her hand to snake down her body to the cleft between her legs whilst the other hand stroked her breasts. Her nipples engorged as did her clitoris as she massaged it with the pad of her middle finger. She didn't have a lot of time so she pressed harder and faster until her clitoris began to tingle and then she pushed two fingers into her vagina and tweaked her nipples.
The orgasm blossomed like a rose, each delectable peal of delight was like a petal opening until the rose was in full bloom and intense rings of pleasure wracked her body. Taylor sighed and stretched out her toes and writhed a little in the warm foamy broth, letting the last tinges of her climax dissipate.
"Ok. Enough procrastination, get back to work," Taylor said and lifted her body from the foam.
Taylor drained the bath and stepped into the rainfall shower to wash away the remaining lather. She put on a bathrobe and fired up one of her PCs and went to work. She answered those emails that required a response and the same with her texts. She found four missed calls from Veronique Pascal and a few 'WTF?' texts so she gave her a call.
"Where the fuck have you been all day?" Veronique said without any preamble.
"I told you that an old friend was passing through and it was my only chance to catch up. I haven't seen him for years?" Taylor stuck to the pretext.
"You blew off Nordstrom for an old friend? What are you in fucking high school? I'm pissed and so is Bradley. The Nordstrom execs wanted to see the whiz-kid who developed the app not the monkeys pulling the levers," Veronique did indeed sound pissed.
"I'm sorry Veronique. What can I do?" Taylor was keen to make amends, she needed to get back on Veronique's good side.
"I'm going to tell you exactly what to do darling. You are going to put on that low-cut red satin sheath with the ass-to-ankle split in the side that I made you buy at Talia, put on the matching red Louboutin's, do your hair and makeup and get your fine ass down to Alinea. We have dinner reservations for nine," Veronique said.
"So a late dinner where I schlep my tits and ass around the execs from Nordstrom and all is forgiven?" Taylor tried to make light of it.
"Maybe by them; as for me I'm not so sure. We'll see what happens," Veronique broke the connection.
While she was speaking with Veronique an email arrived from an unknown source but Taylor knew that it was generated by FBI Agent David Campbell. She downloaded and unpacked the attachment. It directed Taylor to the source code on the PostPay servers at FreeCom that the Bratva, and by association, Bradley Freeman and Veronique Pascal were using to launder money.
As much as she would have liked to explore the programs and sub-routines cunningly buried in PostPay's operating system there was no time. Instead she spent half an hour in front of the mirror perfecting her hair and makeup and then slipped into a pair of her favourite flesh-toned Jonathan Aston 12 denier seamed holdup stockings and a pair of red, seamless, microfiber, hipster panties so as not to show any visible pantyline under the satin sheath. She shimmied into the evening gown; there was enough support in the bodice of the dress that she could go without a bra.
Taylor accessorised with a matching silver and emerald necklace and earrings to complement the dress and shoes. She used her app to order a car from her service while she fussed around ensuring she that looked perfect and then threw the essentials into a Jimmy Choo silver clutch and slipped her feet into her red four-inch Louboutin pumps just as the car arrived.
Taylor decided not to wear a coat over the dress for fear of spoiling the nap of the sleek fabric. Braving the bitter cold for the quick trip from the foyer of her building to the rear doors of the limo was worth it because when she alighted from the car at Alinea restaurant heads were turned and compliments were made.
Veronique's car pulled up behind Taylor's and she too turned heads getting out of her town car wearing a teal charmeuse evening gown and white Jimmy Choo's. The gown was perfectly complemented by her blood-red lipstick and severe jet-black shoulder-length bob.
The two women air-kissed at the entrance to the restaurant while the concierge held the door open for them and more heads turned as they made their way to the bar escorted by Bradley Freeman who had arrived in Veronique's car.
"When I see you dressed like this Taylor I can almost forgive you for being AWOL today," his fingers brushed Taylor's buttocks as he put his hand in the small of her back to guide her to the bar and Taylor doubted that the ass-grab was accidental.
She spent the evening schmoozing up to the Nordstrom executives, two men and one woman, ensuring that she displayed plenty of legs and tits. All three of the executives seemed interested, which made Taylor think the female exec was either lesbian or bi. The late dinner wrapped up around midnight and the Nordstrom people excused themselves. They needed to get some rest; tomorrow was a workday.
Bradley insisted that Taylor and Veronique accompany him to his apartment for a nightcap despite their protests. They bundled into the back of a town car where Bradley took the opportunity to not so subtly grope them both. They had all drunk plenty during the evening and their inhibitions were down. Bradley settled the women on a long couch in the subtly lit lounge room and poured them all drinks that they really didn't need.
Bradley was happy to sit in an armchair and watch Veronique and Taylor get it on. They stripped to their lingerie and spent a while kissing and fondling each other then they took turns going down on each other and then they moved to the bedroom and ended up scissoring on the big bed.
Bradley became impatient and a little rapey and the girls submitted to his desires and he fucked them both a little and Veronique let him come in her ass. Then the girls got back to scissoring and then they fell asleep in a tangled heap.
The next day at her office in FreeCom Taylor closed the door and asked the receptionist to screen her calls while she examined in detail the source code that had been installed on the PostPay servers. The malware was simple but cunning. It generated fictitious PostPay accounts which then made purchases for significant amounts of money just below the $10,000 limit which would require a currency transaction report. Deposits were made through PostPay into the accounts of the sham vendors which were then routed overseas into numbered bank accounts.
An algorithm determined when a fictitious account was nearing overuse and likely to draw suspicion and the account was closed and another pseudo customer account immediately generated. According to Taylor's calculations the Bratva could conceivably launder over half a billion dollars a year through PostPay. The program was designed so that the illegal transactions did not pay any fees or interest to PostPay so that it passed seamlessly through the system but did not artificially bloat PostPay's profits which would have drawn the attention of the Treasury Department.
"Fuck!" Taylor was shocked at the audacity of the scheme.
The malware had obviously been programmed into PostPay by one or more of Bradley Freeman's whiz-kid coders, not that it mattered. What mattered to Taylor was linking the bogus accounts to Alexi Kamerov and the income streams to human trafficking.
Taylor walked down the corridor to Veronique Pascal's office and entered unannounced. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it.
"A dramatic entrance Taylor; what can I do for you?" Veronique asked.
"I know about the secret code embedded in PostPay," Taylor said frankly.
Veronique raised an eyebrow and indicated a leather sofa in the corner of the office. Taylor strode over and sat down and Veronique came around from behind her desk and sat opposite her.
"What are you talking about?" Veronique remained stoic.
"I'm no criminal investigator but I can only guess that PostPay is being used to launder money. Bradley is obviously in on it because the programming code has his whiz-kids signatures all over it. Code writers are almost like authors, you can tell who wrote the book even if you can't see the cover," Taylor replied.
"I don't know what you are talking about," Veronique studied her fingernails.
"Look Veronica, Bradley is smart. He's a very competent businessman and entrepreneur, I'm sure he's behind the scheme but someone is providing the cash. Someone is pushing huge sums of money through PostPay and I can only think that that person is you... or someone you represent," Taylor appeared confident but inside she was petrified.
"Really Taylor... and where am I getting all this money you claim I am laundering?" Veronique stopped looking at her nails and her eyes drilled into Taylor's.
Veronique looked downright dangerous as her eyes narrowed and a scowl formed on her blood-red lips.
"You told me about how you started life as Katcha Kovalenko before you went to Paris and morphed into Veronique Pascal. About how you legitimised some of Alexi Kamerov's business interests before you escaped the clutches of the Bratva," Taylor took a deep breath and continued.
"I'm hypothesising that you never really broke your ties with Bratva and that you are still working for Alexi, helping him launder his money," Taylor returned Veronique's glare.
"You hypothesise a lot Taylor. Was it not Bradley who financed your startup when no one else was interested? Was it not I who did most of the leg work finding the multinationals to join our venture? Was it not Bradley and I who marketed your app?" Veronique snipped.
"Wasn't it I who transformed you from a poor Kmart frump to a sophisticated Prada chic? You owe me so much and yet you accuse me of using PostPay to launder Bratva money!" Veronique hissed, all vestiges of camaraderie gone.
"PostPay was by baby Veronica! I created it! I nurtured it!" Taylor retorted.
"Don't be a petulant brat Taylor. You handed PostPay to Bradley and I to do what you couldn't... to market it. To make it pay," Veronique countered.
"To make it pay Taylor! Let's be truthful here... it's all about the money! It was always about the money! It will always be about the money!" Veronique slapped the table to emphasise each point.
"In that case I want my share!" Taylor snapped back.
A wicked smile crossed Veronique's face and she came over and sat next to Taylor. She was uncomfortably close.
"And there we have it. Now you are behaving like an adult," Veronique patted Taylor's knee.
"There is plenty of money to go around Taylor. Money is not a problem. What is a problem is that you need to know what we are doing. You realise that as soon as you take one cent of that money you become part of the conspiracy? There is no turning back," Veronique squeezed Taylor's knee.
Taylor just nodded.
"You also need to realise who you are getting into bed with. I told you what happened to me; what I had to do to get myself out of that apartment block in Munich. I told you about the degradation I put myself through willingly so that I wouldn't end up like Olga hanging from the ceiling with her panties full of shit but I never told you what happened to Yana. I don't really know myself but when Peter and Gunther took her away, you can bet they made her regret that she ever stole from Alexi Kamerov before they killed her," Veronique said sagely.
"Everyone knowingly associated with this enterprise is a possible source of compromise. Can you imagine what happens to someone who Alexi suspects may be jeopardising his operation?"
Taylor nodded.
Veronique turned Taylor's face to hers and looked her squarely in the eyes.
"I don't think you do Taylor. I don't think you do," Veronique said gravely.
"Do you still want the money? You might as well take it now that you have become a potential liability. At least if you are on the take, you become part of the conspiracy; you are as guilty as any of us," Veronique's smile contained no warmth.
"Yes. I want a share of the money," Taylor's sighed.
"Ok, good girl. It will only take a little time to set up an offshore account for you. For obvious reasons the money can't be deposited into any of your existing accounts. Also you will need to be careful how you spend the money. You are already a wealthy woman so it won't raise any alarm bells if you spend some of the money but you need to think about what you are going to do with the rest of it; it will accumulate quite quickly," Taylor smiled and squeezed Taylor's knee again.
"I can help you to invest the money wisely offshore, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Just behave normally. Don't break your routines or make any changes to your current lifestyle."
"I'll contact you soon with the details Taylor, ok?" Veronique said reassuringly.
"Ok," Taylor returned Veronique's smile.
Veronique leaned in and kissed Taylor on the lips.
"Let's go to dinner tonight. You can come around to my place after," Veronique slipped her hand under Taylor's skirt.
She rubbed Taylor's sex through her panties while she kissed her again, this time more passionately. Taylor returned Veronique's kiss and felt herself becoming wet. Veronique gave Taylor's cunt one last rub and then withdrew her hand. She eased out of their embrace.
"See you tonight Taylor," Veronique smiled at Taylor and stood up.
The meeting was over.
Taylor went back to her office and started to tremble. She had done what was asked of her, but she was more scared than ever.
That afternoon Taylor went home early. She recognised the black sedan parked out front of her apartment building but did her best to ignore it. As she entered the foyer David Campbell slipped in behind her and entered the same elevator. He stood behind her and Taylor glanced nervously up at the security camera mounted in the top corner of the car.
"Act naturally Taylor just in case the doorman is watching the screens. The FBI techs will remove the recorded video tonight so there will be no record of our meeting," David whispered even though he knew that audio was not being recorded.
David reached out to rub Taylor's back reassuringly out of view of the camera. Taylor did feel comforted and also felt safe in David's presence. David's hand slipped down to her buttocks as the car shuddered to a stop.
"Sorry. That was an accident," David whispered.
He was standing so close to her that she could feel his breath on her neck. He could smell her perfume and combined with the sight of the curve of her buttocks and her long legs sheathed in sheer hosiery caused him to become aroused.
"An accident you say," Taylor stared directly ahead but she was smiling.
When the elevator restarted its assent she fell back against him, pushing her ass into his groin. Her smile widened when she felt his erection through her skirt.
"That was an accident too," Taylor grinned.
David blushed. He was not used to being in the presence of such an audacious young woman.
Taylor unlocked her apartment and ushered David in ahead of her.
There was something about David Campbell that made Taylor feel safe. He effused confidence and courage and there was also something about him that felt a little dangerous. She offered him a seat at the breakfast bar while she made coffee.
"How's things?" David asked, taking off his jacket.
Taylor noted the Glock 17 clipped to his belt.
"How's things? You ask that like we are two friends meeting for coffee not an FBI agent meeting a CI who he has blackmailed into working for him," Taylor couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.
David got up off the stool and walked around the breakfast bar and stood beside Taylor, helping her with the coffee cups.
"I'm trying to help you Taylor. I'm trying to keep you out of jail," David said.
"But I didn't do anything wrong," Taylor replied.
"Look. I know that but that's not how it looks to the US Attorney's office. Your company is being used to launder money and you are making money from the proceeds of organised crime," David took the proffered cup of coffee and sipped.
"But that's just it; I'm not... or I wasn't," Taylor sipped her coffee.
They were standing close and each was aware of the effect that they had on each other although neither of them spoke of it.
"What do you mean by 'I wasn't'?" David asked expectantly.
"I confronted Veronique. I told her that I knew about the money laundering and that I suspected that she was at the root of it and was still working for the Bratva. She confirmed that she's still working for Alexi Kamerov and that David Freeman is also in it up to his neck," Taylor put down her coffee and looked at David defiantly.
"You got that much already? Wow!" David put down his cup and placed a hand on Taylor's upper arm.
"You know how dangerous for you this is going to get now?" David put his other hand on her other arm and squeezed gently.
"Veronique warned me about how dangerous it is but I told her I wanted a share of the proceeds and that placated her somewhat. She's setting up an offshore account for me."
"I've done what you wanted of me David," Taylor searched his eyes.
"Now comes the hard part. I need you to get Veronique to confirm that the money is coming from their human trafficking organisation. I really want to get Alexi tied to that," David looked deeply into Taylor's emerald green eyes.
"I promise I'll keep you safe Taylor; you have my word," David squeezed her upper arms again.
They gazed into each other's eyes. The only noise was the sound of their breathing, the rest of the world faded from their periphery. David leaned in and Taylor opened her lips expectantly. They kissed softly, their lips pressed together, their bodies separated by inches. David stroked Taylor's face gently; he wanted to pull her against him and wrap his arms around her but he restrained himself.
Taylor put her hands on David's hips and let him kiss her. She fully expected that he would embrace her and kiss her more passionately; maybe put his hands on her in places that he shouldn't. And she wanted him to.
She was disappointed when David broke the kiss and took a step back.
"I'm sorry. That was unprofessional," David shook his head and looked down at his feet.
Taylor lifted David's chin and made him look at her.
"It was wonderful David and I liked it. I would have pushed you away if I didn't," Taylor sighed.
"It was wrong. You're a cooperating witness and I'm your handler, there is no room for a personal relationship," David whispered.
"Who says so?" Taylor smiled at him and his heart melted.
"The FBI code of conduct says so," David shook his head again.
"I don't know... maybe when the case is over Taylor, you know if... if... if you want to?" David stammered.
Taylor almost felt sorry for him.
"Maybe I want to... let's see what happens," Taylor handed David his coffee and she took hers and moved to the breakfast bar.
David took his seat across from her and Taylor briefed him in detail.
Later that evening Taylor received a text from Veronique asking her to join her for dinner at Alinea restaurant again and she replied that she'd be delighted.
Taylor did not dress as extravagantly as she had the previous evening but she still looked ravishing in her simple black cocktail dress. Veronique was sitting in a booth dressed in an elegant off the shoulder red ruched dress with matching heels. She was drinking a dry martini and Taylor slid into the booth opposite. Veronique leaned over the table and kissed Taylor on the lips and said good evening.
"You left early today Taylor," Veronique said but it sounded more like a question.
"I'd finished what I needed to do in the office so I worked on some code at home where it's quiet and comfortable," Taylor countered.
"Fair enough; no need to explain your comings and goings to me," Veronique quipped.
A waitress arrived with another martini for Veronique and a gin and tonic for Taylor.
"I pre-ordered your drink, I hope you don't mind," Veronique smiled mischievously.
"Not at all darling, cheers," Taylor raised her glass and Veronique chinked hers to it.
"Ah! My two beautiful ladies together; bring me one of those please," a brute of a man wearing a black Amani suit said to the waitress and slid into the booth beside Taylor, effectively wedging her against the wall.
He had long black hair with a leonine head but was very handsome despite the scar that ran down the left side of his face from forehead to chin said. His accent was distinctly Russian.
"Pleased to meet you Taylor, I'm Alexi Kamerov," the man kissed Taylor on the cheek as though they were old acquaintances.
Taylor felt a chill run through her despite the heating in the restaurant.
"I forgot to mention that we were having company for dinner," Veronique shrugged her shoulders as if it was nothing.
"You are as captivating as Veronique described you; not a classic beauty but fascinating and alluring in your own special way, like a rose amongst daisies," Alexi brazenly studied Taylor like she was a chattel he was contemplating purchasing.
Taylor finally gained her composure.
"I'm please to meet you too Alexi, Veronique has told me so much about you," Taylor countered.
"Yes. Perhaps a little too much I think," Alexi's demeanour changed and he sounded surly.
Veronique blushed and looked away.
"But she also tells me that you found out about the little program I had embedded in PostPay. You are a very good programmer, of that there is no doubt. Smart, intelligent, inquisitive... what do you westerners say about the cat and curiosity? Never mind. We Russians have our own proverbs. May favourite is 'if you're scared of wolves don't go in the woods'," Alexi's drink arrived and he grinned wickedly and raised his glass.
"Nastrovje!" Alexi cried and raised his glass.
Veronique and Taylor raised their glasses and repeated the toast.
Taylor's mind was racing. She had stood up to Veronique this morning despite her fear and she figured that if she showed Alexi any fear it would not bode well.
"You are right about the cat but the full proverb is 'curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction bought it back' and I'm very satisfied Alexi. I'm very satisfied indeed with the arrangement I made with Veronique this morning."
"Nastrovje!" Taylor raised her glass and downed the contents.
"Nastrovje!" Alexi roared and downed his own drink and Veronique followed suit.
"Ha! I like a woman who has fire in her belly. Bring vodka! Bring us a bottle of Stolichnaya!" Alexi slammed the table and a startled waitress hurried away to meet Alexi's demands.
"I like you Taylor, even though you have a silly name," Alexi chuckled.
He squeezed her thigh under the table but Taylor was too scared to move his hand; instead she patted it and smiled at him.
"I like you too Alexi, you are a handsome man and you have a good sense of humour," Taylor grinned.
Veronique smiled too, glad that the tension had been diffused.
"When I told Alexi about our agreement he insisted on meeting you, I'm glad we are all getting along," Veronique said.
The vodka arrived along with three ice-cold glasses and Alexi filled them while Veronique and Taylor studied the menu. They were going to have to eat something if they were going to keep drinking at this pace.
They ate well and Alexi put the vodka aside and ordered a good bottle of wine to go with their dinner. Alexi kept the women amused with stories about when he worked for the Russian Police and admitted that he was dismissed when the department was downsized and those with links to organised crime lost their jobs. He freely admitted to being involved in smuggling but was not specific as to what exactly he was smuggling, he certainly did not admit to people smuggling or prostitution despite Taylor's attempts to guide the conversation that way.
"So Veronique, is the invitation to continue the party at your place still open?" Alexi asked after he had taken care of the tab and left a very generous tip.
"Of course Alexi; anything you want," Veronique replied but her response sounded cagey.
Numbed by alcohol and beguiled by Alexi's friendly demeanour, Taylor did not detect the hesitancy in Veronique's voice.
They came out of Alinea to find a town car idling at the curb. Alexi opened the rear passenger door and indicated for Taylor get in and she thanked him for being so courteous but as she climbed into car she saw that there was a large muscular bald-headed man sitting in the back seat and her intuition, even clouded by the fog of alcohol, warned her not to get in the car.
It was too late.
The muscular man in the back seat seized her arm and pulled her into the car assisted by Alexi who pushed her from behind. Alexi and Veronique shouted at each other in Russian and then Alexi climbed into the car and it sped off. Taylor was squeezed between the bald man and Alexi, effectively squashed between them.
"What the fuck Alexi?" Taylor tried to struggle free and sit in the seat opposite but the men restrained her.
"Shut the fuck up you American bitch," the bald man elbowed Taylor in the midriff, effectively winding her.
As she fought to breathe the two men conversed in Russian, ignoring her discomfort.
"You privileged American princess. We fund your startup and make you a rich woman and still you want more. All you had to do was shut the fuck up when you found out about us washing our money through your shitty little company but you couldn't help but be greedy," Alexi shook Taylor by the shoulder.
"Where are you taking me?" Taylor pleaded when she was able to breathe.
"Don't ask questions. The days of you asking questions are long over; now you just do as you are told," Alexi growled.
"Are you going to kill me?" Taylor whispered.
"Kill you? Why would I do that? Katcha Kovalenko told you what happened to her and how I make my money. We don't just bring in girls from the east; we ship them the other way too. Pretty young blonde American girls like you bring in good money from the Arabs," Alexi gave her a wicked smile.
There was no doubt that Taylor was terrified but she was also acutely aware that Alexi had admitted to her that he was involved in people trafficking and prostitution. Provided that David lived up to his promise to keep watch over her she should soon be rescued; she just had to keep her cool.
The limo made a sudden turn into an underground parking garage so fast that she was thrown against the bald man. The car accelerated down several levels and came to a screeching halt next to a white Ford Transit. The door to the van slid open and at the same time the bald man opened the door to the limo and dragged Taylor out of the town car and pushed her roughly into the rear of the Transit. She was handled so roughly that her dress was torn and she lost a high heel and dropped her purse.
"Get in there you fucking American whore!" baldy gnarled as he pushed Taylor further inside the transit.
Baldy and Alexi jumped into the van behind her and the van took off, bumping and swerving its way through the galleries, careering out of an exit and accelerating down the street. The driver of the limo picked up Taylor's purse and tossed it into the town car and drove away, leaving by a different exit.
The limo left the parking garage and drove two blocks before it was effectively boxed in by two unmarked police cars that skidded to a halt, one in front and one behind. David Campbell, wearing body armour, tapped his Glock against the driver's window whilst two agents also wearing body armour and carrying MP5 submachine guns covered the doors on the other side.
The driver lowered the heavily tinted window and smiled at David.
"Da?" the driver smiled insolently at David.
"Get out!" David grunted as the other two agents opened the near-side doors of the vehicle.
The driver got out and put his hands on his head and leaned against the limo facing away from David. He knew the drill.
"It's empty!" one of the other agents yelled.
David kept his gun on the driver and leaned into the limo. It was indeed empty.
"Where is the girl?" David thrust his pistol into the driver's flank.
"Russkiy bez angliyskogo," the Russian turned his head and grinned at David.
"I know you speak English you Russian fuck!" David spun the man around and drove his gun into his midriff.
"Nyet... only one word... lawyer," the Russian's grin widened.
David began to batter the butt of his weapon against the driver's head but the Russian covered his face with his hands long enough for the other two agents to haul David off him.
"Lawyer," the Russian smirked through bloody teeth.
"Fuck!" David hissed.
He looked back inside the car and snatched up Taylor's Jimmy Choo silver clutch. He opened it and his heart fell when he saw her Galaxy S20 tucked inside it.
David had lost Taylor Averille.
He raced back to one of the FBI cars and put out a BOLO for Taylor Averille but without knowing the type of vehicle she was being transported in it was a useless gesture and he knew it.
"Where are you taking me?" Taylor asked.
The back of the Transit van had a single bench seat set against the rear cabin and baldy and Alexi sat on the bench facing Taylor who was huddled on a mattress bestrewn with rumpled dirty bedding.
"I told you that you don't get to ask any more questions. Sergei, you want to try her," Alexi turned to the bald man.
"Are you sure you don't want to go first Alexi?" Sergei asked.
"I'll wait until I can put her on a proper bed; I want to take my time with her so please be my guest and sample our new wares," Alexi spoke to Sergei but he glared at Taylor.
He wanted her to know what was coming.
Taylor suspected this would happen. Veronique had told her about how she was treated while she being transported from Uzhhorod to Munich and she expected to fare no better. She set her resolve. She hoped that David and his FBI counterparts were following the van and she prayed that they pulled it over soon. Her fear was that they were just tailing the van and keeping it under surveillance and would wait until it got to its destination before they pounced.
"I know what you want and I won't fight you so you don't have to beat me," Taylor sat up and glared at the men.
"We won't beat you; you are far too valuable a chattel to be damaged but we have ways of controlling you that are far from pleasant that won't leave any marks on you," Alexi stated matter-of-factly.
"Take off your dress... or don't and I'll rip it off you," Sergei grunted as he started to undress himself.
Taylor kicked off her one remaining high heel and pulled her dress over her head. She was left dressed in her Jonathan Aston 12 denier seamed holdup stockings, a pair of black seamless microfiber hipster panties and matching bra.
Sergei was naked, his huge body was a slab of muscle and sinew adorned with so many tattoos that barely any of his pale flesh was visible. He was barrel-chested and hairless all over, including his groin from which protruded a large erection. He came over and sat beside Taylor.
"I'm goin to use my mouth on you and have you use your mouth on me. If you bite I'm going to hurt you. I warn you that I can inflict excruciating pain on you without leaving any marks. Do you understand?" Sergei said.
Taylor nodded. She recalled how Veronique had told her that she been compliant, almost willing, when she was taken into the clearing near Trnava and Taylor summoned up all that remained of her courage. All she had to do was survive long enough to be rescued. In a few days she would use the magic USB and transform back to her male self and she hoped that she would be able to put all this behind her.
Sergei scooted close to Taylor and put his arms around her and lowered his face to hers. She didn't fight when he kissed her. She was surprised that his breath was fresh and he smelled of cologne and deodorant, his muscled torso pressing against her felt quite exhilarating. In other circumstances she might have welcomed his advances.
He slipped his tongue into her yielding mouth and she tentatively used the tip of her tongue on his and put her arms on his massive shoulders.
"Good," Sergei grunted.
He ripped off her bra and used his paws on her breasts, tweaking her nipples which became engorged to his touch. His tortuous treatment of her breasts actually felt exciting and when he lowered his head to them and used his lips and teeth on them she shuddered. She was surprised that being treated so harshly could excite her but so far all of the lovemaking she had experienced had been tender. This was first time that she had been treated so crudely.
If fact Taylor had to admit that she was a little disappointed when Sergei stopped molesting her breasts with his lips and teeth and moved his mouth back to hers. Her nipples were throbbing, radiating a burning but pleasurable sensation and to her surprise and disgust she felt herself becoming wet between the legs.
Taylor willingly accepted his kisses and reciprocated, rubbing her tender breasts on his hard chest to keep them stimulated. Sergei eased her away a little so that he could use his hands on them again, squeezing the soft creamy globes and tweaking her tender nipples causing Taylor to gasp.
She kissed him harder and when he guided her hand to his groin she voluntarily cupped his scrotum, gently stroking and squeezing the wrinkled sac. Then she took his turgid penis in her hand and began to stroke it.
"She likes it Sergei... or she knows what's good for her," Alexi chuckled.
Alexi was intently watching Sergei molest Taylor and was a little surprised by her response and also a little jealous that he had let Sergei go first. But you never knew how the girls they trafficked were going to react once they realised their predicament. Some made the most of it. Some fought wildly. Some just lay there unresponsive. Not that it mattered; he had customers for all types of girls. Those that were useless to him he disposed of.
Taylor felt Sergei's cock begin to throb between her fingers as she gently stroked him, deliberately teasing him. She felt the first pearl of pre-ejaculate ooze from his glans and she used the slippery fluid to lubricate his shaft. Rather than feeling repulsed, she actually felt empowered. This brute of a man was practically begging her to let him fuck her.
When Sergei softly grazed the front of her silky panties with his fingertips she shuddered again. He teased her, lightly skimming his fingers across her pubis. He could feel that her panties were damp and he smiled when she panted into his mouth. He moved his hand out of her crotch and stoked the tops of her silken-sheathed thighs which while delightful was not as intense as the feeling of him stroking her panty-clad cunt.
Taylor let go of his phallus and returned to stroking and squeezing his sac. It was retaliation. If he wasn't going to stimulate her cunt she wasn't going to stimulate his penis.
Sergei smiled put his hand back on her mound; he pressed the slinky material into her vulva and rubbed it on her clitoris causing Taylor to squeal. He kissed her harder when she put her hand back on his cock and stroked him with long firm slow strokes. They kissed passionately and masturbated each other until they both sensed that they were ready.
Taylor willingly lay down and opened her legs and when Sergei began to move on top of her she opened her arms and sighed when his hard body pressed against hers. Her nipples were on fire, radiating pleasure through her torso as Sergei's chest pressed on her. He rubbed his cock in the valley between her legs, relishing the feel of her cuntal lips pressing on his cock, shrouded in the gossamer fabric of her panties.
Taylor lifted her legs and locked her feet behind Sergei's back and rose to meet his thrusts. Despite her abject surrender to her carnal desires she felt disgusted with herself. She felt like a slattern giving herself to this brute, even though she knew it was her only means of self-preservation.
When Sergei slipped his steely member inside the gusset of her panties and impaled her with the throbbing tool she forgot all about her self-loathing and surrendered to her lust.
Taylor moaned like a slattern and clung to Sergei as he thrust his cock in and out of her dripping cunt. His cock was bigger that Bradley's and filled her still-virginal sheath, which clung to his flesh like a velvet glove. Sergei revelled in the sensation of the beautiful young woman's tight vagina caressing his shaft as he thrust himself in and out of her. The sleek feel of her stockings against his sensitive flanks amplified the delightful feelings emanating from his cock. Taylor's legs tightened around his waist as she rose up and ground herself against him and he sensed her orgasm approaching.
He too was close to extremis and he slammed himself deep inside her tight wet channel and ejaculated. He kissed her and gasped into her mouth and Taylor screamed into his and raked her fingernails across his back as she writhed beneath him, driving her crotch into his, her cunt quivering and milking him of his seed.
Alexi began to clap. The splendour of the performance he just witnessed, the lust-filled surrender of the woman taken against her will, the animalistic lewdness displayed by her was extremely arousing and he was tempted to pull Sergei off Taylor and take his place. But it was better to savour the moment and wait until he had her to himself.
Taylor was breathless, her body still spasmed as the last vestiges of her climax began to subside. Sergei lay on top of her, panting with the exertion, he was almost exhausted, his cock still twitching as the last dribbles of his spend were planted deep inside Taylor's tight cunt.
When he climbed off her Taylor began to quietly weep whilst Alexi continued to applaud her performance.
"Do I detect little post coital regret from the American princess? Never mind; you will soon become used to being used on a regular basis; that is your future, your punishment for being so greedy. Get dressed we are nearly there," Alexi growled.
*****
David was distraught. He left the limo driver in the custody of the other two agents and jumped into his own vehicle. He had one slim chance. David had left a surveillance team on Veronique Pascal. They had witnessed the argument between her and Alexi out front of Alinea and because Alexi was their main quarry David had followed the limo while the other team followed Veronique.
He called the team leader who reported that they had followed Veronique back to her apartment where she had stayed for only half an hour or so before she emerged with a small suitcase. They were currently tailing her along Route 57. She was staying just below the speed limit and driving carefully and the team had had to drop back so as not to be detected.
David told them he would join them as soon as possible so that they could tag-team the tail. He hit the lights and siren and put his foot on the gas and prayed that Veronique Pascal would take them to Alexi Kamerov and Taylor Averille. He also prayed that nothing had happened to Taylor and she would be kept safe until he was able to rescue her.
*****
Taylor felt thoroughly disgusted with herself but deep down inside she knew that she had done what she had to survive or at least to prevent serious pain or injury being inflicted on her. The fact that she thoroughly enjoyed being ravished came as a complete surprise and was something that she doubted that she would ever admit to. She wondered what male Taylor would think about the incident; that was if she was able to survive her abduction and get back to her apartment in time to transform.
She put on her bra and adjusted her sodden panties. She hoped that there was a change of clothing at wherever she was being taken. She struggled into her torn dress as the van jostled and rattled along a rutted track.
The van lurched to a stop and Sergei, now fully-dressed, flung open the door.
"Inside!" Alexi growled and dragged Taylor to her feet.
He pushed her out into the cold dark night. She looked around and determined that they were deep in the woods. She estimated that they had been in the van for about three hours but had no way of knowing. The sky was clear; the silhouettes of large pine and deciduous trees were framed against the clear star-strew heavens. They had parked next to a wood-framed farmhouse with a gravel courtyard and Alexi pushed her towards the door.
The house was quiet but there was light spilling through the closed blinds of the second story windows.
"Where are we?" Taylor asked, a little a dazed.
Alexi said nothing and pushed her towards the door.
Her stockinged feet hurt as the gravel dug into the soles of her feet and she hobbled towards the farmhouse as fast as she could to stop the pain and to get out of the cold.
The house was sparsely furnished with rustic wooden pieces, two men with Kalashnikov rifles sat near a roaring fire keeping warm and drinking vodka.
"Where is Uri?" Alexi barked.
"He's upstairs fucking one of the new arrivals," one of the men answered.
Alexi flung Taylor across the room and she landed on an overstuffed couch. One of the men put down his weapon and made towards her.
"Leave her! She's not for you peasants. I'll use her myself to try her out and then I'm keeping her for Yosef to sell out of Dubai. Those ragheads like a girl with some fire in her so I don't want her fucked senseless before we sell her," Alexi grunted.
"You two get outside and keep watch. I'm not paying you to fuck my merchandise and drink vodka. How many girls arrived in the new shipment?" Alexi asked.
"Eight; six Ukrainians and two Russians, all young and good-looking, we crossed the Canadian border last night. Two other girls didn't make it," the man who had intended to use Taylor said, shrugging his shoulders.
The man picked up his weapon and he and his partner went outside and closed the door. Sergei went over and threw some wood on the fire and then dragged Taylor up by her arm and pushed her towards the stairs.
"Walk! Come on I don't have all night," Sergei pushed Taylor in front of him.
Taylor had no choice but climb the wooden stairs to the upper floor. There was a series of closed doors running down both sides of the corridor; it looked like the upper floor had been recently subdivided into small rooms. Taylor heard quiet sobbing coming from behind some of the doors but most were quiet. As they passed one of the doors she heard a bed creaking rhythmically and a girl moaning and a man grunting. Sergei grinned at her and pushed her ahead of him into the last room on the right.
It was simply furnished with a double bed, a chair and a dresser. On the dresser was a wash basin, a pitcher of water, a washcloth and a bar of soap. There was a glass and a plate but no utensils.
"Wash out your cunt," Sergei grunted and pushed her into the room and slammed the door.
Taylor heard the door lock when he left. She tried it anyway but it was securely locked. She went to the window and moved the blind aside and looked out. The two men with Kalashnikovs were talking and smoking, they didn't seem concerned. Taylor just hoped that David Campbell and her rescue team were not too far away. Surely they would free her soon. They could catch Alexi red-handed with the girls he was trafficking.
She made her way to the dresser and poured some water in the bowl and dipped the washcloth into it and rubbed it on the soap. She pulled her panties down to her knees, squatted and wiped her sex with the soapy cloth. It was cold but refreshing and she was glad to wash away Sergei's semen although she knew that some of it still lay deep in her vagina. Her vulva was a little sore but she was shamefully aware that the dull throb felt quite pleasurable rather than painful.
Just as she was pulling up her panties the beams of a pair of headlights washed over the window and she heard the sound of a car engine. She ran to the window and looked out. A black BMW had pulled up and the driver killed the engine and turned out the headlights. Taylor sneered when Veronique climbed out of the car and took a small suitcase from the back seat. She spoke to the guards for a minute and then approached the farmhouse.
Taylor listened intently but all she could hear was the sounds from another room; the squeaking of a bedframe and a man and woman grunting and moaning. At that moment the woman cried out "da! da!" and the man roared and suddenly the bed stopped squeaking. She heard muffled voices and the sound of a door opening and closing and then she heard footsteps receding down the corridor.
A short while later she heard the unmistakeable click-clack of high heels on the boards and the door to her room opened.
Veronique entered and stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips and glared at Taylor.
She was dressed in denim jeggings, a red satin blouse, a fleece-lined Carhartt coat and high-heeled ankle boots. Her full pouty lips were coated in her favourite blood-red Guerlain Rouge Jewel lipstick and were turned down in a scowl. Her beautiful face was framed by her severe jet-black shoulder-length bob, her icy-blue eyes enhanced by dark eye makeup and her sharp rouged cheekbones.
"Look what you made them do Taylor! I tried to negotiate with Alexi but he turned my proposal down. I told you what happens to anyone that Alexi thinks is jeopardising our operation. He didn't believe the excuses for your absences from work; he's suspicious by nature. You shouldn't have been so greedy."
"It's a shame because I thought we could be real friends but now that is not to be," Veronique was seething.
"Now you will end up in some far off place with some rich swarthy Arab sweating over you. I just hope that he looks after you and keeps him you for himself and that you don't end up in some middle-eastern brothel."
"Just remember what I told you about what happened to me and how I overcame it. Endure it. Don't end up like Olga," Veronique took a packet of cigarettes and a gold lighter from her pocket. She took a cigarette out of the pack and lit it.
Taylor had never seen her smoke before but then again there were a lot of things that she didn't know about Veronique apparently.
"I thought we were friends Veronica," Taylor whispered.
She wanted to run to Veronique; to put her arms around her and hold her close. She wanted Veronique hug her and stroke her hair and tell that everything will be ok.
She heard footsteps approaching from down the corridor and then Alexi entered the room. He and Veronique had a heated discussion in Russian. Veronique threw her cigarette on the floor in anger and crushed it out. She walked to the door and paused.
"Goodbye Kmart," she said and closed the door.
*****
David Campbell had killed his lights and siren about a mile before he caught up to the car tailing Veronique Pascal's black BMW and he picked up the tail just before she left Route 57 and took Route 72 heading southwest towards Decatur. He called ahead to the Springfield field office, explained the situation and asked them to have a SWAT team on standby. Veronique turned off the highway onto a secondary road and then down a dirt track which looked like it led into a commercial forestry. David called the Springfield field office and scrambled the SWAT team. He and the other officers waited about half a mile down the dirt road where they could just see the lights of a farmhouse.
*****
If she thought that Sergei's cock was big then Alexi's was huge. It jutted from his groin like the trunk of a tree, gnarly and angry.
Alexi pushed Taylor down on her knees and she knew what he wanted. She took the same pragmatic approach she had taken with Sergei, be compliant, be willing, be complicit. She used her lips and her tongue on the swollen glans and when she had it wet enough with her spit she put as much as Alexi's cock as she could into her mouth.
She worked the shaft with her hand, stroking the flesh she couldn't fit in her mouth. She slathered at the meaty phallus and felt it throb and she swallowed the dribble of pre-seminal fluid that leaked from the pulsing member.
"Take of your dress. Get on the bed, take off your bra and pull down your panties," Alexi pushed her face off his cock.
Taylor did as she was told and scooted to the middle of the bed when Alexi climbed on it.
'Where was David!' she thought. She couldn't take much more of this.
"Open your legs," Alexi ordered and climbed between them when she opened them wide.
He too was a brute of man, muscled, tattooed and handsome. He lowered his face to her and she let him kiss her and the she responded when Alexi mauled her still-tender breasts. Once again her body betrayed her and her nipples engorged and before long she was wet with her own vaginal secretions. She put her arms around Alexi and rubbed her body against his, feeling the heft of his penis pressing into her belly, smearing her soft white flesh with pre-ejaculate.
Alexi prodded impatiently at her vulva and Taylor put her hand down there and guided him to the entrance of her vagina. She was sloppy with lust and he slid in into her easily despite the girth of his cock. It stretched her vagina but some of Sergei's sperm was still inside her and it eased his passage as Alexi buried his cock inside Taylor as far as it would go. He took her ankles and lifted them indicating for her to put her legs around his back which she did.
Alexi fucked her hard and fast while Taylor clung to him, holding on while he kissed her and fucked her so hard that the bed began to shake. A colossal orgasm began to bloom deep in her spongy channel and rippled outwards igniting a fire as it reached her clitoris. Taylor's screams were muffled by Alexi's kisses but they were screams of passion not of fear. Her orgasm intensified as Alexi blasted her full of his creamy seed, it oozed from her tight cunt and dribbled between her legs and into her sphincter.
It was then that she heard the blades of a helicopter and suddenly the whole farmhouse was awash with bright light. She heard gunfire in the distance.
"Fuck!" Alexi roared and leapt off her.
He scampered across the room and pulled on his pants just as Taylor heard the deafening sounds of doors crashing open downstairs, flash-bangs, stomping boots, the screams of women locked in their rooms and the stuttering sound of gunfire getting closer. She heard a man scream somewhere as Alexi ripped a pistol out of its holder and flung open the door.
Alexi fired his gun down the corridor, the sound thunderous in the small room.
More gunshots followed as the agents returned fire.
"Fuck you princess, you go to hell!" Alexi, standing in the doorway, aimed his pistol at Taylor.
A series of shots rang out and Alexi staggered back into the room, blood pouring from his body. He gargled once, spun on his heels and fell on top of Taylor.
Taylor couldn't move under the weight of Alexi's body. Then she started to scream and tremble as she tried without success to push him off her.
David Campbell entered the room, leading the way with his Glock. He checked to make sure that the room was clear and felt for a pulse and then pulled Alexi off Taylor. She had become catatonic. She was dazed and unresponsive. David sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms but it was like holding a rag doll.
Downstairs the SWAT team paramedics were tending to two of the Russians who had suffered gunshot wounds, Sergei and Uri were both dead. Veronique Pascal had been handcuffed and led away to a waiting transport. Beside the prisoner transport was another bus and as the team cleared the rooms they led the young girls who had been trafficked downstairs and put them on the bus where two FBI linguists were waiting to interview them during their journey to a Federal holding facility.
Two SWAT guys came into the room and saw David holding an unresponsive Taylor in his arms. One of them checked Alexi and confirmed that he was deceased.
"She the snitch?" one of them pointed at Taylor.
David just glared at him.
When the two men left the room he pulled up Taylor's panties, trying not to look at the mess between her legs. He put on her dress. It was like trying to dress a mannequin. Taylor said nothing. She was dumb; catatonic.
David wrapped Taylor in a blanket that he took her from the bed and carried her downstairs.
"Where are you taking her? She's a material witness and possibly a suspect," the Special Agent in Charge growled.
David ignored him and continued through the house, down the stoop and walked towards his car.
"Agent Campbell! You bring that girl back here right now!" the SAC called after him.
"Fuck you!" David said without even turning around.
He settled Taylor into the passenger seat of his car and he got into the driver's seat.
"Where are you taking her?" the SAC called after him.
David said nothing and drove Taylor away from the crime scene, aware that he was putting his career in extreme jeopardy.
He leaned Taylor against him, driving one handed with his right arm around her, comforting her and keeping the blanket in place. About an hour into the drive Taylor started to come around. She started sobbing and clung to David, making it difficult for him to drive but he did his best to comfort her all the way back to Chicago.
David gained entrance to Taylor's apartment using his FBI credentials. By now Taylor was capable of walking unaided but she was unsteady on her feet and hadn't said anything comprehensible. He led her to the bathroom but she just stood there looking wretched. David took it upon himself to undress her and at first she fought him feebly but when he spoke to her in soothing tones she stopped.
He put her in a warm bath and bathed her, knowing that he was probably removing forensic evidence but not caring. He lifted her out of the bath and towelled her dry. He couldn't help studying her body and wondering what it would be like to lie beside her naked. He found some babydoll pyjamas, she didn't appear to have any conventional nightwear, and dressed her. He put her in bed and pulled up the covers and she was asleep almost immediately. He turned out the lights, closed the blinds on the breaking dawn, kicked off his shoes and lay down beside her fully-clothed on top of the comforter.
Sometime while they slept Taylor kicked back the covers and snuggled up to him, holding him close, her breathing deep and rhythmic.
It was later that afternoon that an FBI entry team broke down the door to Taylor's apartment and put their weapons on David while they made Taylor get dressed and took her away.
She spent her last few days as a woman being interrogated by the FBI. She told them everything she knew about Alexi Kamerov, Katcha Kovalenko - AKA Veronique Pascal and Bradley Freeman. She was told that both Veronique and Bradley were being held in custody pending the laying of multiple serious Federal offences including: money laundering, people trafficking, perverting the course of justice, mail fraud... the list went on. Taylor was represented by Terence Mulholland who insisted that Taylor had been a cooperating witness and had not knowingly been involved in any crimes.
Her statements were taken and she was released on her own recognizance with the caveat that she appear as a state's witness when the cases went to trial.
She asked about David Campbell and was told that he had been removed from the case and directed not to contact her whilst the investigation was ongoing.
*****
Taylor awoke excited on her last day on earth as a woman. She intended to enjoy the rituals associated with being a woman one last time and make the most of her last day of womanhood.
She luxuriated in a hot bath and then she climbed out and towelled off and wrapped herself in a satin robe and sat before her makeup mirror. She carefully applied her makeup and brushed her hair. After coffee and attending to some emails she dressed. Taylor enjoyed the slinky feeling of the sheer pantyhose as she slid them up her legs and smoothed the panty around her buttocks and belly, then she slipped her legs into a pair of pink satin cami-knickers, luxuriating in the feel of the cool satin slinking along her nylon-clad legs as she pulled them up. She put on a matching bra and a white charmeuse long-sleeve blouse and her navy-blue power suit. She stepped into her heels and checked herself in the mirror.
Taylor's plans to use the ruse of being kidnapped by the Bratva to explain her sudden disappearance had been thwarted when David Campbell and the FBI came to her rescue so she needed another exit strategy. She went to a used car dealer and paid cash for a one year old Mercedes Benz and drove it back to her apartment. She made a show of telling the concierge that the car parked in her allocated parking space in the underground garage was hers in case he wondered where the strange vehicle had come from. She packed two suitcases and put them in the trunk, ensuring that she was seen doing so by the building's security cameras. When the search for her began she wanted people to think that she was planning to run away.
She hoped her disappearance would be blamed on a revenge abduction by the Bratva.
FreeCom and PostPay were subject to an asset forfeiture application made by the FBI but were still allowed to trade pending the outcome of the claim. Both FreeCom's attorney Hugh Fleetwood and her own attorney Terence Mulholland believed that FreeCom and PostPay should be allowed to continue to operate now that Bradley Freeman and Veronique Pascal were no longer associated with the companies. An application had been made to the US Attorney stating that both companies were willing to surrender all proceeds of criminal activity as restitution to allow the companies to continue to operate and to allow the innocent parties involved to remain in control of the ventures.
Taylor took a car service down to The Loop and settled into her office at FreeCom. She wanted to make sure that everything was in place so that the transfer of ownership and management of PostPay would occur seamlessly when she disappeared. She wrote a series of emails from her work email to the male Taylor Averille's email address explaining that she suspected that the Bratva would not let her off so easily after what had happened to Alexi Kamerov. She made sure that she was seen leaving the office late in the afternoon.
She caught the L home, enjoying being out and about and the appreciative glances she received from the male passengers. She had already collected Taylor's male clothing from the storage facility and his clothes were ready for him to wear when she transitioned. Once transitioned, Taylor would take a shower and wash off the last vestiges of his feminine identity and check into a hotel and await advice from the law firm of Mulholland and Stamp that his cousin has gone missing and that he would need to take over management of PayPal until she either returned or was declared legally deceased when the company's ownership would pass on to him.
Taylor stripped naked and lay on the bed and masturbated for a long time, relishing the slow build up to her last climax. The shattering orgasm was intense; she would miss the mysterious body-wracking delight of the female orgasm but looked forward to once again having a penis to play with. She stepped back into her panties and put on her robe and took the mystical USB out of the drawer.
It still fascinated her. The almost otherworldly matte black oblong vibrated in her hand and emitted what felt like a minute electric charge. The red stones flashed erratically as she sat down at the PC. She fired up the computer and put the drive into the USB port.
It was ninety days almost to the hour since she had first put the USB into the same clunky old Sony Vaio. It seemed that the USB remembered where it was as this time there was no illegible random symbols and cyphers as the red lights on the USB began to pulse rhythmically.
Taylor read the instructions on the screen.
Congratulations. We hope that you have been enjoyed the gift and the most extraordinary and invaluable privilege that we bestowed upon you and we hope that the life changing manifestation you undertook bought you happiness and fortune. As you know, if you elect not to return to the gift today, the gift will be bestowed on you permanently and can never be returned. The digital display in the lower right corner is counting down the elapsed time.
Do you wish to return the gift? Y/N
Taylor's manicured fingernail hovered above the Y key. She had forgotten to remove her red nailpolish; it was a task that her male counterpart would have to attend to post-transformation. She was about to press the key when the callbox intercom buzzed, almost scaring her out of her skin.
The looked at the elapsed time counting down in the lower right corner of the screen. She had plenty of time. Over two hours. She went to the callbox and lifted the receiver to her ear.
"Yes?" she whispered.
"Taylor? Is that you? This is David Campbell," his voice sounded muted and remote through the intercom.
Taylor hesitated. She owed David Campbell her life but it was also his fault that she had been placed in extreme danger.
"This is Taylor Averille. What do you want?" she asked.
"Can I come up? I want to speak to you in person," David pleaded.
Taylor glanced at the elapsed time once again. It probably wouldn't hurt if the last person to see her alive was an FBI agent.
She pressed the button to remotely open the foyer door and activate the elevator.
She debated whether or not to put on some clothes but decided against it; David wouldn't be here long and as soon as she clicked Y on the keyboard she fully expected to black out and wake up back in her male body.
Taylor went to the door and opened it when David pressed the doorbell. She was surprised to see him dressed in tailored slacks and a turtleneck, he was carrying his overcoat. It was the first time she had seen him not wearing a suit and tie. She took his coat and caught a waft of his aftershave; it was something spicy and exotic.
"Hello Taylor, sorry to disturb you so late," David noted how she was dressed and guessed that she was getting ready for bed.
Taylor said nothing but led him into the lounge but didn't offer him a seat or a drink.
"I wanted to see you sooner but I wasn't legally allowed to do so. Now I'm no longer involved in the investigation I am free to see you outside of the context of work," David continued.
"So what, you want? To date me?" Taylor said sarcastically.
But she couldn't help but thinking of him as a handsome young Sam Elliott with his gritty Texas drawl which still sounded kind of sexy.
"That might not be a bad thing," David gave her that killer smile that she found hard to resist.
She melted a little and allowed herself to smile. She pointed to the couch and indicated for him to sit and then sat down beside him. Her robe opened when she sat and she was showing a lot of leg and cleavage.
"What I really wanted to do was make sure you are ok and tell you that I'm so sorry about what happened to you," David said.
"You didn't seem to care too much for me when you gave me the choice of either working for you as a CI or being arrested by a bunch of FBI goons," Taylor said bitterly.
David flinched visibly; a wounded look crossed his face.
"You're not going to make this easy for me are you?" David sighed.
"Why should I?" Taylor said; her voice emotionless.
"You shouldn't. I deserve the reproach but I want you to know that I do care about you," David said earnestly.
"Ok," Taylor said, a little dismissively.
"I care for you a lot," David said a little sheepishly.
"Really? I didn't get that feeling," Taylor said.
"Because I had to remain professional; I couldn't let my feelings show," David took Taylor's hand in his.
"Feelings?" Taylor stared into his eyes.
David leaned into her and pressed his lips to hers. When Taylor didn't resist he kissed her harder and slipped the tip of his tongue into her mouth. Taylor responded and David put his arms around her and pulled her closer. Taylor put her arms around him and pressed her body against him.
David broke the kiss and gently brushed the hair out of her eyes.
"I love you," David whispered.
"Really?" Taylor whispered.
"Really. I really love you Taylor," he smiled at her and she melted.
Taylor sensed David's sincerity and his love seemed almost palpable. Taylor realised that what she had thought was just an attraction to David was indeed love.
Taylor stood up and David arose with her. They kissed again and her robe fell open. David found her breast and stroked it, causing her nipple to engorge. She found him erect in his slacks and gently squeezed his turgid penis.
"Come," Taylor disengaged and took David's hand in hers.
She led him to her bedroom.
On the way to the bedroom she stopped in front of the old Sony Vaio and hit the 'N' key on the keyboard.
The red lights on the side of the USB glowed fiercely for a second and then they extinguished... forever.
The End
Author's Note: When I wrote this story I debated whether or not this story belonged in the transgender category. As Taylor did transform I believe I chose the correct category. Please leave your comments and feedback.
Ever yours xxx Michele