This Never Happened to James Bond Part 2

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The truth was I was high on medication still when she first came in. So when the boss, Ms Casandra Belmont appeared. I was a bit happy with the world.
“I got boobies!” I told her with a silly grin on my face.

This Never Happened to James Bond
A Story in 4 Snippets
By
Sophie Jones
© 2017

Part Two.

For a while, the world seemed to consist of dull white, bright white, fuzzy white, dark white, fluffy pale white, fluffy bright white, blurry faces in white, fussy women in white, men in white with torches with little lights on them. Until…

The truth was I was high on medication still when she first came in. So when the boss, Ms Casandra Belmont appeared. I was a bit happy with the world.

“I got boobies!” I told her with a silly grin on my face.

“Yes dear, you have.” Casandra Belmont lent in and inspected my face, glancing down at the girls and smiled. “Quite nice ones, too. Any girl would be proud to have them. Sir Jeromy said it could be done and they would look natural once the swelling had gone down. I wasn’t so sure.”

She stepped back from the bed to view me from further away.

“You really are, a skinny thing, aren’t you.” Her eyes flicked up and down me in the bed.

“And Sir Jeromy was quite right. Now the swelling has gone down. You more than pass. You are a stunner if there ever was, and you don’t even have any make-up on yet. Oh yes, Max. You’ll do. Although you are, Emma, now. Remember that.”

To be honest, all of that went over the top of my head. More important, there was something I needed to tell her. I whispered, “Boss, my thingies missing. An, I gotta sit on the loo to pee.”

Amused, she smiled and lent in and said conspiratorial. “It’s just hidden, sweetie. It’s still there. And after the job is done you can go back to being flat chested and you can say hello Henry again down there.” Then she added as an afterthought with a salacious grin. “That is if you still want to of course. You may get to like being on the dark side.”

I smiled relieved, if not quite sure what she was going on about.

A couple of days later when she came back. I was no longer on the happy pills and not a happy bunny. I was a FUCKING ANGRY bunny. I opened my mouth to give her a stream of abuse as she came in. Standing in the doorway she put a finger to her lips for silence before I could get a word out and I just about held my tongue, fuming, waiting to let rip.

“Now darling, before you say anything. All of this is most important, or I would not have ordered it done. So no hissy fit. You signed up for Queen and Country in whatever capacity it required of you. At the moment it requires you to be a tall, blonde, ex-model. So now let the experts I’ve arranged do their thing with you and turn you into a self-centred airhead who thinks the world revolves around her cute little tush. It really is that Important to the service.”

So here I am. Sitting in the back seat of a limo with a sex pest. Problem was every time he put his damn hand on my thigh, I could feel the heat burning into my skin and something was happening in the pit of my tummy and a bit lower down that I really did not want to know about and my nipples felt as if they were about to explode. They had said there could be side effects from the hormones used to soften my body up, to make it more feminine, but they had never said anything about this happening.

It was worrying. What else had they not told me about. I had had far too many hypnosis sessions with the tame mind benders since I was in Sir Jeromy’s office than I care to remember about, and what was more worrying was that I cannot remembered a damn thing about them. At the time it had not seemed to bother me. But now I was worried. Just how much had they messed around with my sexual orientation. I knew they had too a bit. So I could flirt with Herr Müller when I met him and not clock him one if he came on to me.

Had they lied to me, had they gone and done a real genuine sex change on me and then hidden it using the hypnosis sessions.

I shook my head aware of the noise my long gold earrings make. Stupid I know, but the sound has a calming effect on me when I hear them tinkling away. I have become very fond of those linked little round gold discs hanging down from my earlobes.

Anyway, don’t be silly Emma. A couple of days is not enough for anyone to get over a sex change op. Reynolds in accounts had one last year and she was off for months before she came back to work. You were in bed for only a day or two after having the boob job was done. The rest of the time was taken up with the experts turning you into a vapid ex-model. I have to admit I am not quite sure who I am now, Max of M.I.6 on a job, or Emma DeVoe, ex-model more concerned with bagging a lift in someone’s private jet tomorrow so I do not miss any of the good party’s at Monaco’s F1 race this week-end. It gives me a headache when I try to sort it all out in my head.

DAMN, he has put his bloody hand back on my thigh again.

I sigh and give in and let him keep it there. I am kind of getting to like the feel of it there, anyway. My revenge will be him not getting his leg over tonight as he so clearly thinks he is going to do with me. I would already be back in London when he is trying to find me in the Spanish pile of rocks we were heading to at the moment.

There is a Spanish two seat Harrier Jump Jet waiting to speed me back home to Blighty tonight the second I got to the disused cattle shed it is presently hiding in. Soon as it is dark it will be rolled out and sitting waiting for its rubber band to be wound up the second they get word I am making the ten minute dash from Herr Müller’s castle to their location.

It also let the Spanish be involved. Since we do not have any Harriers anymore, given that that toff Camron has sold all our Harriers off at a cut price to the Americans leaving the two new aircraft carriers we are building with sod all to stick on them, except for whirly birds. That’s what you get when you leave two Hooray Henry’s in charge of the country. Bloody politicians. Always interfering.

Right, then. Best not get caught. I did not want to end up like that poor sod from the CIA last year. Got caught by the Russians and turned up six months later totally convinced he was Napoleon Solo from The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Was forever pulling his pen top off and asking it to ‘Open channel D.’ Word was he was in a Secret Funny Farm Stateside screwing the nurses like crazy and getting pissed-off that no one was answering him on channel D and that the chewing gum he kept sticking in the gate locks would not blow them to pieces when he lit the match he stuck in it.

You have to give it to the Russians, they have a weird sense of humour at times.

The limo slowed, the indicator noise gently Tick-Tacking away as we waited in a bunch of other limos to turn across the traffic onto the mile long private road down to the Castle to join the other limos stuck in their own private traffic jam waiting to off load the rich and useless at the castle.

A motorcycle cop stops the traffic and waves the limos across.

As the limo pulls across the traffic the Neanderthal tighten his grip on my thigh sending a shiver through my body and I felt a warm glow in my chest.

And then there was those two painful injections in my bum I vaguely remembered having. They were supposed to stop any sexual reaction from Henry happening when a pretty girl walked past me. I’m not gay. I like girls despite whatever the tame shrinks have done in my head. I have very much enjoyed the company of the female sex, if you know what I mean, and have a number of very satisfied customers, too. Damn you Casandra Belmont, I have the feeling I am going to be seeing the tame shrinks long after this operation is over.

Before we know it we are going along the side of the castle. The limos are stop starting now, as the ones in front of us drop off their human cargo one by one. We are getting close to a turn off that drops down into a deep grass moat with a lower vehicle entrance in the castle’s outer wall. Wooden gates open outwards and a delivery van pops out. I watch it zoom up toward us where the driver just pushes through in front of one of the limos on the premise of let me through you or I’m going to put a dent in your nice shiny limo if you don’t. Once on the other side, he shoots off at speed down the driveway back to the main road and civilisation.

I switch back to watching the gates closing down below us. I know from surveillance photographs of previous events, they park some of the limos down there. That is the way I’ll make my exit. Through the kitchens to the parked limos. Grab one and politely leave, or smash the gate down at ramming speed if I have too. Whichever works best at getting me out of there.

You have to admire Herr Müller’s castle. It is solid, massively built from big blocks of stone. It looks like something Charlton Heston would have rode out of in the movie El Cid. Except five years ago this was just unwanted wasteland until Herr Müller bought it and built a castle on it.

Finally we turn along the front and stop at the totally useless drawbridge where a flunkies dressed as Spanish soldiers opens the doors for us. Mine while staring at my tits. I get out ignoring him and wait for the Neanderthal to come round from his side of the car so I can hang onto his arm as we walk across the wooden drawbridge crossing the curving narrow chasm below us with already parked limos and delivery vehicles.

Inside, the castle is like an old Hollywood film set. I half expect to see Errol Flynn sword fighting his way down the curving stone staircase with Basil Rathbone as the evil sheriff of Nottingham, or to come swinging across the room hanging from a chandelier. Although with my luck it would be the weedy Charles Hawtrey from the Carry On films.

I could see Herr Müller across the room as soon as we stood at the top of a wide shallow staircase on entering the big hall. No, make that, vast hall. He had a cute little Korean girl trailing behind him in a sparkling blue halter-top mini-dress. I briefly wondered how it would look on me.

Come on Emma, keep your mind on job. Now. Little miss Korea. Not his girlfriend as she had a small tablet pc in her hands that she kept looking and telling him something as well as tapping away at it as he talks with people. He moves easily from little group to little group chatting to them, the jovial host.

A flunky takes the Neanderthals card and announces our presence to the room.

“Mr Gary Langsbottom, and Miss Emma DeVoe.”

That gets Müller’s attention. His head snaps up to look at us standing in the big twenty foot high arched entrance way with its wide steps down into the hall. He looks shocked as if he cannot believe it.

Oh fuck, shit and fuck again. He is just staring at me like it means something. Well that is not possible. We made Emma DeVoe up, she does not exist. Well the op’s planners made her up. And they are clever enough not to make a name close to one he knows. No one would be that stupid.

What am I thinking? He is probably a football nut, all Germans males are, and he is probably the Moronic Neanderthal’s world’s biggest fan. That will be my ticket to get close to him. Living as the vapid Miss Emma DeVoe this past month has had me thinking the world revolves around me. Oh well, we will soon find out how well the tame shrinks did their job. But…

He really is looking straight at me as he moves at warp factor nine across the Hall to us with little Miss Korea following in his wake as fast as her tight mini-dress and matching sky high heels will let her.

“Em-ma!” he booms, delight all over his face as he bounds up the stairs to us and wraps me in a big bear hug pointedly ignoring the Neanderthal. “I never thought you would come back!”

Oh Crap…

To be continued…



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