The process had been quite complicated from what Jack had been told, but he was unconscious for most of it. It was certainly a jarring experience when the process was complete and he saw his new self for the first time. No expense had been spared in the process and no piece of him had been spared either. Jack had become a walking sex dream. Based on intel gathered from informants his body had been sculpted to be everything that the head of the syndicate wanted. He had an outrageous hourglass figure with breasts that bounced and wobbled with every step, straining any normal piece of clothing with their size. His hips and rear were basically a carbon copy of a famed reality TV star, and extended far enough that Jack could use it as shelf if he stood still. His ankles had been modified so that he could only feel comfortable if he was wearing high heels. Advanced bioprinting techniques had given him fully functional female genitalia, which had purposely been shaped to give him a camel toe, since the main target had a thing for that. His skin had been darkened to give him a perpetual tan and several explicit tattoos had been applied.
His face of all things was the must unsettling change of all. Going in Jack had known that he would be heavily changed by the surgeries, but he had thought that if any piece of him would make it through it would be his face. This was not the case however. His face had been rearranged to give him pornstar looks, with luscious lips that never seemed to quite close and always seemed to invite a phallic object in. His eyes were large and sultry and his nose was delicate and pierced by a small rhinestone. Even his blue eyes had been changed to hazel.
After weeks of training in all facets of womanhood, including lessons in his new undercover job, he had been cleared to start the operation. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime Jack was out of the center where everything had taken place and he was dressed so there was no doubt that he was part of the world’s oldest profession. Fishnet stockings, micro-miniskirt, skyhigh leather boots, a midriff-bearing and skintight, pink top and the tacky jewelry expected of those plying Jack’s new trade. In his tiny clutch purse was an ID that claimed his name was Kristy O’Neill, but his working name was Candy.
Jack walked up and down one of the streets in his target’s territory, waiting to get picked up by someone in the organization. After a while a car pulled up next to him.
Copyright 2000 - 2025 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.38 seconds at 6:15am on Jan 09, 2025 via server WEBX2.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
