Spy Swap, Part 10 (Special Agent to Hot Spy Girl TG) (Patreon)

A Commission for Al

Finn Langston is the best of the best, a dashingly handsome secret agent who always saves the world and always gets the girl. But when he is called upon by The Agency to infiltrate the private island of Sebastian Whitlock, a devious playboy industrialist who may be angling for world domination, Finn meets his greatest challenge yet: being turned into a raven-haired spy beauty to seduce Whitlock, and find out what he is planning. But the new and beautiful Fiona may find her cover going far, far deeper than she could have imagined . . .

First Part

Previous Part

Part 10: The Spy Who WILL Love Me

When Fiona woke, it was with quite a lot of drowsiness in her system. She noticed several things pretty quickly though.

The first was that she was trapped in a pod, one that could only be Tiresias’ Cradle, and not the Agency’s version. But in all other respects, she’d been here before.

The second was that she was no longer in her spy catsuit, but rather wearing a two piece costume that almost seemed to mark her out as a concubine: a tight gold two piece outfit that exposed part of her midriff, with her skirt going only to her upper thighs. Her shoulders were barely covered, and as always there was a prominence of cleavage. It was exactly the kind of thing that Sebatian Whitlock would like her in.

The third was Sebatian Whitlock himself, on the other side of the glass, examining a very large computer screen that dominated a big section of the wall of the facility. By his side were the two former Agency women, both of them now dressed far more formally. Agent Seven - Cassandra - was in the golden dress she had bragged about, a sequined thing that hugged her curves delightfully, a golden purse on her arm, and a golden gun in one hand. Sonya’s dress was more flowing and regal, suiting her sometimes haughty manner. Fiona couldn’t help but notice that her own dress was of a similar design.

Ah, so that’s it. I’m going to be changed into the newest member of his bodyguard.

She began looking over herself, trying to see what they had taken from her. Her gun was obviously gone, as was her laser lipstick and other items. Even her bracers were done away with - placed on the table in the centre of the room. The only thing they hadn’t taken were-

My pearls. Yes! Who said diamonds were a girl’s best friend when I have these?

Unfortunately, before she could think of what to do with them, she had to lower her hands, because Sebatian began speaking.

“How wonderful to have you awake, Miss Goodchest. Or should I call you Fiona Langston?”

He turned, gesturing to her vital signs on part of the enormous monitor, one of which must have indicated that she was now conscious. With a grin, he stepped forward a little, and both agents Thirty-Nine and Seven stepped beside him, their arms hooked through his, hanging off of him like eye candy. Their simpering looks eliminated all doubt that they had been brainwashed by Sebastian’s version of Tiresias’ Cradle.

At least they didn’t betray King and Country willingly.

“Call me what you want, Whitlock,” she said. “It won’t matter much. Not when the Royal Navy, the Greek Navy, and just about every other Mediterranean, European, and NATO force gets here to stop you, and that’s just a headstart on the Americans.”

Whitlock shrugged. “A fine lie, I suppose, and said with much conviction. But you won’t fool me again, Agent One. That is your designation, isn’t it? Though I doubt you ever planned on being so . . . perfectly hourglassed. Hm. As for military assistance, my friends in high places would be the first to alert me. More than that, you haven’t got a signal out of here. You and I both know that my island defences make that literally impossible, for the same reason that the only communication available to you is between this island and my full paradise of Arcadia.”
 Fiona grit her teeth. He was right, but she’d hoped the bluff could at least stall things. She looked down, trying to see a way out of the machine. There were several panels beneath her feet, though how useful they would be in escaping was not clear. 

“Don’t think of escaping,” Sebastian said, folding his hands behind his impressive frame as his two bodyguards took their stations. Evidently, they knew how to work Tiresias’ Cradle, and Whitlock was having them operate it as a further twist of the knife. “We can activate the process at any moment, Fiona. How astonishing to know that a device like this one exists in your Agency, and that it was the last resort of your government to stop me. You are too late, of course. Not that you’ll appreciate that, once you become my first-wife. Yes, that’s what I intend for you, Fiona. How ironic, the most fantastically suave and dashing debonair agent of your country shall become sumptuously gorgeous and submissive Alexandra Goodchest, just as you pretended to be. I imagine you’ll bear me many strong children. When we master the science of the Machine in a few years, we’ll have an immortality together for you to raise an entire legion of dashing reflections of the man you once were. Let’s begin that process now, shall we?”

Visions of a terrible future where Fiona was not only forced to stay a woman, but Sebastian’s woman, full and pregnant with his children, her breasts riper than ever, filled her mind. It horrified her. There was, perhaps, the smallest amount of intrigue, but the presence of Sebastian eliminated it entirely.

Have to say something. Ah, there’s one old chestnut they always fall for.

“At least tell me your plan!” Fiona exclaimed. “You can’t tell me you’ve gotten this far and don’t want to gloat a little? I came all this way myself, you know. Had a sex change and everything just to hear this spiel, and you’re going to deny me it?”

Sebastian scratched at his beard. “Yes, I suppose I do owe you that much. You did successfully infiltrate my island, crack many of my secrets, and nearly ruined everything, were it not for my lovely Cassandra and Sonya here. In that respect, I suppose you have a right to know, if only so that when you become mine - my first-most wife, dear Alexandra - you will find yourself praising the very plan you came to stop.”

Yes, yes, get to it.

She worked her bare feet, keeping one in front of the other. The glass was more misted at the bottom, and she used that distraction to pull her toes against the slight gap in the metal, prying it upwards. It was painful work, and no doubt she would cut the skin soon, but it was all she could do, even as she listened intently. The enormous panel altered to give a visual demonstration of Whitlock’s plan as the villains stepped back to demonstrate it.

Of course. He has a presentation and everything.

But her mood became a lot more serious with what it displayed a moment later. A missile. One with a satellite compartment.

“Behold, Damocles,” Sebastian said. “A form of technology that outrivals any other when it comes to military might. And it has come under my sole province, thanks to the careful and steady work I have maintained with numerous partnerships across my illustrious rise to corporate power. As you can see, Miss Langston, my army of now-quite-delectable scientists, engineers, and physicists - among others - have helped construct a satellite that can disperse micro-transmitting nanites across the globe, with said nanites being impossible to intercept. The satellite itself will be impossible to bring down due to those same defences, and it is all thanks to my Machine - what your Agency apparently calls a ‘Tiresias Cradle’ - that this level of technology is possible. Once it is in orbit - safely obscured by our Greek cabinet friends who will prevent it being shot down - its own nanite network will give it a pure defensive screen.”

“And you plan to blackmail the world with it?” Fiona asked, stalling for time. She kneeled down just a little, acting as if she were fascinated and horrified. She continued to pry at the plating, and it began to loosen.

Sebastian chuckled. “Hardly. I’m not going to blackmail the world, Agent One. I’m going to rule it. This entire island of Arcadia is a blueprint of the future I shall carve. A world in which men have the deserving female mates they deserve, of which there shall be plenty, as all men who cannot be trusted or represent a threat to my power shall become the very beautiful concubines they wish to free. More than that, the entirety of the female sex - which by then will represent over three-fifths of humanity - will not only be mentally altered to be entirely loyal to the whims of myself and those I choose, but will also have backup programming to make them a lethal force where necessary. In fact, I’m counting on that bloodlust when Damocles first comes online, in order to make some necessary . . . culling. All the better to ensure no one takes down Damocles while it is still building its defensive screen.”

Fiona nodded. She pried at the bar behind her, glaring at Sebastian. “Of course. You activate women across the globe to assassinate and remove any immediate obstacles from power. No president will expect his first lady to take him down, at least not outside the form of a tabloid interview.”

The villain chuckled. “You understand! A brilliant mind you possess, Fiona. It is why you shall be my Alexandra.”

“And it also explains how you bought off so many interested parties to aid you. You couldn’t change them all without arousing suspicion, and you needed some in their high places with their minds unchanged. So you had a team of experts perform psychological profiles I imagine, and put together a list of men who would rather live in your world than in this one. After that, it was merely a matter of training up women to become their future harem of wives . . . once your mission was completed, of course.”

“Indeed,” the man said, clasping his hands together. “Of course, I keep the best to myself. You know, it rather arouses me to know that my closest wives and mothers of my future children shall be former members of the Agency. What do you think of them so far, knowing you will be one?”

“Your golden girls?” she quipped. “You certainly named them appropriately, given how pliable you desire them to be. And gold is an electric conductor too. Another parallel, since you give them the electroshock treatment of the century.”

“You make it sound so brutal.”

“Just uncivilised,” she said, glaring at him. “Where is Agent Spiros? Another future woman to the collection?”

He shook his head. “I have enough, and little use for him. No, I’m rather afraid his end will be coming soon, though it shall be a spectacular one. He shall have front row seats to the launching of Damocles from our main facility. Unfortunately, the front seats can be a little . . .  crispy.”

Damn you. You won’t get him. You won’t.

Whitlock continued, his voice growing ever more maniacal. “And now that I know your Agency has its own Machine, I can configure a pulse to destroy it as well, all while my device stays safe in its bunker. I will be in full control of all such technology, and with my army of brainwashed women behind me, capable of serving the needs of men the world over provided that they give me their loyalty, then all will be secure. Any who oppose me can join my harem, and I will live as an eternal, immortal God above all, remaking humanity as I see fit thanks to the Damocles technology infecting all human life, everywhere. A God, Agent One! My final destiny, and one that shall never end.” He grinned triumphantly, raising a fist before him and clenching it. “Do you see now my brilliance?”

“Of course,” Fiona said slowly. “I understand now fully. You are completely, utterly, insane.”

Whitlock’s smile was wiped away instantly, replaced with a glaring sneer. “The difference, Agent One, between insanity and genius is measured only by success.”

“And what is success in your case, Whitlock? Tyranny over the world? An emperor surrounded by concubines? I’m a bit disappointed, really, to learn that a man of your brilliance is slave to such base impulses.”

Whitlock sauntered over to Cassandra, Agent Seven, and cupped her chin. He kissed her passionately, and she in turn moaned with arousal as he lowered a hand down to her rear and squeezed it.

“Base impulses is what we are, Agent One, as you have no doubt grappled with. But I am still master of them. I have resisted my golden bodyguard and many of my brainwashed women, holding off until I am finally successful. Then I shall have earned them. I control my actions. It is you who are a slave to your own base impulses as a woman. Did you know that before falling unconscious completely, you dragged your body across this very grated floor towards Agent Adrian Spiros, calling his name. We had to pry your hand off of his shoulder. What affection you show to a man, even being a former man yourself! Ah, but becoming a member of the fairer sex has weakened you, and even on an instinctual level you recognise that man should be your master. You just picked the wrong man.”

He grinned smugly.

“There’s a saying,” Fiona said, still prying at the floorplate in her pod. “Behind every successful man is a woman. In your case Sebastian, you’d better hope she isn’t holding a knife.”

Whitlock was about to give a no-doubt witty response when the entry doors to the room burst open. Through them stepped Carla Volpe, his muscled henchman with the robotic arm. She grinned just momentarily at the sight of Fiona stuck in the pod, before turning to Sebastian. 

“Sir, you are needed on Arcadia. The launch is ready to begin at your command.”

“And I would not miss it!” he announced. “How sad that I must choose between witnessing my own ascension to Godhood and your own ascension to my dutiful first wife, Fiona. But soon you shall be Alexandra, and I shall taste your sweet fruits from the position of the highest power any man has ever known. For now, I bid you adieu. Ladies, activate the Machine. Carla, stay here and ensure that our guest ends up every bit the submissive woman she was meant to be.”

“My pleasure, Mr Whitlock,” she said, flexing her mechanical claw-like fingers. She had changed prosthesis again, and this one looked even deadlier.

Another thing to think about, but perhaps with them gone -

Agent Seven, the woman who Finn Langston had so many passionate and caring memories with, flicked the switch. Instantly, the familiar hum of the Tiresias Cradle began, only this time its focus was centred entirely on Fiona’s mind. Her very core thrummed with energy as the machine cycled up. Her breathing quickened, and Sebastian simply waved her goodbye and headed off, his two trained agent bodyguards in tow. All that was left was Carla Volpe standing across the room, watching the process with amusement, even as mist began to rise within the machine and various needles and tubes began to enter it.

“It seems I was right to be suspicious of you, Alexandra Goodchest,” the vicious woman said. She raised her mechanical arm and its fingers clicked together, leaving a set of very sharp claws. A miniature flame bloomed from a port, lighting up the cigarette she held out to it. She puffed on it, enjoying her dramatic smoke. “But not for very long, it seems. Hm.”

The mist rose, and Fiona openly began to pull at the plating, now desperate.

Something gave way, and for a moment she was victorious as she saw the inner workings of the machine through a grate, its cogs and gears and elements extending far beneath her feet.

But then a needle reached her neck, and the halo circled over her head, and the mental changes hit her. She was suddenly elsewhere, far away.

She was suddenly a new woman.

***

Alexandra Goodchest lounged upon a sundeck chair by a resplendent pool, soaking up the sun’s rays and living up to her last name with how well she presented her bosom. Her black bikini matched her dark hair, and she wore a pair of equally dark sunglasses to complete the effect. She was in perfect contentment, perfect bliss. There was no action that needed to be taken, no world in need of saving. She was happy to simply be.

“Ah, my beautiful first wife, I knew I would find you here.”

She opened her eyes, turned to one side, and placed a hand on her marvellous hip. She knew exactly what a show she was putting on. 

“Sebastian, my love. I missed you.”

The tall, square-jawed and dark-goatee’d man was disrobing down to a pair of swimshorts. On either side of him were Agents Thirty-Nine and Seven, themselves looking divine in their golden housewife dresses with little white spots. They were the very image of feminine submission, their power taken away.

Just like mine. Fight it. Fight it. This isn’t real.

Alexandra was momentarily bothered by a stray thought, but pushed it aside. Thoughts were not her business these days anyway; she left that all to her handsome man. To her master. The master of the world and its God: Sebastian Whitlock.

The man himself stepped over to her, knelt down, and caressed her neck. She cooed submissively, and when his lips locked over hers it filled her with purpose, and even more so when his hands ran down over her large breasts, across her hip, and then down to her stomach.

“I missed you both,” he said. “How is my little heir growing, Alexandra?”

Heir? I’m not pregnant! Just because I can be doesn’t mean - it’s not happening!

She frowned briefly, but again pushed the strange thoughts away. This was reality, surely? This was where she was meant to be. Her baby was growing within her, her bump starting to become visible. She would be the first to swell with Sebastian Whitlock’s children, and that was good and right.

“He is strong, my love,” she replied, caressing her own belly. “I cannot wait to grow bigger, though. I want to be everything you want me to be.”

“Good,” he replied. “Because that is how it should be. That is why I am your husband. Your master. Your God.”

She moaned demurely, as did the two other agents. She sat up to appreciate her husband’s form, and it allowed her to look over the edge of the deck and down to the beach. They were no longer in Arcadia. That time was over. This was Athens itself. The city had been converted to become one almost entirely of women, all there for Sebastian’s appreciation and use as he saw fit. An entire population who had been enhanced, or even reassigned in sex, and then bent to his will. All for him. It was a new world, one where a handful of men ruled over the population as they saw fit, and punished those who went against them by making them into women thanks to the Damocles and Tiresias technology paired together.

It’s evil. It has to be stopped. You have to fight it. You’re Fiona, not Alexandra.

“Why don’t you show your appreciation for your God?” Sebastian interrupted, slowly pulling her up to her feet. He placed his hands upon her rear, and it feel good. So damn good. “Why don’t you make love to me right now, Alexandra? Far better to show that you are no longer the agent you once were, yes?”

She was aroused. Her nipples were hard. Her womanhood was moist. His hands upon her elicited delicate moans. She raised her hands up to her own neck to undo the bikini top and paused, eyes suddenly open again.

Her fingers were touching pearls.

Pearls.

There was something about the pearls.

H-have to use them b-before it’s t-too late!

“What’s the matter, my dear?” Sebastian said, smiling gently yet forcefully at the same time. “Just focus on me. Just give in.”

“N-no,” she replied, stepping back a little. “S-something’s wrong. I’m not meant to be here. I’m Fiona. I’m Agent One.”

“No, you’re not. Not anymore. That was months ago. Now you’re my first wife, my Alexandra. And with a very good chest, I might note.”

He grinned, and it made her melt a little again, but a resolve was hardening.

Yes! Fight it! Fight him! I can still stop him! Just n-need my whole head in the game!

But Sebastian was stepping forward again to kiss her, and she knew that if he did she would be his, all his, for eternity. It would be game over. He placed his hands around her gorgeous waist and lowered his face to hers, cupping her chin. She pursed her lips too . . .

. . . and shoved a pearl right down his throat.

“What? What was - what did you do!?”

Fiona stepped back. This wasn’t real. This was the machine.

And I’m ending it.

“You are Alexandra Goodchest!” he screamed. “You are my wife!”

“I’m Langston. Fiona Langston,” she replied. “And man, I feel like a woman.”

Sebastian reached out his hands to squeeze her neck.

He promptly exploded.

***

BWOOOOOOM!!!

Fiona opened her eyes just in time to see the aftereffects of the explosion. Even in that horrid brainwashing program she had done it: she had managed to pry loose an explosive pearl from her necklace and drop it down the great. The lower workings of the machine were on fire, and her own pod filled with smoke. Fire alarms blared across the room, and the previously calm Carla Volpe was angrily muttering in Greek, pacing to the controls to see what had gone wrong.

It gave Fiona all the time she needed. There were still some lingering changes to her mind, she sensed, but she needed to act fast. The structure of the Machine whined, its mysterious cogs and wheels clashing against one another, screeching as more sparks flew. It was falling apart, and she decided to help it a little by tearing off another pearl and dropping it down.

“Man, I feel like a woman,” she sang with her rather lovely voice, activating the detonation Wrench had put together. It exploded, and small shards of debris erupted up near her feet, causing some light scratches and bleeds along her legs. But the effect was more than enough. The numerous screens around the facility room swiftly changed.

MACHINE COMPROMISED. ALERT! MACHINE COMPROMISED. ALERT!

It was enough to trigger a reaction from the failing mechanisms of the Tiresias Cradle; the front casing of the pod slid open partially. Carla Volpe was too concerned with getting the systems under control to see her, and the smoke obscured much, but there was limited time.

Now or never, Fiona Goodchest, she thought to herself. Wait, I’m thinking of my last name as Goodchest now? Well, it looks like Whitlock got one minor victory over me. Let’s see that it’s his last.

She kicked the casing. Kicked it again. With one final kick it smashed apart, collapsing onto the stairs that led up to the Tiresias Cradle. Fiona leapt into action immediately, jumping down the stairs and rolling. It was a good thing too: Fiona was damn quick. She extended her artificial arm and a barrage of bullets fired from it, lighting up more of the consoles. Fiona didn’t manage to get hold of her Beretta upon the table, but one of her bracers was knocked loose, and she scrambled to get it fixed into place.

“I knew we should have killed you when we had the chance, Agent One,” Carla sneered. “Now I must prove to Sebastian that you were not worth the trouble. Tell me, would you prefer to die by the bullet, by the garotte, or by fire?”

Something mechanical shifted in her arm, and suddenly an enormous plume of flame expanded from Carla’s extended arm, which had become a miniature flamethrower. Fiona dove over several desks and landed in a heap behind a small piece of cover. Part of her hair was definitely singed, and the lower half of her two-piece golden dress was now even shorter. A series of bullets impacted near her as the arm changed again.

“So many choices!” she quipped, readying the bolts on her bracer. “Can I ask the audience?”

“I am the audience, and I choose fire.”

Carla ran forward, firing flame. This time was even closer, and Fiona felt the heat of the flame singing the skin of her legs. She somersaulted over one of the consoles and quickly hurled a monitor at Carla, but again her pistol was impossible to reach.

“Well, you know what they say about fighting fire with fire, eh, Carla?”

She ripped two more pearls from the necklace and flung them.

“Man, I feel like a woman, oh, oh, oh, oh!”

Volpe’s expression changed from victory to shock. She leapt just as quickly as Fiona had, moments before the pearls exploded, sending debris everywhere. The room was utterly on fire by this point, the flames spreading to the doors.

Need to get rid of her fast and save poor Adrian. And stop Whitlock, the psychopath.

She threw another pearl and ran out from cover. It detonated in midair as Carla targeted it with a flamethrower, her face maniacal in its bloodlust by this point. Fiona hadn’t expected that, and so she was caught like a deer in headlights as Carla levelled her arm in Fiona’s direction.

Her arm clicked. Then clicked again.

No bullets, and no flame.

“It happens to everyone from time to time,” Fiona said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“All the better, I’ll kill you up close! I’ll watch the light die in your eyes!”

Her arm whirred, revealing the sharp claws again. Fiona reached to grab a pearl but Carla was faster. She clamped the claw upon her neck and it was only the necklace itself that allowed Fiona to slip out. But Carla fought back, thrusting her against a wall of screens, smashing half of them, and causing the rest to play a propaganda video from Whitlock. The claw snapped at her jugular, pressing ever closer to it. Carla screamed.

“Why. Won’t. You. Just. DIE!?!?”

Fiona gripped the other woman’s arm and used her free hand to remove her own bracer. Acting quickly, she placed it on Carla’s human arm. As the claws began to scratch at her throat she hit the button to fire the grappling hook, aiming it back into the Machine itself. For just one terrible second, Carla realised what had happened, and then she was pulled back upon the grapple cord, screaming as she was wrenched right across the room at rapid speed.

Right into the burning furnace of the Cradle.

For a moment Fiona just panted. In her other hand was Carla’s mechanical arm, now completely detached.

“Talk about defeating an unarmed opponent,” she said. The still-panting, still-bleeding Agent One took a moment to look at the burning wreckage of the Tiresias Cradle which marked Carla Volpe’s overheated grave. “Poor woman, she had a bad case of burn out.”

And then, with the two standard quips delivered, she raced out of the burning facility and through the bunker.

She didn’t have long to stop Whitlock.

I don’t even have time to change out of this ridiculous golden two-piece dress. At least I’ll look fabulous saving the world. As always.

To Be Continued . . .