A different kind of mission - Chapter 9

OTHER CHARTERS | ALL STORY LIST

* WORK OF FICTION | MATURE CONTENT *

WARNING - This story is for 18+ years old only, containing mature, explicit sexual content.

That evening as Sandy was preparing for bed, she tried to decide what to do about the strange challenge she had accepted. It was pretty apparent that Carol and Vanna were going to work something out between themselves, which left Sandy partnered with Jaymi. That prospect didn't bother her as much as it once would have, which bothered her in a different way. The rape had been ugly; no aspect of it ever approached pleasure, ever triggered an iota of desire within her. But she remembered the thoughts of being kissed by a man that had been arisen within her when she watched Jaymi getting kissed. She knew that living in the persona of a woman constantly for almost a year had affected her in more ways than showed externally. Submitting to a man in a loving relationship was not nearly as repulsive as it once would have been, and Jaymi appeared to be a quite beautiful young woman, which pushed a lot of buttons that a normal-looking man would not. It was a confused, neither fish nor fowl relationship that was so outside the norm for their background that there were no easy rules to follow, no standard answers to quote. Sandy did realize, though, that it would be up to her to make the first gesture. Instead of cleansing her face, she freshened her makeup to its highest standard, brushed her tumbling mane into the shining liquid night, climbed up on sky-high feathery mule slippers, and slipped into a floor-length emerald nightgown with her trademark almost sheer, almost revealing, now-you-see-it-now-you-don't design. She made her way to Jaymi's room and knocked quietly.

"Come in," she heard from inside.

The door handle turned in her hand, and she stepped in to see Jaymi also dressed beautifully, also carefully made up.

"I hoped you'd come," the dark-eyed girl told her guest.

Her response was a tentative nod, a fidget, an unconscious flirtation with a now-habitual toss of long dark hair but no words.

Jaymi walked to Sandy and offered a gentle hand. Sandy's hand raised almost of its own accord, and she felt herself drawn toward the bed, then seated beside Jaymi.

"You really are a virgin, aren't you?" Jaymi asked.

"Not anymore," came the bitter reply, surprisingly bitter; she thought she had put that behind her.

"That's not what I mean. You've never made love with anyone, have you?"

Sandy looked away but shook her head.

"Let me show you what it means to make love tonight," offered Jaymi. "You don't have to do anything but relax and enjoy. When you're ready, some other time, you can decide what it means to give love, as well as to receive it."

"Does it have to be love?" Sandy asked.

"It doesn't have to be the live-our-lives-together sort of commitment, but it's best if your partner's pleasure is more important to you than your own. That's as good a definition of making love as I know."

With that, Jaymi slid off the bed to kneel at Sandy's feet. She raised the hem of the emerald nightgown to reveal matching lacy panties. At her urging, Sandy lifted her hips, and the panties were slid down her smooth legs. Another urge and the gaff followed. Sandy was still too confused for a full arousal, but in moments a stirring occurred as Jaymi gently helped her testicles descend into a more comfortable position. It was easy to imagine that Jaymi was a pretty girl, and only a girl, forgetting what the internal plumbing is hidden behind her own feminine clothing really looked like. Sandy immersed herself in this fantasy, forcing down the whisper in the back of her mind that this was supposed to be wrong, forbidden, repulsive. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the bed.

The gentlest touch of graceful fingers almost hid the first butterfly-wing kiss of soft lips. Sandy found herself focusing on the sensations, trying to decide just exactly what Jaymi was doing to cause each particular sensation, not so much to learn how to do it as to appreciate the full nature of the sensation. As a slick tongue added its contribution, highlighted by a slight cooling as the deposited liquid evaporated, Sandy began to respond as any healthy young man would respond. His/her erection grew to its not-inconsiderable fullest with stepping increments in time with the accelerating pulses of her/his heart. When Jaymi's ruby lips finally encircled the tip, Sandy gasped in a confusion of emotions too interlocked to sort out and too consuming to need distinction. Under Jaymi's increasingly energetic devotions, Sandy's confusion melted away into driving need, more intense than any that she/he had felt with his/her own manipulations, more demanding than breath, more demanding than thought itself. His world compressed to a small universe centered on his stimulated flesh, then detonated in an explosion as great as that forming the galaxies, at least to his overwhelmed senses. Sandy hovered on the edge of consciousness as he felt himself empty his seed into Jaymi's willing mouth, then began to recover as his senses brought his universe back to the range perceived by mortals.

For the first time in months, Brad felt embarrassed to look so pretty. The swell of his shapely bosom, the smell of his makeup, the taste of his lipstick all seemed wrong. He wanted to get out of the beautiful nightgown, to rip off his scarlet nails, to purge himself of every trace of femininity, and be a man again. He sat up to see Jaymi's gentle smile turned to concern as she registered the self-disgust apparent on the young man's still-beautiful face.

"Sandy, what's the matter?" Jaymi asked.

"This is wrong, all wrong; I shouldn't be doing this. I'm not a girl; I'm a man. This is just wrong," Brad asserted.

"Now, take it easy," Jaymi demanded. "You're just feeling the aftereffects of all those hormones your body just dumped into your system. Haven't you been masturbating at night?"

"What? Of course not!"

"Why not?" Jaymi continued her interrogation. "You're young, healthy, full of a normal sex drive as you've just amply demonstrated."

"Normal, right," Brad snorted. "Dressing in makeup and high heels isn't normal."

"This isn't about clothes, at least not only about clothes. It's about being all that you can be. You're in the Army, and that's what you signed up for," Jaymi tried to make a joke of it.

It worked. Brad couldn't help laughing at the ludicrous extension of the standard Army slogan. Perhaps the chemical cocktail that had flooded his body was gradually being absorbed, but he passed the point of self-disgust and began to recover his self-respect. With an almost visible wrench of transition, Brad became Sandy again. She smiled at Jaymi with her accustomed demure attractiveness and urged her dark-eyed friend up to sit beside her.

"Thank you," Sandy said. "I needed that."

"From the quantity, I guess you did," laughed Jaymi.

This embarrassed Sandy again, but in a funny way, and she started giggling as she gently wiped a spot of cream from Jaymi's lip. "I wasn't talking about that," Sandy claimed, then got pensive again as her glance flickered down to the almost revealed triangle at the bottom of Jaymi's shorty nightgown.

Jaymi sensed her unease and relieved it immediately, "Not Tonight, dear. Not until you're ready. Get yourself back together and go to bed. We'll have time."

Sandy nodded gratefully as she pulled her underwear up toward her hips. Before she completed the motion, she stopped, took her gaff all the way off with a sigh of relief, and pulled just the now-distorted emerald panties into place. She swayed back to her tall slippers with accustomed grace and moved toward the door, escorted by the patient Jaymi. At the doorway, though, she stopped and turned to her friend. Somehow, it seemed wrong to just walk away after the things that had happened Tonight. Without letting herself have long enough to think about it, Sandy wrapped her arms around Jaymi and lowered her painted lips to those of her companion (lover?). They kissed with more friendship than passion, at least, that's how it began, but Jaymi had always been prone to acceptance, to love with her close friends, and in moments her desire was becoming apparent in the energy she was pouring into the kiss. Sandy felt herself respond, but a part of her was still not ready for that, so she pulled back, gave Jaymi one more quick peck as a promise for later, then left.

The next morning it was apparent that they had not been the only ones to experiment with a more intimate relationship. The glances Carol and Vanna were exchanging had a lot more heat than they had shared before, a lot more interest. Marilyn noted this and worried that the forced closeness would cause her team members to lose perspective, but she also had read of the Band of Thebes and knew that commitment to a lover/comrade was a powerful spur to military virtue. Perhaps it was just because she hadn't achieved her own opportunity the night before that was making her testy, she decided.

Marilyn's observation of Sandy and Jaymi actually led her to the wrong conclusion about them. Jaymi was bright and cheerful, attentive to Sandy in a non-possessive but clearly devoted way. Sandy, on the other hand, was distracted, still trying to come to grips with the conflicting emotions within her. Perhaps it wouldn't have been such a overwhelming impact if she had enjoyed a more fulfilling sex life previous to that night, but that was not the case. To Marilyn, though, it appeared as though Sandy shared her lack of fulfillment and that Jaymi was smugly satisfied, as though the donor and recipient of the previous night's pleasure had been reversed. Trusting her team to work the problem, they went through their normal workouts, dressed, and began the day's rehearsal.

Marilyn had obtained a reasonably detailed description of the internal arrangement of both the harem and the hidden biowar lab. The idled soldiers who had washed out of the team had been building a replica in a corner of the training base, complete with simulated airlock doors and bondage equipment. Soon every team member was familiar with the layout and knew where the key passages were. Sandy and Carol were assigned the primary tasks of being distractions, either in the harems or as they escaped. They would also act as guards during the break-in. Jaymi was the premier lock picker, backed up by Marilyn. Vanna was assigned the job of shepherding the false culture to the replacement point. Constance wouldn't be able to penetrate the inner sanctum, of course, since she wouldn't be able to make a live sperm donation. She would be the external guard. They wouldn't need to make their own weapons since the harem was decorated with a variety of deadly devices to allow the harem girls to deal quickly with any male intruders.

Their capture and delivery to the harem was one part of the plan they couldn't control directly. El Supremo had long since ceased worrying about the opinion of the rest of the world and ruthlessly controlled the press within his own nation. He ignored all requests for aid in finding the small groups of beautiful women that seemed to frequently disappear in his area of the world. As a result, and because the groups of girls that were likely to sightsee in his depressed country were often rebellious and unwanted at home, the disappearances were not common knowledge. Marilyn decided they would again separate into their like-personality trios and just wait to be picked up. The key skills were part of each team, at least well enough to proceed.

Rehearsal, language practice, dinner, all normal activities proceeded normally. Finally, as their evening meal drew to a close, the girls dispersed to their rooms. Once again, Sandy found herself dressing up her makeup and selecting a flattering nightgown. Once again, she found herself at Jaymi's door. Once again, she knocked and was bidden to enter.

"Hello," Sandy said quietly. Jaymi nodded in return.

"Are you ready for this?" Jaymi asked, her calm smile showing patience and acceptance.

"I think so," Sandy said.

"May I make a suggestion?" offered Jaymi. "Why don't we just hold each other, and maybe snuggle a little, and maybe even share a kiss or two, just to get ourselves in the mood?"

In some ways, this was worse for Sandy; it made it personal, it made Jaymi a real person and not just an appendage to be exercised. Yet, in other ways, it made it better. Jaymi's fundamental philosophy was that people in love should love to please each other, the act was not the end in itself, but a means to be a good lover. What they had wasn't love like the romance novels talked about, but it was a closeness that built on the camaraderie of tight military groups, added the isolation and interdependence of their unique training regimen, and added still further the desire that each still felt for beautiful examples of the gender they had been raised to be attracted to. Kissing a woman as pretty as Jaymi was not a hardship. Sandy had been used to thinking of her as a woman for so long that the incongruity seemed to be in Jaymi's plumbing, not in Sandy's attitude. After a pause too short of showing reluctance, Sandy moved forward and wrapped her arms around Jaymi to receive a matching squeeze.

"You really are a special person," Sandy whispered in Jaymi's ear.

"And so are you," Jaymi answered. "I don't discriminate because of gender in my lovers, but I am very discriminating in all other ways. I demand that those I share my love with be tender, compassionate, loving, and warm-hearted. Like you."

The words were part of the standard method lovers had developed over generations to assure their partner that this was more than an animal exercise, more than a passing biological urge. They worked, though, just as they had worked before. In a few minutes, the hugs had warmed, and lips were seeking lips. This time Sandy didn't hold back when Jaymi let heat flow into her kiss. She went with the energy and returned it, finally urging Jaymi back onto her bed. This time Sandy kneeled at Jaymi's feet. She had already noticed that Jaymi had removed her gaff. Only her dark red panties covered a bulge that demonstrated the true gender Jaymi had been born to. Covered but not concealed, the hardness of Jaymi's masculine package was too demanding to be hidden. Sandy struggled to develop an image of the encounter she could live with. Should she try to deny her own nature and become as feminine as possible, or should she capitalize on Jaymi's beauty and treat this as a strange feature on a special woman? In the end, no simple answer sufficed. Jaymi was Jaymi, and Sandy was herself, accepting Jaymi's beauty and her cock, as part of her lover, justified in themselves. It was only later that she realized her own hidden tool had remained quiescent, helping by stillness not to disrupt the complex part she played.

By the time Sandy was finally ready to culminate her act, she had become sufficiently accustomed to the idea that it seemed right somehow, no longer something to worry about. She knew how much pleasure it could give, and that was her objective, giving pleasure. Of course, she wasn't skilled. With infinite patience, Jaymi coached her through techniques that were effective without requiring excessive penetration. In time, not a long time since Jaymi was quite excited by Sandy, the short-haired brunette was erupting into the long-haired girl's mouth with energy and passion. Ironically, the sodomizing rape Sandy had endured had already exposed her to the taste and texture of semen, and she swallowed without additional mental anguish. She softly sucked the last traces of cream from Jaymi's diminishing member and finally sat back, actually quite smug at the near-coma that seemed to grip Jaymi. It was a moment or two before Jaymi's eyes fluttered open to look at her grinning friend.

"Did I do okay?" Sandy asked with wide-eyed innocence, a pretense that fell to a giggle she couldn't contain.

"No," denied Jaymi, then laughed at the instant hurt in Sandy's eyes as she continued, "you did terrifically. I know you've never done that before, at least not with your heart set on giving pleasure. What I don't know is how you learned to do it so well, so fast."

"I had a good teacher," Sandy purred as she slid up beside Jaymi to snuggle. Jaymi let a hand gently drift down in the beginning and offered to reciprocate, but Sandy intercepted her hand and just held it, whispering, "Tonight was my night to give you pleasure. Let's just enjoy being together for a little while before I leave."

Jaymi nodded, then slid back onto her bed so that they could both lie comfortably.

No one but Marilyn knew the timeline for their mission, but they practiced as though they had all the time in the world and no time at all. The team practiced the actual assault until each member could do any other girl's job, picking up at any point in the task. They also continued their nightly practice as well until the novelty had given way to a deeper, more fulfilling sense of sharing. Sandy was once again preparing herself for an evening's "instruction" when she heard a knock at her door. She smiled in anticipation. The ever-patient Jaymi hadn't come to her room before. Checking her incredible appearance one last time in the mirror, she went to the door and flung it open with a brighter smile than her normal damsel-in-distress persona employed, then almost squeaked in surprise. Marilyn was standing there.

"Hello," Marilyn said in an unknowing echo of the timidity Sandy had experienced. "Is someone expecting you?"

"Um . . no, not really," Sandy replied.

Marilyn knew what the 'not really' meant, but instead of turning away, she asked, "May I come in?"

"Of course," replied the dark-haired girl as she stepped back. Marilyn followed her into the room, then stood uncertainly, a most unusual condition for the forthright team leader.

"I'm sure you can guess why I'm here," the blonde began to explain. "I need a partner for the 'special' training you girls have been sharing. I wondered if you would be willing to be my partner for the night. I don't think Jaymi would mind."

Sandy was too surprised to answer. Not that the prospect was uninteresting. Marilyn had always been pretty in a more classic way than the subtleties employed by Sandy. Thanks to the sophisticated training she had received from Krystal, the younger girl had learned to be devastatingly attractive, far and away from the most desirable on the team. Yet to the perceptions of the young, unsophisticated boy that still lived within her, the intensely feminine, blue-eyed blonde Marilyn had become was the epitome of beauty. Nonetheless, it's not every day that a general, however beautiful, come to a private's room and offers oral sex.

Perhaps with a more sophisticated interior to go with her polished exterior, Sandy would have been able to work through genteel responses, positive or negative, to Marilyn's suggestion. Instead, she was just flustered and incoherent for a few seconds. In the end, though, it was inevitable. The sexual stimulation she had been getting, at least on alternate nights, had her hot and bothered before Marilyn even appeared. Regardless of external appearances, it boiled down to a beautiful person offering a horny twenty-year-old a chance at a blowjob, and rejection was not very likely. With a shy nod that had become her typical answer to most questions, Sandy accepted.