The night air was humid but still much cooler than it had been during the day. For the team of men this was best. They were all dressed in black from head to toe including their faces which had the coal black matte finish of a professional.
They enclosed on the location of their target with stealth. This was not easy as the target in question lived in a townhouse apartment surrounded by many other townhouse apartments all of which belonged to people who lived in the lower end of income. These people usually were up and about at all times of day or night.
The team leader had been watching this particular area either in person or through the many hidden cameras he had about the area. All was going according to plan so far.
One must remember these are professionals. Kidnapping people out of their homes was a lucrative business. There are many people in different walks of life that routinely made use of their services.
Once all of the team was in position the signal was given and the townhouse and it's two possible entrances were picked and entered silently inside of 40 secs. To a casual observer it would have been some small shadows and nothing more. Possibly a dog or cat they would shrug and move on.
The target in the house was identified and using a mild sedative knocked out. Insertion into a body bag and less than a minute later the house was empty with no sign of entry.
The older lady who had just returned home from work entered the house quietly so as not to wake her troubled son. It was not till the next morning that she realized her son who had just started to be her son again was missing.
Richard open his eyes and looked around. Although his head was fuzzy he could tell he was not in his home. The room was pink for one thing. While he did like the color his mother would not let him indulge that side. He tried to move his hands and noticed two things. One they were bound as were his legs. Second his nails felt different. Looking down he noticed that his nails now sported extensions and nail polish.
This was not the only change as he could move his head around he noticed he was cuffed to a canopy bed. The dress he was wearing was a flower patterned pale blue sleeveless dress. He could feel that he was wearing panties, pantyhose and ballerina slippers. The bra with its very lifelike breasts moved on his chest.
All in all Rachel knew she had been made into the girl she knew she could not be. No must not think that way I am male. My name is Richard and I am my fathers daughter!
The door to the room opened catching Rachel's attention and she stared at the door. A woman entered with a tray that also contained a medical bag on a tray with other food and drink. They woman put down the tray on the girly bed stand. She next picked up the medical bag and lifted it to the metal hanger containing another bag. It was at this point Rachel knew this lady was drugging her.
"Oh your awake Rachel! Don't worry sweetie I wont let those people hurt you anymore. You are a woman not a man so just sit back and relax I'll take good care of you." Wait a minute that face that voice..
"Tanya? What are you doing? You can't do this to me I have to be a father to my daughter. You have to let me go please." Rachel was worried. Really worried Tanya didn't sound all that there.
"Sssh Sssh. Rachel the nightmare is over. I will take good care of you and in a month's time you will look like the woman you are. Then you can be the mother you were born to be to Sally." Tanya was smiling but her eyes were doing anything but smiling. Rachel was really really worried. As much as she wanted to stay awake her eyes got heavy. Soon she was asleep again and Tanya replaced the headphones that had fallen off while she slept.
Tanya giggled to herself this blog post was getting better and better. The inspiration for the story from a James Bond movie was working well. Needed a bit of editing though.
Tanya continued to type and work on her little story. It was all she could to to keep her mind off of the shredded male clothing now on the floor of her house. The day had been filled with her trying to be Martin. Within minutes of donning male pants or shirt she would fall to the floor and her hands would be actively searching for seams and trying to rip off the hated clothes.
Although she was exhausted from such activities, usually being that her heart was pounding like crazy a sure sign of a panic attack, she needed something to distract her from the pain she had caused herself. She knew deep down that she had little choice but to wear skirts and dresses for a time again. Not even her woman's pants had survived whole, though they were repairable.
Unnoticed in the living room of her house covered by a ripped rag that was once a pair of jeans the phone light blinked telling her she had a new message.
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