Whatever Happened to Claude? (Ex-Conned)

 This is a Flashback Friday for Ex-Conned

As a French guy, I am no stranger to stereotypes. In some cases, they are not only true, but I wear them like a badge of honour. For instance, I am both an excellent lover and a romantic. I have heard more women cry out “Claude” in bed than I can remember. I may be small, diminutive even, but I know how to please a woman. I can as easily charm a lady into creaming her panties and I can charm her out of them. This is how I got Zoe into bed after all.

I, however, do not embody all French stereotypes. For one thing, I do not give up easily. When Zoe's boyfriend, Kevin, was initially released from prison and came to live with us, I admit, I was frightened. You may remember that I agreed to disguise myself as a female student so that the notoriously jealous Kevin wouldn't dismantle my body. But in spite of everything, I didn't surrender.

It seemed inevitable that the thuggish Kevin would commit some new crime and return to prison before long – that, or Zoe would realise that his heavy-handed muscle didn't compare with the suave sophistication I had given her while her beau was in the grand maison and tell him to leave. When that happened, I needed to be ready. I needed to continue to be in the house. I needed to continue to be 'Claudette'.

Kevin's influence on both Zoe and the rest of the house was significant. Gone were the endless breakfasts in bed and the fireside discussions of poetry, and in were the endless parties and drinking. The house because a beacon for impossibly loud music and people I didn't recognise coming and going at all hours, and considering I couldn't maintain my closeness to Zoe by hiding in my room night and day, I had to adapt 'Claudette' accordingly.

It wasn't difficult to become a party girl. It's mostly just appearances – the brain fills in the rest. Tonight's outfit, for example, is doing lot of work. I wear it short to distract from the fact I have no tits (obviously), and I admit I completely reworked my gym routine to exclusively grow by legs and ass – oh, and enough makeup to hide the fact I am actually dying on the inside... My feminine voice isn't great but I find if I just lay the French on a bit thicker no-one raised an eyebrow...or bats an eyelash... Zoe called it a 'glow-up'. I call in hell.

The dress I am wearing tonight is actually a loaner from Zoe. The worst part is I know Kevin paid for it. It is this scrunchy faux-leather material that hugs my ass, which when I'm in heels looks absurdly good after my new stairmaster routine. I'm sitting here on the sofa to hide the fact I still suck at walking in heels – not that I want to talk to anyone at this party. It's just the best way to keep an eye on Zoe – to search for cracks in her relationship with Kevin.. The thing is I overheard some of his friends talking drunkenly. They were saying Kevin is looking to ask Zoe for a threesome...with me. Most of me would rather die, but there's a slither that thinks maybe this is a chance to maybe break them up. I'm still deciding how to play it, but I have already come this far for love...

A Stranger Shade of Black Part 4

“You must know we've been tracking your movements for over a year, Strange.” Commissioner Gordon snapped as he put his identification back in his jacket. Behind him a dozen uniformed officers were poised for action at his faintest command and Hugo Strange appeared totally unphased. They were in his domain and he was behaving completely at home in the basement suite of the Inflatable Factory. Suited hoodlums were strewn across velveted sofas while women with improbably curves and vacant expressions served them drinks. In one corner a game of pool was underway, in another some men played cards, and a single lane swimming pool stretched the whole way down one side of the basement.

“Why, Commissioner, whatever do you mean?” Strange waved one hand dismissively. “This is just a facility for building mannequins. I swear everything is above board. Feel free to take a look around.” Gordon appeared to oblige, scanning the faces of everyone in the basement. He paused his gaze on each of the women in case any of them were Batman's cover, Mara Black. He had met the nannite created beauty just once almost a year ago, but she had certainly left an impression on him and he was sure he would recognise her if he saw her again. “If we do notice anything suspicious, however...” Strange continued, drawing the Commissioner's attention back to him. “You can count on me to alert you immediately. I imagine you need all the help you can get now that the Batman is absent.” Gordon opened his mouth to respond but both men were interrupted by the buxom figure emerging from the near end of the pool.

Batman felt the heavy breasts bulge at his chest as he pulled himself up the pool steps. His wet hair felt odd as it sprayed over his shoulders. The synthetic blonde fibres that had been sewn into his scalp just last week looked like the real thing but it was scenarios like this where the difference could still be felt. It had been what his mind had told him his body needed – an impermeable feminine perfection, just like the pink makeup that had been tattooed onto his filler shaped features. The eyes of the hoodlums were all on him, each studying the surgery enhanced curves that spilled from his silver swimsuit from every angle, and so he turned to where Strange was talking to a group of police officers. He saw Commissioner Gordon and while Batman knew he would not be able to will himself to communicate, his heart leaped with the possibility of being recognised.

Gordon sighed as he laid eyes on the last of Hugo Strange's mannequins. The ridiculous looking bimbo was not even worth a second look and he knew that trying to interrogate her on the possible location of Batman would be as hopeless as the rest of the mind-controlled women they had spoken to. He began to signal to the officers that they were leaving.

“Ah, commissioner,” Hugo Strange raised a finger. “On the topic of finding anything suspicious – there was one thing.” He whispered something to one of the hoodlums, who produced something from his pocket. “One of my executives found this in the factory. I haven't the faintest idea what it does or where it came from.” Strange explained, holding out the item – a small pipette-like device with a tiny cracked LED screen.

 

A Stranger Shade of Black Part 3

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A Stranger Shade of Black Part 2

 

Something was different – Batman could tell immediately. He had only had his nannite induced female body a short while and yet he already knew it well enough to know something had changed. But what was it? He studied his slender arms and then slowly raised his hands to his face. No that wasn't it, yet he felt...something – in the shrug of his shoulders, in the way his arms passed his chest... An idea formed and he swiftly grabbed the hem of his dress and pulled it up over his head in a single movement. His hands immediately grasped his breasts. They were different...larger...fuller... They were the change he had sensed, but was what had changed physical? Neurological? Chemical? Perhaps all three? He continued to massage his bust and alarm sparked deep in the back of his mind. Retrieving the nannite inducer from his discarded dress, a small pipette-like device with a tiny screen, he pressed it into his forearm. 'TRANSFORMATION BLOCKED – GENETIC TEMPLATE COMPROMISED.' Crap...

“Impressive, aren't they?” Batman's head whipped up to greet the figure that had just entered the room. Hugo Strange himself stood in the doorway, a grin plastered across his face. The nannite inducer fell to the floor and the display instantly reset so only the date showed. Batman was astonished to see that two months had apparently passed since he had infiltrated the Inflatable Factory. But how was that possible? It had been just a few days... “Well?” Hugo Strange prompted. “Do you like them?”

“What have you done to me?” Batman demanded calmly, allowing his arms to fall to his sides so that his new breasts were fully exposed to the villain before him. “And can it be reversed?”

“Reversed?” Hugo Strange chuckled. “My dear, there is nothing to reverse. I haven't done anything to you...not to your breasts anyway. You did that. I merely gave your brain a problem it desperately needed to solve. That's the fascinating part of this new project of mine. The transformation isn't imposed on the victim...sorry, subject – the subject's own neurological architecture demands the changes to accommodate the suggestions it has been receiving. That part was me admittedly...” Strange held up his hands in mock guilt. “But I assure you, my Dear, it was you who scheduled and went through with the addition of those splendid implants. The body is surprisingly cooperative. Give the mind a sufficiently convincing reality and the body eventually stops asking questions.” He paused and studied Batman thoughtfully, who was watching him like a hawk about to strike its prey. “May I make an observation? You're remarkably composed for a young woman who has just found out she is being mind-controlled into a life as a bimbo.” He looked Batman up and down from his stockinged legs to his long glossy hair and back again. “You've no doubt noticed the tattoos too and yet you say nothing. You are calculating. Fascinating! Most of my mannequins have begged for mercy by this stage..you just look like you want to destroy me. Well, you should know...” Hugo turned to leave the room. “The question is not 'can you stop me?' It is can you stop yourself transforming yourself before there is nothing of what you began with that remains. 'Mara Black', wasn't it? I think I am going to enjoy watching your journey!”

A Stranger Shade of Black Part 1

 

“You know it's unsettling – talking to you like this.” Commissioner Gordon took a sip of his scotch to settle his nerves. “In all the years we've known each other, this is the first time I have ever seen you without a mask. I've spent years wondering what you look like and now here we are. I just always assumed the circumstances would be...less complicated.” He gazed across the table at the beautiful woman sat opposite him. “So, Batman, why don't you introduce me to your cover?”

“I'm a reporter!” Batman replied matter-of-factly. He paused, two perfectly manicured hands clasping an unsampled glass of white wine while his eyes scanned the restaurant around them. Gotham's best and brightest were out in numbers enjoying fine-dining, oblivious to the fact they were in the same room as the caped crusader. Batman turned his head to check the entrance and then back to the door to the kitchen.

“Well, you're still doing the Batman thing anyway.” Gordon sighed. “The brooding staring... At least as a reporter you'll have an excuse when you start interrogating everyone.” He tilted his head trying to hide the fact he was drinking in his companion's high-cheekbones and delicate chin. “Looking like that, few people will object to your interrogation.”

“The disguise is functional.” Batman stated flatly. “It will serve its purpose. Hugo Strange has reopened the Inflatable Factory. Young women are going missing and reappearing months later with hugely modified appearances and strong suggestions of mind-control. Strange clearly has a facility somewhere – a large one judging by the number of women going missing, but as Batman I have been unable to locate it. That's why I have used nannite technology to temporarily adopt the persona you see before you. As 'Mara Black' I will be able to access information the Batman would not. The tech may be cutting edge but the mission is not – find facility, destroy facility, apprehend Strange, leave.” He turned back to the table. “And, Commissioner, you are the one who is staring.”

“You may not have noticed Batman, but everyone in the restaurant is staring.” Gordon chuckled. “These nannites of yours have done fine work. 'Mara Black' as you call her is certainly easier on the eye that the cape and boots. I suspect Hugo Strange won't need asking twice to make you one of his 'Mannequins'.”

“Hugo Strange is about to become Arkham's newest resident.” Batman narrowed a pair of perfectly plucked eyebrows. Make no mistake, I may look like this, but I remain as formidable as ever and I will stop at nothing to turn this Inflatable Factory into a crater.” He stood from his seat and pushed the full glass of wine into the center of the table. “And., Commissioner? Everyone is actually staring at you. They think you are here cheating on your wife!”

On Her Mistress's Private Service

 24/25

Detective Pam Larsson snapped her latex gloves on. “Tip came through this morning. Neighbor noticed a housekeeper who didn’t add up. New girl. Never leaves. Always dressed the same. Thought it was weird enough to call it in. Almost certainly one of the Governess’s.”

A uniformed officer led them inside. The homeowner, a red-faced man in a crisp polo, bristled. “This is ridiculous. That girl is my housemaid. Paid cash up front to an agency.”

Finn ignored him, eyes snagging on the figure dusting the mantelpiece. She moved slowly, deliberately, like a doll, her black uniform pristine. “Good afternoon,” she intoned hollowly. “May I refresh your tea?”

Lowering his voice, Finn stepped closer. “Miss… can you tell us your name?”

The maid tilted her head. Her painted lips twitched. For a second her eyes glazed, fogged over. Then, mechanically bright: “My name is Lydia. May I refresh your tea?”

Pam approached, inspecting closely. Faint puncture marks on her arms betrayed hormone injections. A brass necklace rested against her throat: Property of M.G. Pam’s stomach sank. She mouthed to Finn: Miss Governess. “Lydia,” Pam said gently, “who gave you that necklace?”

The maid’s porcelain smile cracked. “Mistress gave it. She said… to wear it always. To keep me safe.”

“Does Mistress visit you here?” Pam pressed.

Lydia’s lips trembled, her eyes flickered, then her expression snapped back into doll-like cheer. “Mistress is everywhere. Mistress sees through me. Mistress knows when I am good.”

Pam watched Lydia’s trembling hands, then looked to Finn. An idea — terrible but brilliant — formed. “We can’t use her. She’s too far gone. She can’t improvise. The Governess would see right through it.”

Finn frowned. “So what then? Surveillance? Wait until the Governess strolls in here with a shopping list?”

Pam flipped the brass tag over in her gloved hand. “We insert someone new. Someone she doesn’t know. Someone who can pass as ‘in training.’”

Finn’s jaw dropped. “You want me to become...that! And hope she comes knocking?”

Pam’s eyes never wavered. “Not hope. Plan. Dress you, condition you just enough to pass her tests, but with safeguards — hypnosis resistance, controlled dosing, signal trackers. You’re bait — bait she can’t resist.”Pam leaned closer, lowering her voice. “It’s the only way we get close before more guys disappear. You know it.”

Finn glared at the painted doll curtsying in the corner. Finally, he muttered, “You’d better not enjoy this too much.”

Pam smirked faintly. “Oh, I absolutely will. But only because it will work!”

Whatever Happened to Alistair? (More Than Capable)

 This is a Flashback Friday for More Than Capable.

“Alistair isn't here right now,” Glenda Patton spoke curtly into the phone receiver. “He's off living the good life, or as good as you can being terminally unemployed anyway... He's day drinking with his friends somewhere – all financed by me, his mother, of course. That boy hasn't had a job in years. I swear he'll be sponging off me until the day I leave this mortal coil.”

“Well, I am calling from an agency he worked for a couple of years ago.” A woman's shrill flustered voice came down the phone. “I believe it was a convention... Anyway, we have a major new client that we need to provide staff for and I am just going through a list of everyone associated with our past campaigns to see who is available. Only...” The woman paused uncomfortably. “Well, this is a little odd. I am calling people who worked this particular convention because our client has some rather specific requirements for their staff. It puts me in a rather tricky situation but employment law prevents me from openly discussing what they are – just to say Alistair isn't typical of the rest of the former employees I have called from this list...”

“Now listen here, lady!” Glenda snapped. “My son Alistair may be many things – lazy, entitled, not to mention frequently inebriated, but one thing he is not is a moron. If your client has special requirements, he is more than capable of meeting them as well as any one else on that list of yours. You stop your fussing and email me over the form for that job of yours and I will have my son ready to start next week!”

A week later and Alistair was attempting to force a determined smile onto to his face. The makeup helped hide his real feelings, but the name-badge that hung at his hip betrayed him by embarrassingly displaying his regular male appearance and a facial expression that better represented how he felt about his mother once again getting him a job where he had to dress as a woman all day. 'She-Hub' was a new tech franchise in town that had just bought all remaining stores from another failing company, and while they couldn't officially only hire women, their marketing gimmick was that everyone who worked in their stores looked like an absolute babe – even guys who had been forced to apply by their overly pushy parents.

Alistair tapped in the password on his tablet as he strode towards a group of guys eyeing up some gaming laptops. He could already tell they were the kind that would make jokes about his 'software' and ask how RAM he could take and he sighed knowing how much of his legs were showing from under the tiny skirt. Nothing had ever come of his basketball career but he still had the the long limbs that made the uniform look like little more than a belt. He reminded himself to take care when bending as these were definitely the sort of guys who would try to sneak a peek. For once he was grateful for the thick glossy pantyhose he had to wear. He smiled at the man who appeared to be the one looking to make a purchase and his stomach seethed with humiliation. He hated leveraging his sexuality to make sales but if he was ever going to land a job in this economy where he didn't have to wear heels, he would need the sales figures to back it up.