She sat on the couch in my waiting room, the very epitome of class. Though she smiled, I could see the strain in her lovely face. "OK," I said, "come in and tell me what's wrong."She followed me into my office, settled herself in the chair in front of my desk and pulled some notes and a folder from her briefcase. "My name is Claire Osborne. I'm the personal assistant to Montgomery Albertson...." Her voice trailed off and she paused.
"All right," I said. "I read the papers. Albertson is supposed to have disappeared two weeks ago. The cops are baffled."
She swallowed, then nodded. "They're baffled because they don't know everything. I can't tell them everything without putting Mr. Albertson in further danger--at least that's what the kidnappers have told me." She laid the materials she'd brought with her on my desk. "Mr. Conway, I got this package a week ago. I followed the directions and made the phone call they wanted. I spoke to Mr. Albertson...I know it was him."
The instructions she'd been given came with a photo. It was Albertson--I could recognize him from the pictures the papers had run with the story. But it was difficult because he was very changed. Instead of the young, well-dressed business executive, this photo showed what could have been June Cleaver: short-cropped, curled hair, exquisitely done makeup, smiling red lips, and a dress style that had gone out of fashion in 1965. It was Montgomery Albertson--but the kidnappers' notes called him (or her) "Monica".
I read the note:
The lovely Monica has been transformed to act as my servant and love slave. Be assured she is happy and actually aroused by this change in her life. I hold her power of attorney. If you wish to ensure her continued happiness, do not contact the police. But you may assure yourself of her condition by phoning this number: 800-555-DOMM."What do want me to do?" I asked.
"Find him, rescue him," she pleaded. "Mr. Albertson--Montgomery--was more than my boss. We had planned on getting married!" She pulled out a checkbook. "I can give you a retainer of $500 for your first two days' work."
I nodded agreement. I already had a plan. The kidnappers had made a fatal mistake. That 800-number could be traced. A private citizen couldn't do it. And maybe they thought Claire would be too distraught to think about a way around the "no cops" angle. But as a private eye, I had resources she didn't. And one of them included a friend who could supply some assistance she probably hadn't thought of, either.
She handed me the check and smiled wanly. "Thank you, Mr. Conway. When can I expect to hear from you again?"
"Like you said, two days," I answered. "If I haven't got anything by then, figure it's a dead end."
Wednesday, 5:00 PM:
Alyssa was a contact from my days on the force. She'd been busted for running a brothel and I'd gotten the case thrown out by truthfully testifying that no sexual contact had occurred between us--she was a dominatrix and she didn't allow sex with clients. Her specialty was the submissive transvestite, the guy who wanted to be made to look like a pretty girl (or as close as possible) and humiliated. She often kidded me that I'd make a really beautiful woman, if only I'd admit that was what I really wanted.
Before meeting her at her townhouse, I'd done the trace on the 800 number. It belonged to a shell corporation of some kind, and it was connected to a place upstate. My phone company source said it was reputed to be a real ritzy place--over 25 acres with all the top amenities. Further digging told me the owners were deep into the kinky sex scene in the area. With a little luck--and Alyssa's help--I expected to be able to get close enough to possibly even get inside the place.
I walked up the driveway of Alyssa's posh home. She was standing by her little sports car. Even in "street clothes" she looked every inch the domme. Maybe it was the riding crop?
"Well, hello there, sweetie," she purred. "Come to finally let me make you into what you should be?"
I blushed. In one sense, that was exactly why I had come. "Let's go inside and I'll tell you everything," I said.
We settled into her office, all done out in leather, and I explained the case I'd been handed and my plan to infiltrate the kidnappers' lair. "So, that's it, Alyssa. I need you to perform your 'magic'--make me pass as a submissive crossdresser."
She smiled--a secret kind of smile. "Lovely, just lovely," she mused. She stood up and walked around me in her spike heels, occasionally stroking my cheek or tilting my chin. "I can certainly do the physical part of it, Conway darling." She walked to the door and gestured out. "Shall we get started?"
The next several hours were a blur to me, filled with touches, looks and smells I'd never experienced before. Alyssa stripped me to the skin and removed every bit of hair from my body, except for a small patch around my privates. She covered me in lace and satin lingerie and a dress in black jersey with a swirly skirt that ended four inches above my knees. My legs were sheathed in sheer white nylons and perched on clear plastic mules with five-inch heels. Then she plopped me down into a salon chair and did my make-up--foundation, powder, dark pink lipstick, mascara, false lashes, rouge. The works. She topped it off with an ash-blonde wig in a shoulder-length pageboy. She turned me to the mirror and I couldn't believe the finished product.
"Didn't I tell you you'd be beautiful?" Alyssa asked. "Now, get up and walk."
I stood and nearly fell off the heels. Regaining my balance, I stumbled around the room. "That'll never do," Alyssa said. "Normally, I give my TV subs weeks of practice to learn to move like a lady--or a slut. But you haven't got time for that. There's only one answer."
"What's that?" I asked, apprehensively.
"Hypnosis," Alyssa answered. "I use it on the toughest cases, and on the ones brought to me by their wives and girlfriends for transformation. Are you prepared to go that far?"
I nodded. Falteringly, I followed her back to her office. She got me comfortable on the leather couch and began the hypnotic session. "Just listen to my voice, and look at my eyes," she insisted. Her voice became a drone, lulling me to relaxation. "Now, when I reach five, you will be deep asleep. One...two...three...four...five."
SNAP! The sound of the snapping fingers forced my eyes wide open. "How are you feeling, Connie?" Alyssa asked.
"Just fine, Mistress," I replied. Connie? Mistress?
"Connie's your name now," she explained. "I included a post-hypnotic suggestion that you won't respond to Conway at all, and will deny that it's your name. I also made sure that you didn't give yourself away by acting too aggressive toward women. You're supposed to be a submissive sissy, remember?"
"Yes, Mistress," I said again, surprisingly comfortable with my new-found deference to her. I stood and discovered I was perfectly balanced on the heels and completely at ease in my sexy outfit. More than at ease--I could feel my cock rising.
"Yes--you'll be aroused most of the time, too," Alyssa said. "That's part of what sissies experience after all...a part you'd never be able to fake." She handed me a purse. "All the necessary ID is in there. You'll need a wardrobe--I've arranged appointments for you at some of the places I normally shop." She smiled again. "Good luck."
More to Come
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