Spy Games (Patreon)

Spycraft is a dangerous game no matter how you play, but especially for the young and inexperienced. One minute you're James Bond, and the next you're Pussy Galore. 😛

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I try to remember that, despite everything, life isn’t so bad. Before all this, I was just another Russian living on vodka and chicken soup. My life changed when the CIA hired me to become a spy. I was trained and embedded with Chechen terrorists in the Caucuses. Of course, I realized being an operative was dangerous-and not nearly as glamorous as movies made it seem-but the U.S. paid well, and I could at least pretend I was doing some good.

I still don’t know how I was found out. All I know is one minute everything was going to plan, and the next, I’m handcuffed and on my knees in front of Zura Sadulaev, the terrorist leader. Turns out, the only thing the Chechens hate worse than infidels is spies.

 I sneered, trying to look brave, but I was scared to death. Zura was known to be exceptionally cruel to his captives. “You can kill me, you dogs, but it won’t change anything. My family is set for life. I’m proud of the work I’ve done.”

“Yes, you did an outstanding job,” Zura said calmly. “So outstanding that I wish to hire you. You were a whore for a foreign government. Now you will be a whore for me.”

I didn’t understand, but I was so relieved he wasn’t going to kill me that I didn’t care. At least, not at first.

Strange things started to happen right away. Zura ordered me to shave my body, and I was given pills to swallow each morning. I asked about all this, but I received either silence or beatings in reply. Three weeks later, a helicopter landed in the compound. I was escorted outside to an Arab man, who looked me over like I was a horse or sheep for sale. Seemingly satisfied, he handed a suitcase to Zura, and I was forced into the helicopter by gunpoint.

After a long trip by private jet, I ended up in Saudi Arabia and in the home of a man I know only as Malek. I say ‘home,’ but it’s a mansion unlike any I’ve ever seen, with hundreds of rooms and acres and acres of gardens. I never met Malek. But cameras were pointed out to me by the servants. “He is watching you,” they would say. “Always.”

That’s when the alterations began in earnest. My testicles were taken first, and I howled in horror when I woke up to discover what they’d done. After that, the pills worked much faster. Over the next year, my body developed unmanly curves, and my pecs inflated into breasts. I tried to fight-by refusing to eat, for instance -but they had methods around all my rebellions. 

“This is good,” a servant told me one day. “You are pleasing Malek. He likes watching your struggle.”

Six months ago, they took my last piece of manhood: My penis was molded into a pussy. The daily dilation -which I understand Malek especially enjoyed-was mind-bendingly horrific. 

And yet, through all of this, I must say I’ve been provided every comfort. My rooms are spacious, my clothing is luxurious (even if they’re dresses), and my meals are delicious (although portion controlled). I’m living a life of comfort.

And tonight, for the first time, I will meet Malek. Even now, as the warm water flows over my changed body, I don’t know if I will try to kill him or kiss him.