Special operation go wrong? (Patreon)

Barry Jones shifted uncomfortably in the unfamiliar curves of his new body, his ill-fitting attire adding to the overall discomfort. His fingers brushed against the cascade of chestnut hair that now framed his face, and he couldn't shake the unsettling sensation of unfamiliar breasts weighing against his chest. The transformation was more disconcerting than any covert operation he'd ever been part of, and he found himself yearning for the days when holograms were the extent of his undercover repertoire.

"I don't understand why we can't use a disguise hologram for this. Why did you actually have to transform my body into this," Barry muttered, eyeing his own reflection in the nearby mirror. The woman staring back was a stranger, a facsimile of femininity that left him squirming in his own skin.

Special Agent Michaels, a grizzled veteran of the espionage game, leaned against the wall, the cigarette in his hand tracing erratic smoke rings through the dimly lit room. His eyes, however, were calculating and dead serious.

"We need Mr. Freeman to be fully distracted when our other operatives go in to swap his laptop with a decoy. While Mr. Freeman is carrying his order back to the table, you need to bump into him, chest first," Michaels explained, taking a drag of his cigarette.

Barry's eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. "So I can't use a hologram because he needs to feel my… breasts… squish against him?" Barry blushed, his discomfort only intensifying.

"This is a very risky operation, Agent Jones. We need every element to run as smoothly as possible to avoid detection. You're a crucial component to this working. Numerous studies show a strong decrease in attention and concentration centers of the brain during sexual arousal. So yes—squish is important."

Barry shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the bizarre logic of the mission. "This is really not what I had in mind when I signed up to be a special operative. Let's get it over with."

"Don't worry, Jones. If the mission runs smoothly, you'll be back in your own body by dinner," Michaels assured, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"What do you mean 'if the mission runs smoothly'? You're turning me back no matter what, right? Right?" Barry pressed, a flicker of panic in his eyes.

Michaels stubbed out his cigarette, his gaze hardening. "Let's just say, Jones, not every mission goes according to plan. Be ready for the unexpected."

...

The hotel room was a dimly lit haven of secrecy, the air heavy with the scent of clandestine affairs. Barry and Mr. Freeman stood facing each other, the atmosphere charged with an unexpected tension. Barry's new body, a vessel for deception, was at odds with the humiliation coursing through his veins.

As the seconds ticked away, Mr. Freeman's gaze lingered on Barry's transformed features. The weight of the mission and the surreal circumstances pressed on Barry's chest, making every heartbeat a reminder of the wrongness of the situation.

Barry's eyes darted around the room, searching for any escape from the inevitable. He felt the pressure mounting, his unease growing, and the desire for no one to ever know about this surreal encounter clawed at the edges of his consciousness.

Without warning, Mr. Freeman closed the distance between them, a hand reaching up to cradle the back of Barry's transformed head. Their lips met in a kiss that tasted of secrets and compromise. Barry's mind raced with conflicting emotions—humiliation, the sharp tang of betrayal, and the disconcerting awareness of the wrongness that seemed to seep into his very being.

The encounter unfolded like a scene from a dark dream, the room a surreal backdrop to the unexpected twist in the mission. Barry's body, now both a tool of espionage and an unwitting participant in a clandestine affair, betrayed the core of his professional identity.

As the kiss lingered, Barry couldn't help but acknowledge the complexities of the human experience, even when trapped within the confines of a foreign form. Deep down, he understood that he would have to write a report, detailing the unforeseen deviation from the mission's course—a report that would carry the weight of humiliation and secrecy.

...

The sun beat down on the poolside oasis, casting shimmering reflections on the water that did little to alleviate Barry's growing discomfort. Dressed in a revealing swimsuit that did nothing to hide the features of his transformed body, he reclined on a lounge chair, sipping a cocktail that tasted like bitter resignation.

A month had passed since the mission went off the rails, and Barry found himself ensnared in a reality he never could have foreseen. The "cover-up" had abandoned him, leaving him stranded in the guise of a woman. What stung even more was the inescapable fact that he had become Mr. Freeman's constant companion—more precisely, his mistress. The mission had spiraled into a personal nightmare, the boundaries between espionage and personal life shattered.

As Barry lay by the pool, his mind wrestled with a kaleidoscope of emotions—anger, frustration, and a profound sense of betrayal. The discomfort of his new body was a constant reminder of the choices made in the murky world of espionage.

His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of a man, one of the operatives he had once considered a comrade. Barry turned, a spark of hope flickering in his eyes. "Hey, we need to talk about this. I can't keep living like this," Barry pleaded, desperation lacing his words.

The man's response was a dismissive smirk, a sarcastic wink that spoke volumes. He pretended not to hear Barry's plea, casting a brazen glance at the curves that now defined Barry's form. The unspoken message hung heavy in the air—Barry was on his own, abandoned by those he once thought he could trust.

The man continued on his way, leaving Barry to grapple with the harsh reality of his situation. The hotel's façade of luxury and indulgence now felt like a gilded cage, and Barry couldn't escape the constant stares and leers that came with his new, undesirable role.

With a heavy sigh, Barry leaned back into the lounge chair, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The mission had deviated far beyond the realm of espionage, and Barry couldn't shake the feeling that he was trapped in a never-ending nightmare with no way out. The poolside cocktails may have been sweet, but the taste of bitterness lingered on Barry's tongue.