Spy Swap, Part 6 (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 . . .

First Part

Previous Part

Part 6: On His Majesty’s Suntanning Service

If I thought I was showing off the goods before, then I didn’t know what I was thinking. This is . . . nightmarish.

Alexandra Goodchest, at least as far as the crowd was concerned about her identity, walked down the stretch of warm sandy beachline. Numerous beautiful women were relaxing or swimming or playing beach ball, among many other activities, but many stopped to take in the sight of the newcomer as she passed. She was wearing a black and white zebra-striped bikini, and it complemented her figure wonderfully, perhaps too much so. There were a few men on the beach, several with women on their arms, and Alexandra made sure to look their way and get an image of them through her sunglasses - one of the few gadgets that hadn’t come from R but instead from Adrian Spiros. It could only hold a limited number of photographs, so she made sure to turn her head towards the men and smile flirtatiously, waving at them to get their attention before taking a shot; an act that wasn’t difficult to achieve. While they had their own women on their arms - or two, or even three of the beautiful women on the island - there was no doubt straight away who was the most voluptuous and fertile-looking woman on the island.

And aren’t I just showing it off? I swear, this bikini could snap off at any moment.

Indeed, her large teardrop breasts bounced with each step, and each step also gave a perfect sway to her childbearing hips, which in turn left her rear bouncing gently as well. Her long raven-black hair swayed in the gentle breeze, and she ran her fingers through it for emphasis, lifting her arms in such a way that the deep cleavage of her ripe E-cup breasts were emphasised even further.

“Wowee, who are you, babe?” a Russian-sounding individual called out.

“Call me Goodchest,” she replied, smiling without a trace of obvious irony. “Alexandra Goodchest.”

“I’ll say you are!” another man called, and several women giggled.

“Are you new to the island?” a woman called out, having just scored a point in beachball. She had dark skin and a rather ripe pair of breasts herself, though only half as large as Fiona’s own rack.

Ah, to be a man on this island. I can see the appeal of being Sebastian Whitlock. To bad he’s a threat to international security or I might ask to return as a man.

“I just arrived this morning,” she said, extending her hand. “This place is incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You’re telling me. I’m Hayley Ryder. I came here six months ago to aid with the engineering program. I can barely remember what it was anymore because I’ve been having so much fun. I never want to leave.”

“You can . . . barely remember what you were working on?”

“Oh, it’s just some internal machinations for the facility, I’m sure. We’ve all done something here. Well, not all of us. Some are muses. Is that what you are?”

“I suppose I am,” Fiona said, gesturing to her fine form. “He enjoyed our talk about the arts.”

“Well, he is looking for the one, you know!”

A few other woman approached, also in their bikinis, all beautiful. 

“Please, he’ll choose me, when the time comes!”

“Nonsense, he’ll want several muses!”

“So long as he doesn’t choose that Denise, I can’t stand her!”

“But then why bring another to the island . . . and she is very pretty.”

“Very forward, you mean.”

“I can hear you,” Fiona said. “I’m Alexandra Goodchest. I’m just here to have a good time and get to know people. I assume this is a lovely social circle of female friendship.”

A few smirked, some others guffawed. Others nodded in agreement. Soe couldn’t get over her last name.

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Hayley said. “We do support one another. But it’s still a competition, of sorts.”

“What sort of competition?” Alexandra asked. “The secret kind?”

“I’ll tell you what. You prove your worth here on the beach, and I might tell you what I know. We all hear whispers, though none of us know the full picture, only that Sebastian and his male friends have such big plans, and we’re at the centre of them. It’s going to be wonderful. I could hint at more, but I think we should test the newcomer, right girls?”

A number of them voiced agreement.

“Very well,” Fiona said, crossing her arms and emphasising her bust, this time deliberately. She was putting on a show of power and display of beauty at the same time, courting women and men at the same time for her own purposes. “What challenges do have for me?”

Hayley grinned. “Enough that I doubt you’ll win.”

Oh, doubt away, sister. You may be surprised at what this woman can do.

***

There were three trials, and she smashed the first two of them with incredible ease. First up was swimming, and while there were more athletic women on the team, only Fiona had actually crossed the English channel personally during the great rogue Russian submarine threat two years ago. She annihilated the competition, applying her freestyle and breaststroke with such expert fashion that she pulled ahead of even the fittest of the women. Indeed, more than a few comments were shouted by the few men (and a couple of women) about her style being a ‘true breaststroke,’ a comment that she wished she’d had the chance to make. Still, it made her feel better about donning the bikini, even if she was briefly concerned about a potential wardrobe malfunction.

After that was, predictable, a game of beachball. She was paired with Denise Christmas, the beautiful physicist, and while that might have been an intended handicap by Hayley, once more Fiona was prepared. She’d played her fair share of games and had a strong set of reflexes, but there were initial stumbles in the bout due to her still getting used to her deeply female body. As Finn, she’d been no stranger to enjoying the lovely sight of a barely-clad woman leaping up to hit the ball, her chest bouncing enthusiastically with her movements. That was, until she was that woman. Now her very large E-cup breasts were more of an impediment, defying gravity up until the point where they wobbled heavily, practically tugging her shoulders forward. More than once she made an embarrassment of herself, and occasionally there was laughter over where the real beach balls were; the one being tossed around or the bouncing mammaries on her chest! 

Damn it all. How do women put up with these things?

But she quickly adapted, figuring out how to best angle her shots and straight up ignoring the pain in her shoulders and the slap of her breasts against her own body. She was taller than most women, and in beachball that could be everything. She also had the ability to analyse her opponents, and in this she was stellar. Hayley was the strength of the other team, but the woman named Chee-un was a weak spot; confident and brash but favouring her left side too much. Fiona targeted it to victory, and once the final point was won she couldn’t help herself; she leapt into the air, fist raised in victory. She didn’t even care that she was giving the few men on the island a fantastic view of her tits bouncing. In fact, part of her enjoyed providing the sight, and knowing the power she had over them.

Well, thank you zebra bikini, I guess. You know the strangest part is how comfortable it actually is once you get used to it. And with a surprising amount of support when not playing beach ball.

“Well, what’s the third challenge?” she asked Hayley, grinning smugly at the other woman. “A race across the beach? Sand castle building, perhaps? Pitting hermit crabs against each other?”

But the crowd had become oddly serious, and Hayley gestured for one of the men to approach. He had a small box in his hands, and Fiona blinked as it was opened. Inside were two very sharp, very real combat knives.

“Bloodsport,” Hayley said, taking one of the knives. 

“Well, I guess a good beach never truly is what it’s cracked up to be,” Fiona said.

Nor this unfolding situation, given how apparently normal this is to these strange women.

She took the other knife, held it in her hand before switching to the other to test the grip. It was indeed real.

“We don’t have to have a catfight, you know,” Fiona said.

“Actually, Alexandra, I think we do,” she replied. “It’s what we’re trained for.”

And then she lashed out at Fiona, quick as lightning, enough to deliver a sharp cut across her arm. Fiona leapt back, slicing out herself, not intending to get Hayley but wanting to keep her distant. The women cheered, forming a wide circle on the beach around the pair. When Fiona backed off too much they pushed her back in, and the insanity of this situation fell upon the new woman.

This is by far the strangest mission I’ve ever been on. And why do I have the feeling that Sebastian is watching this? Or at least that one-armed minion of his.

She decided to put on a show. “Name the rules!” she cried. “I’d like to know how I’m going to win!”

Hayley laughed. “Very cocky! Very well. First to draw blood three times. No deliberately fatal strikes, but in the heat of battle we understand if there are-”

She gasped as Fiona lunged, slicing the collarbone of the other woman. It was a shallow cut, but it caught her off guard, and her parry came too slow to make counterdamage. Fiona danced to the side as she steadied herself and launched forward, and for a long, almost slow-motion moment their knives clanged and clashed, each of the two gorgeous women managing to catch the knife of the other. Hayley got a punch in, striking into Fiona’s left tit and leaving her gasping.

Bad enough they’re huge, getting sucker punched on a breast takes the wind out of me. Let’s try that on her, or . . .

She made to make the same move after deflecting a knife strike, but instead kicked Hayley’s legs out and made another shallow cut across her thigh. Or least she thought she did; because the women screamed.

“Are you okay?” Fiona asked, but realised too late that this was an act, because Hayley used the moment to plunge her knife into her thigh, which really did fucking hurt.

“Agggh!” she cried, hating how weak and womanly her voice sounded. She staggered back as Hayley advanced, victory in the other woman’s eyes.

“Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!” the crowd shouted, their eyes manic. There was something wrong with them. Something utterly wrong, in fact. Far too wrong to be a simple bloody tradition on this island. Fiona wished she still had her sunglasses on, but her earring at least recorded the chant. She managed to spy the men now among the crowd, and one of them she recognised: Alexander Peterson. He was a British magnate himself, though not in Whitlock’s ballpark. But he owned numerous medical companies, some of which had been investigated for illegal research.

What the hell is going on here? And why are they affected but not him or the other men?

The chant continued as Fiona attacked, and once more Fiona barely ducked away. The pain in her thigh was lancing upwards, the blood pouring from the wound terribly. She decided to go for a dirty trick of her own as Hayley lunged again. She feigned weakness, then threw a handful of sand straight in the woman’s eyes. It worked a trick; Hayley growled, briefly blinded. She slashed the air with her knife, but Fiona was already ducking under. Her wound howled with pain, searing the edges of her vision, but she pulled through to victory just barely; as one of Hayley’s slashes snipped some of her raven hair, she placed a small incision of a cut along her side.

Instantly, something in the crowd drained away. The bloodlust was gone completely, and the women stopped cheering. Even Hayley seemed to sway, clutching her head for a moment.

“I’m sorry, I don’t . . . well done! You are the victor, and a very surprising one! Someone get the doctor off of her sunbathing chair and over here. We’ll get you patched up, Fiona, and then I’ll answer your questions.”

“Good,” Fiona said, nearly collapsing, her glance briefly going over to the men who were gesturing for their harems to return to their sides. “Because I’ve got a damn lot of them.”

To Be Continued . . .