Spy Swap, Part 3 (Special Agent to Hot Spy Girl TG) (Patreon)

A Commission for Al

Finn Langston is the best of the best, a dashingly handsome secret agent who always saves the world and always gets the girl. But when he is called upon by The Agency to infiltrate the private island of Sebastian Whitlock, a devious playboy industrialist who may be angling for world domination, Finn meets his greatest challenge yet: being turned into a raven-haired spy beauty to seduce Whitlock, and find out what he is planning. But the new and beautiful Fiona may find her cover going far, far deeper than she could have imagined . . .

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Part 3: Doll Fingers

Fiona couldn’t stop looking at his hands. Her hands. The irritation of having a more feminised brain that still had a very masculine perspective was already causing her to want a Martini in hand. She was on a flight to Greece, having been jetted off only a week after her initial transformation into a woman, and she was still getting used to a lot of it.

I think of myself in female pronouns, I consider myself to be ‘Fiona’ thanks to the damn machine, but I just can’t get used to the sight of these dainty, slim hands. Or two other things, for that matter.

Her eyes lowered to her chest, which was at least thankfully concealed within a woman’s suit by this point. Still, there was no denying she had a prominent chest; her new E-cup bras were a testimony to that fact. 

I would have at least asked for a reduction, except that Sebastian Whitlock apparently has quite the predilection for girls with large ‘talents.’ I just wish I didn’t have a more impressive bustline than the last woman I courted!

Indeed, Miss Honey had been beautiful, but her chest paled in comparison to Agent One’s new pair of so-called ‘talents.’ Combined with her dark hair, mysterious eyes, and perfect hourglass figure which was fit as a fiddle and with long legs to boot, Langston was caught in the ultimate contradiction of now existing as his ultimate fantasy. It was as if every time he got thirsty, he started smelling like a martini.

Speaking of . . .

She ordered a glass from the service. First-class flights had their perks that both sexes could enjoy at least, and that included privacy. Certainly, Fiona had received more than a few stares, winks, and interested gazes from a great number of men at the airport, and perhaps it was only her fine suit and richly elegant manner that had prevented actual harassment taking place.

I could handle it, of course, she thought as her drink was passed to her. But that doesn’t mean I’d like it. I’m meant to be the one giving double entendres, not receiving them.

She ran her fingers through her long, wavy dark hair. It was so silky, and those dainty fingers far too soft in turn. 

“Like doll’s fingers,” she mused out loud, looking at them again. Her thoughts turned inward. Not the kind of fingers that are made to hold a weapon. Certainly not a P-226.

Her mind flashed over the previous week, all the preparation to become the female spy she needed to be for this mission. It had only been seven days, and yet it had felt like half a lifetime because of the sheer effort and learning curve involved. Half a lifetime . . . and barely a few minutes at the same time.

***

“Agent One, it is good to see you again.”

Fiona winced a little as her instructor met her. It was Samantha Hardeen, fighting and weapon specialist for the Agency. She’d only been a woman for a day, having struggled to sleep thanks to the additional curves on her chest (she liked to sleep on her stomach, which was not a possibility now), and she’d hoped to keep the knowledge of her situation as private as possible. But given that Samantha knew, clearly the tight circle that A had promised was wider than anticipated.

“So, I take it you know then,” Agent One said, her voice crisp and seductive, even when not meaning to be.

Samantha laughed. Hard. “Oh, Finn. If I’d have known you were going to sound like that, I would have practised keeping a straight face in the mirror a while longer. I must say, Wrench has done excellent work on you, Finn.”

“It’s . . . Fiona now.”

“I’m well aware, I thought it would make you more comfortable, unless they did a number on your brain as well?”

Fiona kept her face cool. “Let’s just get this on with, Samantha. I’m just here to get this new body up to speed on my training.”

“I imagine you’re missing those handsome muscles right about now, right?”

Again, she kept her face cool, though it was the truth. 

“Let’s just get this over with. How are we starting?”

Samantha gestured to the training mat. “Same as usual, Fiona. Combat round, any style welcome. No need to draw blood, though it can be incidental. Best of three.”

“You know, as I recall, I rather trounced you when I graduated.”

“Then this should be no problem for you.”

Samantha said this while removing her jacket, revealing that she was fighting in just her shorts and sports bra. It was a damn good look, even the scars on her olive skin betrayed a certain rugged beauty. It was, however, the first time Fiona realised something that was indeed fortunate.

Ah, I’m attracted to her still, at least. It certainly . . . feels different. She pointedly ignored the strange warm flush in her lower body, and the way her nipples briefly stiffened. But it’s still an attraction. Looks like my desire for a pretty lady has not waned with a new form.

She readied herself, raising her smaller fists and getting ready for Samantha’s approach. She focused on her new body but kept her stance how it always was, anticipating what her old instructor would do. Samantha didn’t disappoint.

But Fiona did. She was trounced three times over, and was knocked flat on her rather lovely ass twice. At least there’s more padding there, nowadays, she mused. The last time she was knocked down, Samantha applied her own body’s weight down and trapped Fiona’s hands with embarrassing ease.

“Don’t get back up. What are you doing wrong, Fiona?”

“Evidently, fighting with Hardeen is simply not recommended.”

She snorted. “Please, I’ve heard you use that one before. Now be serious, what are you doing wrong?”

Fiona sighed. “I’m not used to lacking upper body strength. I also have no bloody reach. You’re rather taller than me, now.”

“Well, you’re not exactly short for a woman either. But that’s not all that's wrong with your assessment.” She stood, extended a hand, and pulled Fiona back to her feet. She then adopted a stance for demonstration. “You’re a lady now, Fiona. Not a gentleman, a lady. That means you’ve got a lower centre of gravity to fight from, which means new stances. You’ve still got good power in your legs - nice thighs, by the way -”

“Thank you, I wouldn’t mind them on you.”

“Please, mine are way better, if less . . . showy. But my point is that there’s a lot with your lower body we can work with. Those doll fingers of yours, though, we’ll need to toughen them up a bit.”

Fiona held up her hands, annoyed. “You can blame Wrench for that. These are far too petite.”

“But I imagine your Sebastian Whitlock will like them.”

“Don’t even joke. This is pure infiltration.”

She shrugged. “Not my department. Seduction will be up to Amanda. That’ll be a fun one to be a fly on the wall for. But for now, it’s time to push your body a little further and show you how a woman fights, and also when she shouldn’t fight. You have less stamina, less power, less reach, and less testosterone - a whole lot less - to push you through. I always thought you could use less testosterone.”

“I never heard any complaints. Not even from you.”

She smirked. 

Yes, we both remember that time in Istanbul, my dear. And this body still finds you quite the catch, even if the only ‘Hardeen’ here is in your last name.

“Fine,” Fiona said. “Show me what I need to know and need to do to get back in fighting shape. Oh, and how to deal with these damn things so they don’t get in the way.”

Samantha looked at Langston and couldn’t help but burst out laughing again. “Oh Lord, even I can only help so much, Agent One. I’ll say this; you can probably avoid fighting entirely if you flash those. You’ll hypnotise every man in a visual radius.”

***

Fiona sipped her martini slowly, savouring its taste, or at least what she could while in an aeroplane. The altitude always dulled her senses, and being in a female body made it no different. Of course, she’d also been warned that her ability to withstand inebriation would be quite curtailed in female form as well, much to her irritation. She’d already been accused of being an alcoholic while a man, the reputation damage of getting actually drunk on the job would be a shame she could never live down.

But I need it, to calm these damn nerves.

There was just something about being female that was deeply off putting, and the long flight to Greece was making it all the more cutting. The training with Samantha had ultimately gone well, even if she still wasn’t used to the constant jostling over her large chest as she fought. Given time, she could improve significantly. Her new body was fit, but not exactly muscular. It had a litheness to it that would serve well in combat, but overpowering mooks and minions? She’d have to rely on her finesse. That was what Samantha had drilled into her over the busy preceding week, and what she still had to mentally put herself into the mode for.

Not that I can’t do it. It’s just that I never expected to have to be prepared to jump up, wrap a man’s head with my thighs, and twist over his head to slam him into the ground. The worst part is that it was the one move I nailed in training straight away. If things go sideways, some mooks are going to get knocked unconscious in a way there’ll be bloody well thanking me for.

She tore her thought away from that. The flight still had an hour left. She checked her documents again, ran over what she needed to know about Sebastian Whitlock. He was a rather handsome man. It annoyed her that her body had that response, though she wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t just a small hormonal thing. She’d liked the look of Samantha still, after all. But then again, there had also been the infiltration training under Amanda . . .

***

“No, no, no! Stop fighting it, dearie! You need to let your body move for you. Let those hips swing and that chest bounce where it may! Let your body sing, my dear!”

Fiona Langston’s body didn’t, in fact, sing. It simply burned with a humiliation she was not accustomed to.

“Perhaps if I wasn’t wearing a damn dress-”

“Nonsense!” Amanda snapped, hitting her with the end of her cane. “A dress is exactly what you must get used to wearing, dearie, alongside the necklaces, the bracelets, the earrings, the makeup, the hair products, all of it! We must make you look the part, and once you look the part, you can learn how to act the part. A strong visual will guide behaviour, and you must become accustomed to looking like the raven-haired beauty we have made you into!”

“Then at least less cleavage-”

Again, a thwack from the cane, this time along her backside. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Amanda!”

“Then don’t make ridiculous suggestions, especially when you don’t look as handsome as you used to in order to cover it up.”

Fiona looked at the grey-haired older woman. Amanda was venerable. Amanda was ancient. She was a fixture of the Agency, and anyone that was to become an effective agent was trained by her. She was a master when it came to the arts of cultivation, sophistication, manipulation, and more. She could also be a bloody old battleaxe of a woman, despite her frail frame.

“I’m not exactly covering anything up right now, Amanda,” Fiona quipped, gesturing to her ripe breasts and her deep line of cleavage. She was wearing a classy red dress, the kind that a piece of arm candy - the kind she now looked like - would wear while on a powerful man’s army at a classy event. But it was also revealing, with a diamond backless section and a long slit up her left leg which revealed her gorgeous skin. But it was the presence of her breasts which bothered her most; they rose and fell seductively with each breath, blocking her own view of her feet. This was a problem, as she was learning how to walk in heels.

“You’ll learn to get used to it. Remember, the power of a woman is in drawing the eye, in fluttering the eyelashes in just the right way, in knowing when to take a deep breath with your cleavage on display, or arcing your back just so. Do that, and you won’t need to lift one of those lovely, dainty little fingers of yours in brute force. Instead, you will have them eating out of your hand. That is the power of being a woman . . . if you can get your steps right. Now, again! Sashay those hips, one foot in front of the other, and don’t care about the bounce in your chest, that is natural! It is good! It is . . . quite healthy. We can get you some good push-ups actually, to really make them pop!”

Great, now my new breasts will be popping. And here I was starting to think they would be good floatation devices.

But still, she moved ahead, walking the circuit that Amanda required her to, and keeping her face seductive as she’d been told. That meant maintaining a curious, interested look in her eyes, as well as keeping her mouth just slightly parted, so that her full lips looked utterly kissable. It also meant positioning her body in quite sensual ways, even leaning over the counter just right when making a drinks order so that the bartender’s eyes would be drawn. 

“You never know who you need to seduce,” Amanda said. “Plus, you always had a healthy libido.”

“I think I’ll hold off on taking the woman’s side in any dance,” Fiona said, raising a perfect eyebrow and folding her arms beneath her breasts. It cupped them slightly, a complete accident, but one she felt she could use, at least.

Amanda just raised an eyebrow in turn. “Well, regardless, it’s time you learned how things should go if you ever get that far.”

“I don’t think I need to learn about the pleasures of female sex. I’ve certainly caused enough of it to-”

She slapped Fiona with the cane again, though this time Fiona caught it, her reflexes improving.

“Fine,” she said. “But no more canes, Amanda.”

“So long as you can show me some skill in makeup, that works by me!”

***

The plan is simple, Fiona reflected, as the plane began its slow descent. Meet up with my contact. Infiltrate Sebastian Whitlock’s island. Fine evidence of his plan and what he’s built, and shut it down. Use what I have at my disposal - female body and all - to get it done. Then I can change back and put it all behind me.

She pushed some of her dark hair behind her ears, concentrating on her files. Whitlock was certainly planning something, and with the disappearance of Agent Thirty-Nine and Agent Seven - Cassandra - there was also a personal element. Still, it galled her to think she’d have to put Amanda’s training to work. Her luggage was far larger than it had been as a man, full of a range of dresses ranging from the classy to the showy, as well as bikini swimwear, lingerie, business attire, stylish summer wear, and even skirts with matching crop tops. There was even a damn tube top in there, and this wasn’t even mentioning the parade of bras - many of them push-ups - and see-through stockings and heels. There were also numerous boxes full of makeup, devices for her hair, and plenty of . . . feminine products.

I better not be so long in the mission that I require that kind of aid. Eugh.

Still, she had made it through training, and that was a sort of success. Fiona was now certain that she could switch on the seduction when necessary, though with her killer body, she could probably be a total fumble of a human being and still get Sebastian’s attention. 

No, his profile says he likes sophisticated, intelligent, but ultimately servile and seductive women. That’s the role I must play, and play well.

The makeup could use further work. She’d have to practice that, as well as getting more familiar with wearing female clothing. Having bare legs or wearing stockings was certainly still new to her, and jewellery as well. But there was one benefit to the last one, at least; it meant she could easily wear more concealable gadgets than usual . . .

***

“Trust me, Agent One, a lack of a classic watch won’t be a concern at all to you. Not when half your lipsticks and all of your jewellery contain a mix of weaponry, multi-purpose gadgetry, sophisticated listening equipment, and even miniature explosives.”

“Explosives?” Fiona asked R, who was, as usual, excitedly walking through his testing area. An inflatable raft expanded from a climbing jacket in the distance, while an eighties boom tube on the shoulder of one of his adjustants fired an explosive missile at a target dummy. As usual, there were a variety of pens that contained explosives, and Fiona was very, very glad that she at least got to keep one of those, even if it was, for lack of a better word, a bit more ‘girly’ than usual.

“Oh yes!” R replied, getting excited. “That pearl necklace you’re wearing right now has enough miniaturised explosive force to detonate half this laboratory, which is why you should damn well stop fiddling with them, Agent One!”

She stopped, letting them sit around her collar ordinarily. “I suppose if they were diamonds I’d be less inclined to fidget. They are a girl’s best friend, after all.”

“Ha! Already adjusting your jokes to match your gender. The world help us if we somehow do something wrong with the machine and end up with two Langstons of each sex in one room. The universe couldn’t contain that much ego.”

“Nor should it! How are these activated?”

R grinned excitedly. “That’s the best part! They’re voice activated. You simply have to sing the opening bars to a specific song, and the miniature audio devices within will activate the first that was removed. The next three bars, and there goes the second, and so on.”

“You want me to sing?”

The man’s grin was devilish, by this point. “We thought it best not to waste such a wonderfully musical voice Agent One. Even better is the song we chose.”

Oh good Lord, don’t let it be-

“It’s Man, I Feel Like a Woman.”

“Inspired as always, R.”

“I rather did like it, yes! Best yet, you don’t have to be near the pearls; the necklace itself has a comfeed to the pearls that has a range of nearly three hundred metres, more with good satellite coverage.”

“You know, the song could be worst. At least it isn’t Pearl Jam.”

The man huffed. “Grow up, Agent One, and come with me. I’ll show you the rest of what I can offer.”

The rest of the gadgets were similarly useful, if often irritatingly feminine to the traditionally masculine agent. The lipstick with its vibrant red for her gorgeous face was a particular point of pride for R, as it doubled as an efficient cutting laser, though the laser itself only had a thirty second timer before its energy was expended and needed recharging. The high heel set with the tracking compartment box was useful if ordinary, though the fact that it stored a small electromagnetic pulse device, or EMP, was of particular interest for Agent One.

“It won’t shut down an island or even a city block, but it will absolutely short circuit electrical devices in a thirty metre radius,” R explained. He then nudged Fiona in the ribs, something which hurt a little more than she wanted him to know. “And besides, you’ll look fabulous doing it.”

“I hope not, as it will mean the lights are still on, and it hasn’t worked.”

“Oh please, Agent One. Now, don’t bend these too much.”

He handed Fiona some small white cards, the kind used for businesses or contacts.”

“Microchipped?”

“Indeed! Crude but difficult to detect. They’ll be useful for tracking the location of a target who holds them.”

The best was saved for last, though. Fiona was gifted a stylish bracelet that had an appropriately Greek-themed design around it. It was thick, and long enough to be more like a bracer. The reason for that was obvious: before R could even stop her, she flicked a near-hidden switch, causing a bolt to fire out at incredible speed and lodge itself in the wall right near a passing field test agent’s head. The poor man promptly fainted.

“For God’s sake, Agent One!” R said, grabbing her arm and the device. He pointed at several features. “Grappling hook, bolt fire, and knock out gas. The last is if it comes into possession of anyone else.”

“No rocket cigars this time, R?”

“I’d rather you not ruin a new set of lungs, Agent One. We’re phasing out smoke, now.”

Upon saying that, a distant explosion from a new test caused a billowing of smoke and a new cry from the fire alarms.

“Figuratively speaking, of course,” Agent One said.

***

She had all the gadgets and a few other goodies in a secret compartment in her suitcase, as well as her weapon and extra laser lipstick in her purse. A damn purse, which was annoying to hold in a lady-like manner. Still, it was made by R, so it was resistant to even the best airport security, its tucked away pouch hiding a Beretta Bobcat 22. It was far smaller than her previous handgun, but it could be easily concealed, and that included a second one in her luggage which she could strap to her thigh.

To my thigh, hmm. Certainly it was an attractive prospect when Cassandra did it during that mission to Rio. But then, she was always very good with her legs, even when off mission. Very good indeed.

The thought warmed her, though once more she had to grapple with how distinct female arousal was compared to the male equivalent. At least, for now, she was wearing a classy and smart woman’s suit, her heels equally stylish but not too high. Still, as the plane descended, she knew it would all change. Soon she would meet her liaison, the field agent she would be sharing the mission with, who would help serve as her supplier, aid, and potential rescue op leader if things went south. Whoever he or she was, he would answer to the right phrase and contact could proceed from there. But it would also mean the start of the mission, which meant beginning to wear the tantalising costumes in her luggage, and using her new female form for the very seduction that would get her inside Sebastian Whitlock’s headquarters. And once there, she would have to rely on her finesse in a fight, not her strength. Oh, and the gadgets R had given her, of course.

Here’s hoping that King and Country truly appreciate this one, because as far as sacrifices go, this could well be worse than the torture that former FSB agent handed me back in Belarus. I’ll take a beating over breasts any day, at least from this angle.

She sighed and took another final sip of her martini. The landing lights were turning on, and even for first class passengers, the expectation to put such things away was coming. She placed her files back away and removed her glasses, the ones that let her see the real information on said sheets, instead of the gaudy model catalogue they looked like. 

“Well, Sebastian, I’m here and I’m coming for you. Let’s see how you handle this woman. She may not be what you expect.”

But hopefully, she’ll meet her own expectations. I plan to enjoy a well-deserved mission aftermath in the Agaean wearing a pair of swim shorts and not a bikini.

The plan continued to descend, and the city of Athens came into view.

The mission was about to begin.

To Be Continued . . .