A New Year, a new genre; my first foray into forced femme. Happy 2023 to all at BC!

THE AGENCY

In the midst of darkness, light persists.
Mahatma Gandhi

1

It must have been snowing hard whilst we’d been in the restaurant. Our feet crunched satisfyingly in the fresh powder as we crossed Palace Square en route to Yuri’s club. I paused briefly to look at the Hermitage against the black sky, sitting on a base of pure virgin white. I was on my third business trip there since graduating that summer and St. Petersburg never failed to take my breath away. Back at the restaurant, Yuri had read my mind. Our respective bosses - mine a partner in a ‘big 4’ accountancy firm and Yuri’s a local banker - were on to the brandy and ci-gars and talking shop. I was bored and jumped at his suggestion to ‘get away from the old farts’. His grasp of English colloquialisms made me laugh. I’d never been one for male friendships at either school or university but I sensed a potential bond with Yuri. Like me he was small and seemed to be perpetually bullied by his superior and we wasted no time in taking our leave.
“What’s this place like, anyway?”
He laughed. “Wild and decadent and very expensive. But don’t worry, it’s all on my expenses.”
I grinned back. “Sounds great!”
We left the square at the bridge over the Moyka, turned left down a small street, and then I lost my bearings as we criss crossed some smaller alleys before arriving at a heavy panelled door in a rusticated stucco facade typical of that part of the town. Apart from ourselves, the street was deserted. Yuri rang a bell and a small panel in the door opened. There was an exchange in Russian and I heard the sound of large bolts being drawn open.
Yuri beckoned me in, grinning. “I think you’re going to like it so much you’re going to want to stay!”

The main space inside the club was almost as spectacular as some of the Hermitage interiors I’d visited on my previous trip. The room was huge - maybe 10m high and 15m x 30m in plan. There was a large balcony at first floor level running around all four sides supported by paired corinthian columns with gold leaf capitals and bases. The ceiling was barrel vaulted with an ornate plaster design which was also highlighted in gold leaf. A DJ booth sat at one end of the balcony overlooking the main dance floor and there were freestanding bar areas at either end. Be-yond the columns, equally opulently decorated chill out spaces sat off either side of the main room. Three huge crystal chandeliers hung down, with coloured spotlights from around the perimeter of the ceiling reflecting off them, scattering shards of colour over the walls and floor. But the interior, grand as it was, almost paled into insignificance next to its occupants. Ever since my first visit to St. Petersburg I’d been taken aback by the beauty of so many of the women there. Here, that was magnified by a factor of ten. Magnified by all the means at the disposal of the rich elite who clearly made up the clientele. Surgically enhanced to almost impossible levels of sculptural perfection, immaculately made up and dressed in exotic fabrics designed to cling to their man-made contours. Around two thirds of the people I could see were young women, danc-ing together to the loud Ibiza beat emanating from the speakers hanging from each corner, or sitting and listening intently as their older oli-garchal beaus held court in the chill out rooms.
“Fuck, Yuri, this is crazy!”
He leaned into my ear to make himself heard over the music. ‘I’ll get us a table.” A young woman in a tight fitting black silk cocktail dress that barely covered her stocking tops approached us with a smile. Yuri said something to us and she escorted us over to one of the rooms off the main floor. Here the music wasn’t quite so loud.
“My name’s Anna and I’ll be looking after you tonight. Can I get you a drink?”
Yuri looked over at me. I shrugged my shoulders “Vodka?”
“Scotch.” He replied. “Only the peasants drink vodka.” He turned to the waitress. “Anna. Look after my friend here.” Then back to me. “Forgive me. I have some people I need to see. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Ask Anna to give you a tour.” His demeanour had changed, he seemed more confident, arrogant even, since entering the club. Oh, and be careful.” He grinned again. “Things aren’t always what they seem here!” And with that he left me alone to take in the scene.

I sat and waited for Anna to come back with the drinks. I wondered what Yuri had meant when he’d said “Things aren’t always what they seem…”. My first thought was that perhaps some of the women weren’t actually women at all, and my second thought was that perhaps they were prostitutes. And then my third thought was that any regular bloke would at least have had those thoughts in reverse order, and possibly not even had the first thought at all. But I wasn’t a regular bloke. I’d been fascinated by the idea of crossdressing since I was a boy and though I’d had little opportunity to indulge myself during childhood, and whilst living in shared accommodation at university, since I’d rented a flat of my own after graduating four months ago I’d begun to explore the possibilities. From my first pay packet I’d treated myself to some expensive lin-gerie and a wig, and I’d been playing around with make up on my weekday evenings alone in my flat. And just two days ago I’d taken the plunge and shaved off all of my body hair below my neck with the exception of a neat little triangle in my pubic area.

I scanned the women intently for any signs - a too prominent Adam’s apple, a too large hand, or a giveaway masculine gesture. But there was nothing I could see that made me think that any of them were trans. So perhaps my second thought had been correct after all and they were prostitutes. That was far more likely. I knew that prostitution was rife in St. Petersburg, especially in some of the more affluent bars and clubs frequented by westerners and the local mafia.

Anna returned and set the drinks on the table, and sat in the chair next to mine. She leaned across, smiling, and raised a glass.
“Za zdorovie”
“Za zdorovie”
“So what brings you here to St. Petersburg?”
I told her my story, such as it was. We talked for a while and then she suggested she show me around. I shrugged. “Sure.” She took my hand and led me off, away from the dancefloor, up some stairs to the balconies that overlooked it, and then along another corridor lined with several doors, like a hotel. She stopped outside one. “I want to show you something.” She smiled again and opened the door just a few inches. “In you go.” I stepped into the room. It was quite dark in contrast to the corridor, lit only by a small desk lamp in one corner. I turned, expecting Anna to follow me, but she’d stopped. “This is as far as I go.” She smiled again, “Enjoy”, and the door was closed behind me.

I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Just outside the small pool of light cast by the lamp another young woman was sitting. When the door closed she stood and walked towards me. She was dressed similarly to Anna in a short fitted dress with stockings and heels. She wore a short blonde bobbed hairstyle, the soft glow of the lamp reflected in the gloss on her lips. But there was something familiar about her profile - the shape of her nose and jaw, and something too in the way she walked. She approached closely, almost touching me, making me aware enough of my personal space to try to take a step back, but then feel the wall behind me.
“Yuri!”
He smiled. “What do you think?”
I was already aroused by looking at the girls in the club, and being with Anna. And now seeing my companion crossdressed, the way I longed to be… My throat was dry. My heart was thumping in my chest.
He moved closer again, his breasts brushing against my chest. “So tell me, am I attractive?”
He reached a hand down and took a firm hold of my penis, squeezing it tightly until I gasped. “Something tells me that you’re finding me very attractive indeed. Or is it, perhaps, the idea of wearing a sweet little silk dress, with stockings and heels that is getting you all, how do you say, hot under the collar?”
I gasped but said nothing. I was a rabbit in the headlights, unable to move.
“Mmm. I thought so.” He raised a long, glossed nail to my face and ran it along the length of one eyebrow. “Plucked.” He said. “Very subtly done, so most wouldn’t notice. But I did.” From my brow he continued across to my ear. “And pierced ears too. Not that unusual today, grant-ed. But in both ears. And without wearing studs in them. And I expect if we have a look down here…” he removed his hand from my penis briefly whilst he undid the buckle on my belt, unzipped my fly and allowed my trousers to drop to the floor. “…Ah yes, as I thought.” He ran his hand over the smooth contours of my recently shaved legs. “I think you’ll enjoy being a member of our club.” He smiled. The door burst open and as Yuri stepped aside, two men grabbed hold of me and pulled me to the floor. I tried to fight back, but one had me pinned down as the other held a cloth to my face. The last thing I remembered as I passed out was Yuri’s made up face looking down at me, grinning.

2

I woke up aching all over. I felt like I’d been punched hard in the face and then, having fallen to the ground, been kicked repeatedly. I tried to recall the events of last night. I remembered the club, and Anna, and, oh shit, Yuri appearing dressed as a woman. I looked around. I appeared to be in a regular hotel room, albeit one that didn’t, as far as I could see, have any windows. Raising my hand to my face, I could feel dressings to my nose and jaw. Both were incredibly tender to touch. Summoning my strength, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. My chest was constricted and tight. I was wearing a surgical gown but below that there were bandages or something similar wrapped tightly around my upper torso. Below them, my chest felt swollen and sore. I ran my hand across and felt the unmistakeable swell of breasts below the constrain-ing fabric. They were flattened tight to my ribs, but there was no mistaking what they were. My stomach lurched and for a moment I thought I was going to vomit. In a panic I reached down to my groin. Mercifully it was still intact, but there was a strange steel wire wrapped around the base of my penis. I stood up, took a moment to steady myself, and staggered to the door. It was locked. I pounded on it and cried out as loudly as I could but there was no response.

There was a mirror in the bathroom. Surveying myself, I could see that my face was bruised and swollen even in the areas not covered by the dressings. I took off the gown. I was wearing some kind of sports bra that was partially flattening the breasts against my chest. I tried to find a fastener so I could get it off, but couldn’t see one, and the garment was too tight to pull off over my head. Below the waist my backside was al-so bruised and swollen. I examined the wire around my penis more carefully. It was about 1mm diameter, not so tight that it was uncomforta-ble, but tight enough that I couldn’t remove it. At the back of the wire, tucked up beneath my balls, was a steel cylinder, around 5mm in diameter and 25mm long, the wire connected to either end. I went back to the bed and sat down, trying to understand what had happened. But my mind was befuddled from the drugs and before I knew it I fell asleep again.

The next time I awoke I felt much better. The pain had subsided significantly and it felt as though most of the swelling to my face had gone. Reaching up, I noticed the dressings to my nose and jaw had been removed. I was ravenously hungry and felt like I’d lost weight; I wondered how long I’d been unconscious. I walked through to the bathroom and examined myself in the mirror. The plastic surgery that I’d already real-ised had been undertaken on my face had given me a more rounded jawline and a smaller, button, nose. Even without make up and with my hairstyle unchanged my face was now undeniably feminine. And whilst the bruising had faded, the swelling to my backside and hips remained. Implants there too, I suspected. On top of the weight I’d lost elsewhere I also had an undeniably feminine figure. I slumped onto the toilet seat. Who had done this to me? And why?

Hours passed. I slept again. When I awoke, it was to the sound of the room door crashing open. A male figure burst in. Tall, shaven-headed, stockily built. Behind him, a small middle-age woman with a masculine hairstyle dressed in a charcoal skirt suit with a shirt and tie, and highly polished boots. And then, after her, another male similar to the first. I sat bolt upright, clasping the edge of the bedsheet tightly under my chin. The first man snatched it from me leaving me naked on the bed, but for the chest bindings I’d been unable to remove. The woman nodded to the second man and he stepped forward, a huge knife in one hand. I recoiled, waiting for the fatal blow. I felt the cold of the blade on my chest, then exhaled as he cut through the heavy elasticated material, exposing the results of their surgery. He grinned leeringly at me, enjoying my ter-ror. The woman addressed me.
“On your knees on the floor now.”
I was trembling, and could barely get the words out. “Take me to the British Embassy.”
She snorted. Said something in Russian to the first man, and he laughed. She turned at me again “On your knees.”
“Fuck off.”
A huge surge of pain ran through my balls, like I’d been kicked in the groin but a hundred times worse. I screamed, then lay panting for several seconds.
“So. Now you know why we have the wire wrapped around your genitalia.” She spoke with a heavy accent in clipped, military tones. “And you should also know that the cylinder sitting below your testicles contains an explosive that can also be detonated should you decide not to coop-erate. And cutting the wire of course triggers the detonation. Now maybe a sissy like you would like for that to happen. But the explosion would probably remove a leg or two as well - it could do a lot of collateral damage. So be a good girl and get on your knees.”
“What are you going to do to me?” Another surge of pain and I collapsed at her feet.
“You are with The Agency now. You will learn not to ask questions and to only speak when you are spoken to. Do you understand?”
I nodded and, head down, knelt quietly in front of her.

She stepped to one side leaving me facing the man with the knife. I raised my head. I was eye level with his crotch. Inches in front of me, his flies open, his cock hung out. Short, stubby, stinking of piss. He leered down at me and slid the flat blade of the knife slowly over my cheek.
I turned to the woman “Oh, please, please, no…”
She sneered at me and said something in Russian to the man. Then turned back to me.
“For now, fortunately for you, you are worth too much to us to turn you over to these pigs. We don’t want our investment to be damaged. But let this be a lesson to you. Upset us, and my friend here will have a new girlfriend.” She threw some clothes on to the bed. “Now. Put these on. It’s time to go.”

I was blindfolded and bundled out of the room, one of the heavies guiding me with a hand around my arm, gripping me tightly. Into a lift, down two or maybe three floors and then out onto a concrete floor. Fresh air. Into the back of a car and then maybe 15 minutes driving before being taken out again. Into another lift. Longer this time, four or five floors. A carpeted corridor. Finally, I was thrust through another door and my blindfold removed, the door slamming behind me. I blinked as my eyes became accustomed again to the light. I was in what looked like a fairly normal living room. Basically furnished, but clean. A window this time, unlike the previous room, but with the glass obscured. Standing in front of me was a young woman, late twenties, blonde, wearing a grey jogging suit similar to the one I’d been handed earlier. She raised her hand in welcome. “Hi, I’m Josie.” An American accent. “Welcome to Stalag Luft III. I see you’ve already met the Kommandant and two of her goons.”

3

“Forgive the gallows humour. You must have a million questions, but right now I’ll bet you want nothing more than a hot shower to get rid of the smell of that fat bastard that dropped you off here. I’ll show you your room.”
She took me through to a small bedroom. Like the living room, it was functional but comfortable. A single bed, a wardrobe and a dresser. Off that an en suite room with shower. She left me alone and as soon as she’d gone I stripped off the clothes I was wearing and climbed into the shower, turning the water temperature up as high as it would go until I was almost being scalded, whilst scrubbing feverishly at my body. I stood for an age under the flow of the water, imagining it somehow dissolving me and washing me away until there was nothing left. But even-tually the water began to run cold and I was still there, solid. I stepped out and dried myself down. In the wardrobe I found another jogging suit similar to the one I’d discarded. I dressed, and went back into the living room, where Josie was waiting for me.

“So how did you come to be here?”
I told her my story. I left out the part where Yuri had clocked me being a transvestite - somehow, it made me feel like everything was partly my fault - but I told her everything else, from the time we’d walked across Palace Square to the time I’d been delivered to the flat. She shuddered and took my hand in hers.
“The Agency owns you now. You’re a working girl. Like me.”
“You mean you’re?…”
She nodded. “In a fucked up world we’re the lucky ones. If you were a cis girl you’d be out there already, earning them money. But as a new t-girl you get a few days reprieve for me to train you up. And the cis girls are out working every day, sometimes three or four times a day or even more. But we’re niche. Exotic. Unusual. There aren’t as many guys out there into girls like us, so you might get away with only three or four dates each week. And because we’re niche, they can charge more for us. You’re earning them maybe twenty five or thirty thousand US with each date. So you’re worth more. So they’ll look after you better. You’re a prostitute now, but at least you’re a high class expensive one, not a street hooker.”
“Fuck that. I’d rather kill myself.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought at first. But do that and they’ll kill all of us. Me and the two other girls living here. I’ve been here eight years now. The only way to survive this is to do everything they ask, and to do it well. If punters like you, they’ll ask for you again, and The Agency will be able to put your price up. And that means you live a bit longer. And if you’re good at your job and the punters come early, it means you get away with maybe only spending an hour with them instead of being banged all night.”
“And if I refuse to do what they say?”
“They’ll hurt you. In ways you can’t imagine. Until you’re begging to go out and work for them. I’ve seen that happen. Girls who refused from the off, or girls who said they couldn’t go on after a few months, or a few years…”
“And you’ve never tried to escape?”
“I think about it all the time. But we’re all carrying a small bomb behind our balls that can be detonated as soon as they realise we’re missing. And we’re watched all the time. CCTV in here.” She nodded towards the corner of the ceiling. “And a driver who sits waiting outside the hotel all the time you’re with a punter.”
I sat in silence. Josie reached her hand out to mine and gave it a squeeze. “Hey. It’s good to have another English speaker here. We can be friends, yeah? I promise I’ll try to look after you as much as I can.”

The following day my training began. Josie had done her best to describe what would be involved, but I was still unprepared. When, back in the UK, I’d first started playing around with cross dressing I’d fantasised about a salon visit, where I’d be pampered; have my hair and nails and make up done, and walk out on towering heels, a vision of femininity. Here, two tall, muscular women in their forties dragged me out of bed still half asleep and subjected me to several hours of scrubbing and plucking as though they’d recently graduated from a battery chicken farm. Around mid afternoon I was unceremonially dumped back in the living room with hair extensions, tightly wrapped in rollers and held in place un-der a net, almost impossibly long acrylic finger nails, coated in a crimson high gloss varnish, similarly painted toenails, and eyebrows now highly arched and pencil thin. Josie met me there and gave me a hug. “Thats the worst over. For now, anyway”. She sent me to make coffee - “You need to get used to those nails” - then it was lighting a cigarette and then opening a condom and rolling one into place. Then it was back to my hair again. She showed me how to take my rollers out, how to brush my hair into different styles if I was wearing it down, and how to pin it up either as a formal French twist, or something looser. She showed me how to use a curling wand and straighteners. Each time she showed me I’d have to repeat it back to her, often several times, until she was happy with the results. We worked relentlessly until the early hours of the morning by which time I was so tired I fell asleep mid task, and she had to wake me to send me to bed.

The following morning I woke up late. Despite being so tired going to bed, it had taken an age to get to sleep. I was used to sleeping on my bel-ly, and my breasts got in the way of me being comfortable. And Josie had told me that we were expected to wear our curlers to bed - alt-hough the women I’d seen yesterday would revisit periodically to refresh the extensions, or to redo nails, I’d be expected to maintain my ap-pearance as best I could between visits, and if there were any complaints from punters - even something as minor as chipped nail polish - some form of punishment could follow. After showering I looked around for the grey jogging suit I’d left on the chair next to my bed, but it had gone. In its place in the wardrobe was a short burgundy satin gown and robe and a pair of matching marabou mules. I shrugged - it was wear them or be naked - so I slipped the gown over my head. It had been a while now since I’d last cross dressed at home and I’d forgotten just how good the material felt as it slipped sinuously down my body; even more so now I had breasts. My nipples sprang to attention beneath the lace of the cups. I ran my fingers across and around them and shivered in pleasure. Further down, my cock was straining at the tight satin around my hips. I thought about going back into the bathroom to masturbate but held back - I was sure there were cameras in there, and I didn’t want to give the viewer the pleasure. Instead I rinsed some cold water across my face, pulled the robe tight around my waist, stepped into the mules and headed out into the living room.

Josie was waiting for me at the dining table. I walked across the room to her, hips swaying slightly as I re-familiarised myself with the heels. Reaching the table, I smoothed my robe behind me, sat down and crossed my legs.
“OK. Someone’s done that before. ‘Fess up, girl!”
I blushed and looked down at the table, avoiding her gaze. “I’m sorry Josie. I should have told you before.” I filled her in on how Yuri had clocked me, and how I’d experimented with dressing at my flat back home. By the end, I was in tears. “It’s my fault, Josie, it’s my stupid, fuck-ing fault. If I’d never given in to those feelings, I’d never be here…”
She pulled me in to her, resting my head on her shoulders, wrapping her arms around me. “Hey. Don’t say that. Of course it’s not your fault. Don’t you ever, ever, think that!”
We sat for a while until my sobbing subsided.
“You know, it might even help a little. At least you’re comfortable, I mean, dressed like this..”
“You weren’t? I mean before?”
She shook her head. “All American boy. Never wore a frock, never sucked a cock. I came here on an exchange visit in 2014 when I was 17. I was always small for my age. Delicate looking. Sure, I sometimes got called a sissy at college, but I wasn’t. Now look at me.”
“Oh, Josie!” I hugged her back as hard as I could.
We sat quietly for a few moments and then she sat up.
“Ah, well, at least now I know that, it should make today a little easier. I was thinking it was going to take us at least a couple of days to work on your make up skills. But I guess we’re not starting from scratch?”

In fact, I still needed plenty practice. At home, I’d always done my make up before attaching false nails. Here, trying to do it with the long talons I now possessed was much harder, especially when it came to eyeliner. And I’d only been dressing for a few months, so my skills were maybe those of a teenage girl. Josie filled me in on the things I wasn’t so good at, like contouring and blending. Watching her work her magic, inches away from my face with hers, gave me a chance to really study her properly for the first time. Even without make up, and wearing a jogging suit, she had a natural prettiness - the kind you might see cast as a girl next door in an American sitcom. Long blonde silky hair cascaded down her back in waves, and when she’d hugged me she’d smelled so good I felt like I could stay in her arms for ever. We worked on a couple of day-time looks - “though you’ll hardly ever need those”, she said - and a couple of evening looks that went with my colouring. Eventually, she pro-nounced herself satisfied. “Last day’s training tomorrow.” she said. “We’ll work through some scenarios as a bit of a dress rehearsal - things to say and do with the punters; how to deal with them, that kind of thing”. My stomach lurched. The last two days with Josie had almost been like I was at home. She’d made me feel safe, and we’d even managed a laugh on occasions. But now the brutal reality of my situation dawned again. I went to bed, but lay there for hours until sleep eventually came.

I woke up late the following day and lay in bed for a while, running through what had happened over the last few days. Thinking back to what might have happened with the two guards made me feel physically sick. But spending time as a woman, and after the surgeries an undeniably good looking one at that, turned me on enormously. And the thought of being treated as a woman by another man, which I knew I’d have to face up to in the coming days, both horrified and fascinated me. I was still trying to reconcile those thoughts when Josie tapped on my door.
“Hey! It’s 2pm. Are you getting up today? We’ve lots to get through!”
I made my way through to the living room, where she had a coffee and some toast waiting for me. We spent the rest of the day just talking, or rather I listened whilst Josie told me of her experiences with clients to give me some idea of what to expect. I sat quietly, trying to lodge all of her advice carefully in my brain. It all still felt so unreal.
“The most important thing” she kept coming back to what she’d said the first day we’d met, “is that you do your job well. The better you are, the more The Agency can charge, the longer you’ll stick around. Think of yourself as an actor in a play. What happens in those hotel rooms isn’t happening to you, but to your character. Learn to play the role. It’s how I’ve lasted as long as I have.”
I nodded.
“Anyway, I said we’d finish off today with a bit of a dress rehearsal. I’ve got some clothes sent over that you can change into. And your own make up set. Let’s see how you are at getting ready by yourself. Once you’re dressed, I’ll be in my room. I want you to act like I’m your client. OK?”

Back in my room I sat at my dresser and opened the make up box Josie had presented me with. I tipped the contents out and arranged them in the order I’d need them - foundation, powder, blush, eyeshadow - silver and dark metallic grey tones for the smoky eyed evening look Josie had shown me - eyeliner, mascara and lipstick; crimson to match my nails. Back home, doing my make up had been my favourite thing about cross dressing. I loved the smells, and the feel of the brushes against my skin, and the unfolding visual transformation of the person before me in the mirror. Here, with my already surgically feminised face, together with the additional skills I’d learned from Josie, the woman looking back at me from the mirror was stunning. I removed the curlers that had held my hair in place and brushed it softly. It fell past my shoulder blades in thick, soft, chestnut waves. I pinned it up carefully into a loose up-do and turned my attention to the garment bag Josie had given me. A black satin basque, which despite my much reduced waistline was still a tight fit. Gossamer-thin black stockings and a thong, which held me tightly in place at the front and nestled between my cheeks at the rear, reminding me sensuously of its location with each step I took around the room. The dress was black velvet, short and strapless with full length sleeves and a marabou trim around the neck and shoulders. Shoes were impe-riously high patent slingbacks. A satin choker and long ebony earrings completed the outfit. I surveyed myself in the mirror. The whole process of dressing and seeing myself become the extraordinarily elegant and beautiful creature I now was had made me achingly horny, to the point that I was literally trembling all over. I took several deep breaths to steady myself and made my way across the flat to Josie’s room.

I knocked softly and she called me in. She was lying naked on the bed, gently stroking her penis.
“Fuck, Josie, I…”
She grinned playfully and put a finger to her lips. “Ssshh! Stay in character, remember!” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and started walking towards me, hips rotating hypnotically, blonde hair tumbling over her firm breasts. To all the world like a vision of feminine loveliness, yet with a cock protruding rigid and mast-like from her smooth groin. Long, slim, circumcised, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. She smiled again as she saw my reaction to her and giggled. “I hope you are going to look at the punters like that.”
She took another couple of steps and stopped. “So. If I was the punter I’d want to start by maybe taking a good look at you.” She approached more closely and brushed by my side, stopping behind me, her fingernail tracing a route along the feather trim of my dress over my bare shoul-der and upper back. I felt her undo the clasp at the top of my dress and gently pull the zip down, then ease the soft velvet down too, over my breasts, down my arms, over my hips until it fell in a soft pool at my feet. I shivered. She whispered into my ear. “Then I might continue by kissing you here…” She reached forward, easing away one of the loose tendrils of hair that hung across my neck so that she could nibble gently along my nape. Her hands slid over the satin of my basque and along the line of each suspender, unclipping each in turn until they too joined my dress at my feet and then she turned me around so that I was facing her, our breasts against each other, her hands on my hips, pulling me in tightly to her. I raised my arms around her neck and she kissed me, her tongue exploring my mouth whilst her scent filled my lungs and her hardness pressed insistently against mine.
“Ah, Josie, you’re…you’ve got me so…”
“Ssshh!” She pressed a finger to my lips this time, and pulled me with her on to the bed. She kissed her way down my throat, along my collar-bone and then down on to my breasts, caressing each nipple with her tongue and gently blowing on it, then taking it in her mouth and nibbling softly. I was moaning now. The waves of pleasure rippling through me were like nothing I’d ever experienced. At last, she spun around so that she was facing my feet, and pulled my thong away. Straddling me, she lowered her head down and licked hungrily over the surface of my ex-posed member, then drew down my foreskin and repeated the same motion across my glans. I moaned again and as she continued her fella-tion I became aware of her own penis brushing my lips. I caught it with my tongue and, holding it steady with one hand licked over the surface as she had done to me. Now it was her turn to moan. She took me fully into her mouth, her tongue washing over me as she pulled firmly along my length. I copied, again. We alternated bringing each other to the edge of climax, each iteration overlapping with the other until we were finally fully in harmony, in synchronicity. At last, we both cried out together and pulled each other tight as I felt her juices flow into me and mine into her.

We lay there for a moment until our breathing subsided, my head on her breast.
“Fuck, Rosie, that was something else”
I lifted my head. “Rosie?”
She grinned again. “An English Rose. It suits you.”
“Hmm. Rosie and Josie, eh?”
“Two friends, yeah?”
I kissed her gently. “Two friends.”

4

It was the Friday of that first week around lunchtime when the door to the flat burst open and two men - heavily built and dressed all in black like the two who had assaulted me a few days ago - marched in. The first barked out my name and I stepped forward, trembling. He handed me a garment bag and said simply “7pm” and they turned tail and left. I looked at Josie. “That’s the time you need to be ready.” She explained. “And you need to wear what’s in the bag.”

At 7pm prompt the same two heavies collected me from the flat. I was blindfolded again and taken down to what I assumed was a basement garage where I was bundled into a car. Around 15 minutes later we stopped and the blindfold was removed. The driver gestured to a hotel en-trance across the pavement. “Room 428. I’ll be here when you’re finished.” I stepped out of the car. It was still freezing outside. I was grateful for the long sable fur coat I was wearing and pulled it tightly around my body. I negotiated the revolving door and scanned the lobby for a lift, acutely aware of the loud click of my heels on the marble floor, focusing straight ahead, avoiding the gaze of any of the guests mingling there. Into the lift. My pulse was racing and I took several deep breaths. I repeated what Josie had said to me over and over, like a mantra. “The only way to survive this is to do everything they ask, and to do it well.” Reaching the room door I knocked, softly.

My client was middle aged, thinning, slightly overweight and an inch or so shorter than me in my heels. He wore an expensive looking suit and highly polished shoes. He surveyed me for a few seconds, like he was examining a delivery, and then beckoned me over.
“Hi. I’m Rose. What would you like to do this evening?”
He reached out towards me, opening the lapels of my coat, which I’d pulled together tightly against the cold. He continued to lift them away and upwards, along the line of my collarbones and then over my shoulders so that the coat fell to the floor around my feet. Beneath I was wearing a satin corset, tightly laced to emphasise my new breasts and tiny waist, with six suspenders each clipped to sheer silk stockings. He smiled, and pulled me in closer, his lips to mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. One hand on my neck, clamping me to him. One hand wrapped around my penis, his grip slowly massaging along its length. With all the will I could muster, I smiled at him. “Why don’t we make you more comforta-ble?”

I slipped off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and undid his belt.
“Here.” I gestured to the end of the bed. “Sit down.”
I knelt between his legs. Taking hold of his penis, I gave it a few exploratory tugs. He groaned softly and I ran my long nails through his pubes and around his balls, scratching gently.
I repeated Josie’s mantra again “Do it well. Do it well.”
Reaching down I gently tugged back his foreskin and slipped his penis into my mouth, circling the glans with my tongue. Taking him deeper, I began slowly and rhythmically pulling from the base of his cock along to where it entered my mouth. Just as I felt him begin to tense and his moaning increase I eased up, gave him a few firmer strokes with my hand, and then started again. When I felt that he was on the point of no return, I stopped. Raising my head, I put my finger to my lips and whispered “Sshh. I want you inside me now.”
Pushing him down onto his back, I straddled his thighs and then reached at my clutch bag and pulled out a condom. Stretching it over him I moved forward and lowered my self on to him, pausing for a moment to align him with my hole and then pushed on down. Once he was fully inside I tightened my sphincter, gripping his shaft and pumped slowly. One hand of his gripped my own penis hard. Each time I lifted myself up and down his shaft he would mirror the motion over the length of my own. As I felt him finally spasm inside me I quickened, riding down on him hard, until I too climaxed, emptying myself over his chest and belly. I slid off him, taking care not to take the condom with me. Lying next to him on the bed, I reached across and kissed him softly on the lips. “Mmmm. That was fantastic!” I lied, and he smiled. “I’m here in St. Petersburg again on business next week. Perhaps we could meet up again?”
“Of course! That would be wonderful!”

Back at the flat Josie came out of her room as I entered. She must have been waiting up for me.
“How was it?” She asked, anxiously.
I fell into her arms, weeping uncontrollably.

5

Weeks and months passed. I fell into a regular routine. There would be three or four ‘dates’ each week, usually following a similar format to the first one - I’d be driven to a hotel and then collected afterwards. In addition to the dates we were required to attend a regular monthly party which was held at the club where I’d been abducted. The evening I’d been there had been one of them. Josie explained with her characteristic American straightforwardness how they functioned as a ‘showroom window’ for potential Agency clients to ‘view the goods before making a purchase’. The parties demonstrated The Agency’s reach and power - several of the guests I recognised from newspaper and television arti-cles I’d seen in the UK and Josie told me there were Russian cabinet ministers and high ranking members of the armed forces there as well as the oligarchs that were in evidence at my first fatal visit. On these occasions we’d act as hostesses, and often one of the guests would take us upstairs, as Anna had with me, though with different consequences. Each time I went I’d scan the club looking for Yuri, but I never saw him again.

When we weren’t working we’d be confined to the flat. Monday mornings we’d have a visit from the doctor - to check us for STD’s I imagined. We’d receive an injection as well. I was convinced it was hormones as I could swear my skin was becoming softer and I was needing to shave my legs less regularly, but Josie thought they wouldn’t do anything that would impair our remaining male performance. In the afternoon we’d get a food delivery. We were expected to cook for ourselves, and it was something I’d been used to doing for others in my time at university so I fell into the role of chief chef. We had access to television including Netflix and some satellite channels, but no internet of course and no email. Windows were obscured but not totally blacked out - I guessed to stop us trying to communicate with neighbouring apartment blocks. Besides Josie and myself, there were 2 other t-girls in the flat - both Russians, both younger than me, and neither of them English speakers. Josie spoke Russian, so she could act as a translator between us, and in our spare time she’d started to give me lessons. Over the months we’d been locked up together we’d become close. We’d not slept together again since that first time - to be perfectly honest, I was getting so much sex involuntarily that the thought of actually wanting to do it barely crossed my mind - but we shared our closest thoughts and when one of us was feeling particularly low, we’d curl up together in bed and hold each other through the night.

I’d often talk about escaping. I wondered about whether I’d be able to get away if I simply walked out of the back door of one of the hotels we visited. Could I make it to the British Embassy? I was fairly sure we were still in St. Petersburg, but I’d no idea where exactly. With no ID, no mon-ey, and in four inch heels and a cocktail dress the chances of getting anywhere were pretty slim, and the repercussions that would inevitably fol-low for Josie and the other girls made it unthinkable. Six months on from my disappearance, I also doubted that anyone would still be looking for me.
“So what would you do if you got out anyway?” Josie asked me one day. “Would you go back to being what you were?”
I thought for a moment. “Back in England, dressing up in my flat, I never considering going all the way. But now, after what I’ve experienced over the last six months, to go back would feel like a betrayal. Men are such pigs. I can’t imagine ever wanting to be one again. How about you?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve been here too long. I can’t remember what it was like beforehand anymore…”

Summer arrived. It was the season of the ‘White Nights’ in St. Petersburg when, even at midnight, it barely went dark. For the first time since I’d left the UK I was out in daylight, even if only fleetingly, en route from car to hotel lobby. I stood basking in the warmth of the evening sun before making my way to the hotel lift and my assignation for the night. I knocked on the room door and waited to be called in. The man that stood there was unusually young - only a few years older than me I guessed - compared to my typical clients. He was tall - a head higher than me even in my heels - but otherwise undistinguished. Not bad looking, but not handsome either. Dark brown hair cut short but not cropped, an an-gular, masculine face and a slim build. He was wearing a brown jacket with an open necked check shirt and chinos. He held his hand out in greeting.
“Hello. I’m Mikhail.”
I was slightly taken aback. I couldn’t remember any of my previous clients telling me their names, let alone greeting me with a formal hand-shake. I held out my hand hesitatingly. “Hi. I’m Rose.” His hand was warm and his grip firm but not too tight. We stood facing each other in si-lence for a moment. When he didn’t say anything, I decided to break the ice.
“So. What would you like to do?” I smiled sweetly for him.
“What do you mean?” He looked puzzled for a moment, then a look of realisation. “Oh, you mean…”
I waited.
“Maybe…I wonder, maybe you’d like a drink?”
“Sure.” I smiled again, hoping not to show my disappointment that this looked like it wasn’t going to be a quick in and out job that would let me get back to the apartment before morning.
“Vodka?”
I nodded, and he poured two shots from the mini bar.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
He paused again. “I’m sorry, where are my manners. Please, sit down.” There was a sofa against the wall. I expected him to join me there, but he sat opposite, uncomfortably perched on the end of the bed.
“ I, er…Do you mind if we talk for a while?”
I shrugged.
“My friend….” He spoke hesitantly, staring into his vodka glass. “My room mate at college. He was a nice guy. Gentle. Kind. Not macho. He broke down one day and told me he had been thinking of killing himself. He said his whole life had been a lie and that he was a woman inside, in his head, in his heart.” He paused, and looked up at me. “We talked for hours that night. I pleaded with him not to take his life and promised to help him as much as I could. I found a doctor he could go to and gave him money to buy clothes and things. And over the next few months, this beautiful girl emerged, like a butterfly. Only in our apartment at first, but as she became more confident I’d take her out - to the cinema, maybe for a meal or a walk. After a while I stopped thinking about her as she’d been. She was so happy to spend time with me on our trips out. And then one evening she said she wanted to go out by herself. Her doctor had told her of a group of other girls like her, and she wanted to make friends. She looked amazing that night -she was so excited to find others like her. I wanted to tell her that I’d fallen in love with her but I knew if I did that she wouldn’t go out to meet her new friends, so I kept quiet. And she never came home. We found her two days later in a back alley. She’d been strangled.” He looked up again and downed the rest of his vodka.
I reached a hand across to his knee. “Oh. Mikhail. I’m so sorry.”
“I’ve never told anyone that story. My father - he’s a director with an oil company - would disown me if he knew.”
We sat quietly for a few moments and then Mikhail stood.
“Thank you for listening. You can go now.”
“You don’t want?…”
He shook his head. “Maybe I can see you again though? I’m in St. Petersburg again on business next month?”
“You don’t have to ask, you know.”
“I’m sorry. But it felt appropriate.”
“Thank you. I can see why your friend…I’m sure she loved you too.” I reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek and we said goodnight.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Mikhail’s story all the way home to the apartment, but I was shaken out of my reverie by the driver. He was one of two or three regular drivers who would take us to and from our dates. This one was a pig, and always made a point of feeling me up whenever he tied or untied my blindfold.
“You’re back early tonight. We’ve time for a quick fuck in the back of the car and no-one need know.”
Even though I couldn’t see him I could sense him leering. “Fuck off.”
I felt the car screech to a halt and he climbed into the back alongside me. He must have had a knife and I felt the blade against my throat.
“I’ll cut you for that!”
“Go ahead. I’m worth more to The Agency than you are, so they won’t be very happy with you if you damage the goods. Or perhaps you’d like to take my place? Put on a dress and suck cock?”
He growled and got back into the front seat.

I was exhausted when I got back so I changed into my nightgown and got ready for bed. The other girls were all either out on dates or had gone to bed early, but the light was still on in Josie’s room. I knocked gently on her door and went in. She was in bed reading and lifted the co-vers to beckon me alongside her.
“You ok baby?”
I nodded, and told her the story of the evening.
“Do you think he’ll ask for you again?”
“I don’t know…”
She grinned. “You want him to though, don’t you?”
I poked her in the ribs and she laughed. She turned off the light, and we cuddled up together.
“Rose?”
“Yeah?”
“I got sent home tonight. By my date. Without doing anything. Told me I was too old.” She paused. “I’m scared, Rose.”
My stomach lurched. We both knew what that meant. Josie had told me before of girls who would be ‘retired’ once they were deemed too old for the punters, and how they would simply disappear overnight. I tried to sound positive.
“Im sure it’s just a one-off. You’re beautiful, Josie. Most men will love you for that, never mind your age.”
She started to tremble. I pulled her in to me as tightly as I could and whispered to her softly. “I love you Josie. Always will. You’ve been the best friend to me that I’ve ever had.”

6

It was two weeks before I saw Mikhail again. I had an inkling something was afoot that morning when the guards arrived with my outfit. Most dates I’d be wearing a cocktail dress - usually short and fitted, clinging to my curves and barely covering my stocking tops, but this time they’d delivered a full length gown. It was gorgeous - cowl necked to the front and cut away to the small of my back at the rear. Clinging sensuously from my torso down to my upper thigh and then flowing out into a short train as though I was emerging from a pool of shimmering liquid satin. Usually we’d be given lingerie to wear - always stockings; often with a corset or basque. This time there was the tiniest of lace thongs; nothing to come between my bare skin and the silken material, burnishing me softly across my breasts and thighs with each step that I took. I pinned my hair up carefully into an elegant French twist, took extra care with my make up and draped the chiffon wrap carefully over my bare shoulders.

It was the same hotel where I’d met him previously. He was wearing a dinner suit. “Hello Rose.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “You look beautiful. I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to do something special tonight.” He held out his hand. There were two tickets. My Russian had improved to the point that I could read what was written on them. Mariinsky Theatre. Swan Lake. I gasped. Back in the UK, when I’d first been told I would be travelling to St. Petersburg, I’d been desperate to visit.
“But you can’t…I mean…there’s a car waiting downstairs for me. I’m not allowed to leave the hotel.”
“Relax. It’s ok. I told them where we’re going. It’s a little more expensive, but…” he shrugged, and smiled. “I thought you’d enjoy going out.”
“Of course - I’ve not seen anything apart from the inside of hotel rooms for months. But… I mean… You can have me here, right now. You don’t need to wine and dine me…”
He frowned. “Don’t you want to go?”
“I’m sorry.” I smiled. “It’s a really kind thought. Thank you. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Come then.” He took my arm and led me out.

Perhaps it was a consequence of the months I’d spent in small, room sized spaces, or perhaps it was because during that period I’d not been in the company of more than a handful of people, but arriving into the huge volume of the auditorium felt like I’d entered some kind of hyper reali-ty. The fashions of the audience and the interior architecture of the theatre were brighter, more vivid and more voluminous than I could have im-agined. The music from the orchestra was more intense, reverberating through me like I was a living tuning fork. And the emotions of the danc-ers made my heart feel at times like it would burst. And yet, despite the almost overwhelming immersion of my senses there was at the same time a disconnect between the surrounding scenes and myself - like I was a narrator in a film, the action took place around me, but was apart from me. I floated weightless at its core, amongst people I could never know.

When we got back to the hotel Mikhail slipped the dress from my shoulders, allowing it to fall at my feet, and then lifted me gently on to the bed. I watched as he undressed and then he joined me, sliding his way up my body, kissing his way up my legs, over my belly, across my breasts. He parted my legs and slid in between them, his penis pushing insistently against me.
“Wait!” I rolled him over, pushing my body back into his, my breasts into his chest, my hands roaming over his torso until it was his turn to gasp as I gripped his shaft. I kissed him slowly, our tongues intertwining, as my carmine nails teased through his pubic hair, cupping his balls and gently scratching along his length. Gripping him more firmly, I began to slowly pump up and down as I kissed my way down his hairy chest and across his belly until, working my way down the bed, I peeled back his foreskin and licked my way around his glans. He moaned, and I pumped a little harder, taking him fully into my mouth now whilst still playing my tongue around and over and under, pumping and licking. Just when I though he couldn’t hold out any longer he flipped me back over again so that he was back on top, and then again so that I was belly down on the bed. I felt his hand slide down between my legs and reach under to grip me. He felt the wire, and the steel cylinder below my balls.
“What’s this?”
For a moment I wanted to tell him the truth, but the risk of getting into trouble was too much. I lied. “It’s a sex thing. Helps me keep going for longer.”
His finger found my hole and slid in as I pushed back. I felt his remaining fingers grasp his own shaft, guiding it into place. As he withdrew his digit there was a brief moment of pain as he pushed against me, and then a release as I closed around him, the head of his penis inside me.
He drew my hair away from my neck and nibbled gently. “Is that ok, baby?”
I grunted my assent, and he eased his way further in, all the time licking his way from shoulder to earlobe, his free hand under my body, caress-ing my breasts. With each stroke he went a little deeper. I could feel his body tensing with every push. And then, finally, he pulled me hard into him as though our bodies were trying to merge. I felt him unload inside me and I clung to him desperately, trying to stop the scenes fading, the col-ours return to monotone, and the walls of the room solidify.

“Are you ok?” He traced with his finger a tear which had escaped the corner of my eye, rolling down past my ear and into my hair.
I nodded. “Thank you. The ballet was amazing. And thank you for asking if I’m ok. No one’s ever done that before.”
He kissed the damp trail that the tear had left across my cheek.
I pulled myself closer to him, feeling the warmth from his body, dreading what needed to come now “What time do I have to leave?”
He smiled. “Not until later tomorrow. That is, if you want to stay.”
I squealed, and kissed him my thanks.
He grinned. “I thought we could go to the gardens at Peterhof. It’s going to be a nice day.”
“That would be wonderful! But wait! I’ve only got the evening dress to wear!”
He laughed. “You’re such a girl, you know! But I’ve got you something.”
“Ooh! Can I see?”
“Maybe.” He leaned over and kissed me again. Then, reaching down he took hold of my penis and stroked it gently back to life. “Or maybe I might make you wait until morning.”

I woke with the morning sun streaming through the hotel window. Mikhail was still fast asleep. I lay there for a while, enjoying the sensation of his body spooning mine, observing the courtship rituals of two pigeons on the ridge of the roof of the building opposite. The male would puff his feathers out, trying to appear larger, pursuing the female over the tiles. It felt like she gave only token resistance, for a few seconds later he was on top of her, wings flapping. And then they stood side by side, facing me across the street, heads rubbing together. Pigeons mate for life, I’d heard. It seemed so straightforward, why did us humans always seem to mess things up so much?

Behind me, Mikhail was starting to stir. I reached back and took hold of him, squeezing gently as he moaned softly. Morning wood. I pushed back against him, using my hand to align him. He moaned again, but wrapped his arms around me tighter, pulling me down onto him, and I gasped as he slid inside.

We ate breakfast in bed and then showered together, lathering each other up in bubbles, and then towelling each other dry again afterwards. “What have you got me to wear then?”
He grinned, and opened the wardrobe, pulling out a long chiffon sundress. The skirt was full, a pattern of blues and greys that stretched from ankle to an empire line waist. Above that, two similarly patterned pieces of fabric formed the bust and tied in a halter neck behind my back. It was beautiful - soft, feminine, delicate. I held it up to my warm freshly showered body and shivered as the cool fabric flowed over my skin.
“It’s gorgeous, thank you!”

We took a taxi to the gardens. The sun was warm and I basked in its embrace as we walked, hand in hand. Like at the theatre the previous night, after being cooped up so long the vast open-ness was almost overwhelming. I floated like the chiffon I was wearing, stopping to inhale the scent of each new flower we passed, feeling the power of the water fountains as they climbed into the sky, and the cooling mist of the spray that we walked through. But all too soon it was over. Mikhail had a flight to catch that evening.
“I’ll be back again in a few days. I’ll see you then.”
“I don’t want to go back.”
He kissed me tenderly. “I’ll be as soon as I can. I’ll be thinking of you.”
Back at the flat I burst into Josie’s room to tell her everything that had happened, but she wasn’t there. I expected she was out on a date herself, so I retired to my room with a book, looking forward to telling her all about it the next day.

The following morning I woke suddenly to the sound of mens voices in the flat. I jumped out of bed, pulled on my robe, and went into the living room. The voices were coming from Josie’s room. Walking in, the woman I’d met when I was first kidnapped, the woman that Josie had called ‘Kommandant’, was there with two of her guards. They seemed to be clearing her room, taking clothes from the wardrobe and drawers.
“Where’s Josie?”
She spun round to face me. “Josie isn’t with us anymore. She has been retired.”
“You fucking…” I launched myself at her, but she was at the opposite end of the room. She had obviously expected something, for she had some kind of controller ready in her hand as I flew at her, and I didn’t even get close before I screamed and fell to the floor, electricity coursing through my genitals.
She moved so she was standing directly over me. “You are the head girl here now. We have a new arrival tomorrow morning. I expect you to help her…” she paused for a moment and smirked. “…assimilate.”
I lay on the floor in agony as they stepped across my helpless, sobbing body and left the flat.

The two Russian girls must have heard the commotion because they came rushing in as soon as the others left. I told them what had happened and they sat either side of me, holding me tightly for what seemed like hours until my weeping subsided.

The room was bare. There was no sign left of Josie. No indication that she’d ever been here. No one but me that knew her story, knew of the love she’d given to make these days a little more bearable. And then I saw it, behind the curtain on the window cill. The guards must have missed it. Josie’s scent bottle. I picked it up, and sprayed a little on my wrist. And for a moment, there she was. We were in bed together; I was spooning her, burying my face into the thick blonde waves that cascaded down her back. I’d just told her about meeting Mikhail for the first time, and she was giggling and teasing me about how I sounded like I’d fallen for him. And then she was gone again; the room cold. I took the bottle of perfume back to my bed, climbed under the sheets, and stayed there for the rest of the day.

7

The next few days felt like months. Each time I left for a date I’d hope and pray that it would be Mikhail, and when at last I saw him standing there, silhouetted in the hotel window, I ran headlong into his arms, and between great sobs of tears I told him what had happened to Josie. He sat quietly, holding my hand. When I finished he made me go back to the beginning again and tell him how I’d come to be her flatmate. Eventu-ally there was silence. Mikhail sat on the end of the bed with his head in his hands.
“Fuck, Rose, I’d no idea. I’m so sorry. You always seemed…well, happy. Content. And to have to live like that, like a slave…” . He stood up. “We need to get you out of there…”
“How can you do that?”
“I can arrange a passport. I’ll get some flights booked…”
“It’s not that Mikhi. The wire I wear. Down there.” I took a breath. “I told you it’s a sex thing. It’s not. It’s an explosive device. Attached to gps, so if I’m not where I’m supposed to be, it goes off. And it also detonates if the wire is cut.”
He stared at me. “You mean…you’re carrying a bomb around? All day? 24/7? Around your genitals? Jesus!” He was ashen faced. “And all this time we’ve been going to the ballet, and to Peterhof, laughing and enjoying ourselves like two normal people and they were making you wear that?..” He paused. “How can you ever forgive me for carrying on with you as though everything was ok? I promise I’ll get you out of here. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way.”

It was an anxious two weeks before I saw Mikhail again. When, one evening, as the car dropped me off, I recognised the hotel where we had always met I almost sprinted through the lobby and along the corridor to his room. I rushed into his arms and he held me tightly. There was an-other man with him, and he introduced us. Jan was a friend of a friend; ex Russian army bomb disposal. Mikhail had asked him to take a look at the device that was fitted to me.
“It’s not very dignified, Rose, I’m sorry.”
I lay on the bed on my back, dress hitched up around my waist, legs bent back so far my knees were at my ears.
“Have you seen anything like that before, Jan?”
The ex army man had a couple of small clamps attached to the cable either side of the main stainless steel cylinder behind my testicles. They in turn were attached to further wires which led back to a laptop. “Yes, I’ve seen it before. Never fitted in such a, err, unusual way, though.”
“Can you remove it?”
“I think so.”
He had an attache case with further tools and bits of electronic kit that I didn’t recognise. Mikhail sat on the bed holding my hand. I looked out of the window to try to distract myself from what was happening. It was a beautiful evening; there was a door opening out onto a small Juliet bal-cony and clear blue sky beyond. The vapour trail from a jet crossed it diagonally. I imagined myself in a few hours on a plane like that. Mikhail must have had the same thought. He squeezed my hand. “That will be us, my love. Have faith!”

It took Jan about an hour to remove the device. Lying on the bed, the smooth cylinder looked harmless enough.
“So how much damage would it have done if it had gone off?” I asked.
“We’d all have been killed. And depending on the construction of the walls and floors, some injuries in the adjoining rooms too.” Jan replied.
I shuddered.
Mikhail had brought me a business suit to change into so I looked less conspicuous when we left. A briefcase, with a laptop and some papers inside to go with it. And a passport made out in the name of Andreja Dubravcic, 22, from Murmansk. I changed in the bathroom. Jan had left by the time I emerged. Mikhail kissed me. “Ready?”
I was about to answer when there was a knock at the room door. I glanced at Mikhail, anxiously.
“Don’t worry. No-one knows we’re here. Maybe Jan forgot something.”
“Mikhi, I…”
“Don’t worry, my love. Everything will be fine.”

He went to the door and opened it just a few centimetres to see who was there, and everything afterwards happened so quickly. The door burst open, knocking Mikhail to the floor. Two men crashed in, lifted him up, carried him to the balcony and threw him over. I screamed, and they turned to me. I kicked out at them, catching one of them in the shins and he cursed; but they were far too strong for me. They pushed me down on to the bed and held a cloth to my face. As the chloroform took effect, the last thing I saw was the Kommandant looking down at me, smil-ing.

8

I awoke the following morning back in my room at the flat, surprised to still be alive. I felt numb. Where, after losing Josie, I’d been broken emo-tionally for weeks, now I just felt empty inside. I reached down between my legs. The cable and cylinder were back in place. The doorbell rang and two men entered, as per the usual routine, with the times we were to be ready for our dates that evening, and the dresses we were to wear. There was no mention of what had happened yesterday. I got dressed in a daze, was delivered to my client, spent the evening with him and was driven back. The same happened the following day, and again the day after that. I thought about killing myself. God knows, I wanted to be rid of everything, to find some peace, and it would have been easy enough to run out in front of a car one evening when I was being dropped off at a hotel. But it felt like a surrender, and when I thought of Mikhail and Josie I knew I owed it to them to try to fight back. I just didn’t know how. Months passed. Summer turned to autumn, and autumn to winter. A thick carpet of snow descended on the city as the anniversary passed of my abduction.

It was the last Friday of December, the date of the regular monthly Agency ‘party’. 3 days previously, the Russian girls I shared the flat with had made their best efforts to celebrate Christmas. As ‘head girl’ I’d done my best to keep their spirits high, but my heart wasn’t in it. At least we’d had a few days off whilst our clients stayed home with their families, doing their best impressions of being dutiful husbands and fathers. Around lunchtime we’d had the usual delivery of outfits for us to wear that evening. But the Kommandant had been there as well, which was unusual. She’d kept me back after the other girls had received their clothes and gone back to their rooms to change.
“You will be collected before the others at 4. There is a meeting of the Agency Board before the party and there has been a request that you at-tend on the visitors.”
Her face was expressionless, but there was something in the tone of her voice that told me that she didn’t approve of what she was telling me.
“Why me?” I asked, but she had already turned and made her way out of the door.

I’d had an idea that something was up the previous day when we’d had our regular visit, which took place before each monthly ‘party’, from the salon women to touch up our hair and nails. There had been gossip about a big meeting, with senior Agency staff travelling from all over the world to attend. If that meeting was to be held before my flatmates arrived for the party at 7, then potentially there would be a few hours where there would be just the senior staff and myself in the club. A plan began to form in my mind.

That afternoon I lingered over getting ready, savouring every last stroke of mascara on my lashes: every last brush of gloss over my lips. Reaching for the garment bag I’d been handed earlier, I smiled when I saw what it contained. Perhaps the fates were with me after all. It was the long satin evening gown that I’d worn the night Mikhail had taken me to the ballet. I stepped into it, wrapping my contours in the soft fabric. It was as though Mikhail was there with me, his hands burnishing my skin. On the dresser was the scent bottle I’d taken from Josie’s room. I sprayed it gently at my throat and wrists. She would be accompanying me too. I stopped to examine myself in the mirror one last time. Whether I’d become more practised at applying my make up, or maybe it was simply that after a year of living full time as a woman my feminine movements and mannerisms were now effortless, but I had never looked better.

Arriving at the club, the blindfold was stripped from my face and I swung my legs out of the car and stepped out. The garage where we were parked was as I remembered it. There were spaces for half a dozen cars, accessed via two wide shuttered openings in the outside wall of the building. In front of the parking spaces there was a long workbench, running the full length of the back wall, with a selection of tools hanging neatly on the wall above it. To one end of the garage were two large fuel tanks, both around 2m x 2m x 2m, used to hold the black market pet-rol which fuelled the vehicles that were used to transport myself and the other girls to our various assignations. I was no expert on such matters, but I guessed there was enough fuel there to create a fairly sizeable explosion.

Upstairs in the boardroom the scene was remarkable in its unremarkable-ness. Perhaps I’d seen too many James Bond films and had visions of when SPECTRE met to discuss their plans for taking over the world. But I could have been at any high end corporate board meeting, com-plete with powerpoint slides and coffee machine, bubbling away in the background. There were around 20 attendees. I recognised The Kom-mandant amongst them, but clearly several were not Russian, and the meeting was being held in English. My job was to keep cups and glass-es topped up, and to offer canapes. I was the only working girl there. From time to time, as subtly as possible, I’d glance up at the contents of the slide presentation that was being discussed. There were numbers on the screen the context of which I didn’t understand, but the magnitude - tens of millions of dollars in some instances - was very much self explanatory. As I made my way around the table, wondering when I’d have the opportunity to slip out and enact my plan, one of the attendees looked up toward me.

“Ah, the English girl!”
The figure who addressed me was about my age, wearing a dark business suit; peroxide blonde with a bobbed hairstyle and blood red lip-stick. She smiled, coldly. “You don’t remember me do you?”
I looked harder. Beneath the heavy make up the features were hard, angular and familiar. Yuri! The person I thought had been my friend; who was responsible for me being here! I wanted to launch myself at him; tear out his throat for what he’d done to me. But I couldn’t put my plans at risk.
He saw the flash of hatred cross my face and smiled. “I’ve come a long way since our last meeting. The Agency has noted my efforts in recruit-ing so many of our best prostitutes. I hear you’re one of them. I wanted to thank you personally for helping me get where I am today.” He paused. “Perhaps we can catch up later. Such a shame we didn’t manage to take things any further last time we were here.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me down to the table, keeping eye contact with me all the while, baiting me, eager to prompt a reaction. But I held firm. When he saw that I wasn’t going to react he stopped, and stood back. “In the meantime, go fetch me another scotch.” He held out an empty glass and I took it, thankful for the opportunity to get away.

Outside the board room I leant against the corridor wall and took a breath. Yuri’s sadistic presence here at least explained who had asked for me to attend at the meeting. I grimaced. But at least now I’d be able to deal with him along with the other Agency members. There was no time to waste. I’d been to enough of the monthly parties here to learn my way around. Just off the end of this corridor was a staircase which should, if I was right, drop me down adjacent to the garage I’d arrived into earlier. Most critically, that in turn sat directly below the room where the meeting was being held.

As quietly as I could, I pushed the door ajar and peered carefully around it. The staircase had dropped me at the opposite end to the fuel tanks and I’d have to walk the full length of the garage to get to them. I scanned around to see if any of the drivers of the half dozen cars that were now parked up there were still around. Hitching up my skirt I tiptoed across to the workbench, praying that I’d find the tool that I needed. I was anxiously searching when I heard a voice behind me.
“What are you doing here?”
I span round, startled. It was one of the drivers. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
I muttered something apologetic and tried to look helpless and unthreatening. “I’m sorry, I think I’m lost…”
He approached closer, his look of suspicion replaced now with one of lust. I waited until he got closer and then, as he reached for me, I grabbed a heavy adjustable spanner from the bench and swung it around towards him. It caught the side of his head with a sickening thud and he slumped to the ground.
I stood poised for a second, waiting to see if the commotion had created any further attention but all fell silent again. I found the tool I was look-ing for and made my way over to stand as close as I could to the fuel tanks. I was shaking all over, almost unable to hold the wire cutters I’d selected. It was cold. I took a deep breath, and another, composing myself. Outside the garage it was dark. A clear sky of what seemed unre-lenting blackness was punctuated, almost indiscernibly at first view, by a million tiny stars, defiant in their light. Another breath. I felt through the satin of my dress for the wire at my crotch, wrapped around me for all but a few minutes of the time I’d been held here; the symbol of my servi-tude. I lifted my other hand to my face and inhaled deeply of the scent I’d sprayed onto my wrists earlier that afternoon.
Lifting my head up to the night sky I addressed the stars - “This one is for you, Mikhail and Josie, maybe I’ll see you soon” - and cut the cable.

THE END