A Perfect Fit

...

Mornings were a dark time these days. The enchantment of playing with Vinicius would generally have faded, and Vinicius himself always vanished before Steve awoke. He was most himself then. But that only emphasized the contrast between that self and the one being relentlessly imposed onto him.

He had happily cooperated with beingbutt-fucked last night. And even now, the only horrifying thing about it was how little horror he felt. It didn't seem like the humiliating degradation his intellect told him it should have been. Instead he remembered the whole session with distinct fondness. His ass felt... used, but notabused. He wasn't especially sore. Vinicius had been so sweet and gentle...

He shivered at how completely his whole sexuality had been warped, molded like clay. But that fear didn't make dallying with Vinicius any less seductive and alluring.

He was marginally more focused at work that day, by dint of supreme effort. The novelty of his shaved skin hadn't worn off much but he resoutely avoided reminiscing about the previous night... at least, insofar as possible. He was startled out of a naughty fantasy when a colleague knocked on the door and leaned into his office.

"Hey, Steve, good call on that Pakistan thing. They dug into some bank records and found one of the contacts was skimming our 'contributions' and sending a bunch to some Baloch insurgents."

"Oh, uh, I knew something was fishy there." He hoped he wasn't blushing.

"Edwards wanted me to tell you he'd like to hear more of your hunches. Just not in the middle of the daily briefing." Eric grinned to indicate that was only half-serious, then walked off. Steve felt a flash of relief. This was a lucky break - it might forestall suspicion a few more days. He'd take it; good news had been scarce lately. He returned to work with new resolve, and was actually productive until the end of the day, when thoughts of Vinicius crept back to the forefront.

By the time he had driven home, he was warm and moist and consumed with thoughts quite unrelated to intelligence and espionage. He ran into the house, hoping against hope that Vinicius would be there. To his surprise and delight, his Master stood at the door to the living room, nude and sporting an excellent boner.

With the same speed and grace that he'd once employed for inflicting harm, he bolted across the room to Vinicius, who seized him summarily and attacked with fierce kisses and grasping hands. Steve was swept away by the storm of Vinicius' ferocius need. Roughly, his clothes were torn away and his flesh was manhandled. It was just shy of actual violence; brusque and insistent and masculine. The new parts of Steve's psyche responded in a completely feminine style, drawing pleasure from being the focus of such desire.

They bumped and fumbled clumsily into the living room, minimally aware of their surroundings, absorbed in each other. They came to rest on the floor, nibbling and kneading and stroking and squeezing in a concentrated expression of lust.

Vinicius reared up and yanked a pillow off the couch, shoving it under Steve's ass, lifting it into the air. He interposed himself between Steve's legs and moved close. Steve wondered exactly what was in the offing, and, searching his feelings, discovered that no matter what Vinicius planned to do he was far more excited than reluctant about it.

The tip of that cock was right there, at his labia. It was an incredibly close call - had Vinicius hesitated even a moment, Steve would have been begging to be deflowered. But Vinicius thrust forward, heedless, and Steve felt a moment of shock.

Vinicius had laid his erection into Steve's slit. Rubbing up and down, the clitoral stimulation was so intense it was almost painful, despite the copius lubrication that eased the way. He stared, mesmerized, as it slid along the groove. The head disappeared and reappeared, over and over. The friction felt like it set his whole body to vibrating, like he was a stringed instrument and Vinicius's amazing cock was the bow. And the music was rising to a crescendo...

Steve moved his legs together in front of Vinicius' chest, enclosing as much of that prick as possible, giving him all the friction he could bear. An orgasm exploded through him, his white-hot clit radiating incandesent pleasure. It never really stopped, though it peaked again when Vinicus let out a throaty groan and Steve felt sticky cum fall onto his belly.

They rested for a time as the hurricane passed and the frenzy receeded. Steve breathed a sigh of pure contented peace. His lust was satiated for the moment, but Stephen Harper made no appearance. There was only Steve, worshipful servant, basking in the afterglow. Presently Vinicus kissed him, then stood, nodded his goodbye, and walked out of sight in to the kitchen. It could have seemed callous and rude, but no words were necessary. It had been a stolen moment, an 'afternoon delight'; it was sufficient unto itself. Steve drifted langourously for a time, smiling to himself, content and self-assured. Finally hunger came and convinced him to stand and go to make dinner.

Sudden, horrifying realizations were becoming such a common part of his life now that they were losing their ability to shock. He was almost numb as he noticed he hadn't closed the drapes in the front window. There wasn't a huge amount of foot traffic in his subdivision, but anyone passing by would have been able to see them in the throes of passion. He wasn't surprised that part of him didn't evenwant to hide their relationship...

But, the enchantment shattered, he quickly drew the shades and ran to the bathroom to wash himself off. Then, clad in a robe, he glumly ate a microwave dinner in front of the TV and moped, defeated.

In the business, love was regarded like any other addictive drug: as a threat and a tool. It made people vulnerable. Professionals avoided love for that very reason. But he was being forced to mainline on the pure, uncut stuff... and it was working. He was vulnerable now, in ways he couldn't remember ever being.

That night he stayed in front of the TV just to avoid thinking. Channel-surfing, he became engrossed in a romance on the Lifetime channel, a tale of star-crossed lovers. He didn't realize what he'd been enjoying until the credits were scrolling up the screen.

He wiped the mist from his eyes, terrified. The story had been so sweet, and the way they had kissed at the end had brought those tears forth. He knew that he would have been bored and annoyed at such a movie before, but he just couldn't feel that way anymore. He almost ran up to bed and didn't even try to catalogue his emotions as he laid down, hoping only for sleep that seemed far away.

...

She looked in the mirror. Her mom squeezed her shoulders, and said, encouragingly, "You look beautiful, honey." It felt good to hear her say that; she'd always had her doubts, before. She was narrow-hipped and flat-chested, and needed more hair-remover than any woman should. But Vinicius said she was beautiful, and his opinion was the only one that mattered. Looking at her reflection, wearing the simple white dress, she felt as pretty as Vinicius always said she was.

It was a small wedding. She had very little family and only some of Vinicius' relatives could make the trip. They had found a small, stately church outside of Langley and she was in a side room getting ready. She was giddy and nervous. She had no doubts at all about marrying Vinicius, but part of her still couldn't believe he would marry such an unworthy girl as herself.

A rap at the door. "It's time, honey." Her mother guided her to the door, handing over the bouquet, then went to be seated. Her daddy waited outside. He was beaming; Vinicius had throughly impressed him. He didn't need to say a word as he took her arm and they waited, just out of sight. The music swelled... and it was time.

As she walked down the aisle, hearing the wedding march, she was grateful for the strong arm of her daddy for support. Vinicius was so beautiful in his tuxedo that she thought she might faint. She could feel that her nipples were visible even through the thick fabric of her dress, but she didn't care. Who couldblame her for wanting him in every possible way?

The lightheaded, dreamy feeling didn't fade; she felt as if she were floating through the ceremony, buoyed up by pure undiluted joy. "I, Stephanie, take you, Vinicius, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey till death us do part..." She meant every single word with every part of her being. She had specifically requested the traditional vow that included 'obey', and she had no reservations as she pledged herself totally - body, mind, and soul.

Vinicius's face seemed to glow as he recited his vows. "I, Vinicius, take you, Stephanie, to be my wife..." The blood rushing in her ears drowned out the rest of his words but the smile on his face made everything right. Then he leaned forward to kiss her; their lips met as husband and wife. It was sublime.

They proceeded back down the aisle past the smiling faces, and then there were pictures to be taken and other such trivia which barely registered through her happiness. She simply clung to her husband - herhusband - and did as she was directed. Eventually they retired to the limo and she snuggled up to Vinicius, blissfully complete.

The reception was beautiful, and nothing about it was more wonderful than being introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Vinicius Ferreira. Everyone was so happy for them, and she tried to make sure Vinicius' family knew that she understood how lucky she was and that she would move Heaven and Earth to make him happy.

Their first dance was magical and romantic and she felt like a queen, almost good enough for him. The love in his eyes, his kisses, was all she'd ever need.

In due course they left the reception for a night in a hotel before they would embark on their honeymoon. Butterflies filled her stomach as the busboy closed the door to their suite. Vinicius looked to her and she trembled, weak with her need.

He stepped toward her, then grabbed her and yanked her into a ferocious kiss. It lasted several seconds, and then she was seated on the bed as he worked at the buttons on the back of her dress. Many tore, but she didn't care in the slightest. She shared his urgency as she fumbled with his pants, trying to get them down, off. Something tore and Vinicius was pulling the top of her dress away. She helped; a girl's wedding gown was supposed to be precious, and perhaps someday it would be, but right now it was in the way. She stood and wriggled it down off her hips. His pants and boxers were down too, now, and he tossed her onto the bed. Her white lace panties slipped past the garter - blue for luck - and she was exposed.

He wasted no time. Her legs were speedily knocked apart, and he was there, pushing in. It wasn't brutal, but it was forceful and ineluctable and only her copious lubrication kept it from being painful. Therewas some discomfort as he claimed her virginity, but it was nothing, insignificant compared to the joyous, triumphant orgasm as he claimedher. She screamed his name, giving herself over to him willingly and completely.

As the bliss finally began to recede, she opened her eyes... to darkness. Vinicius' weight was gone. The shapes in the room were at once familiar and alien. Groping, she managed to turn on the lamp and beheld her own bedroom in the condo. Confusion reigned for almost a minute. Where was her husband, and her dress? The hotel room... it had been soreal. When she understood that it had only been a dream, when she recalled the true situation, and how thoroughly impossible such a scenario was, she wept brokenly into her pillow, wracked with sobs. It took hours to fall back to sleep.

...

Steve was more frightened that morning than he'd been even since the beginning of his ordeal. Stephanie wasn't just a dream self, he'dbeen her for quite a while after he awoke. Part of him wasstill her. Hewanted to be the bride in a wedding, hewanted that dress, and hewanted his daddy to walk him down the aisle to Vinicius. (This despite the fact that he hadn't uttered the word 'daddy' for three decades, minimum.)

He zoned through breakfast and the drive to the office in his now-customary autopilot, trying to think as little as possible. Work brought only faint distraction, and barely diverted him from reflecting on the dream. Moreover, a new problem was starting to arise - he was reacting to his job the way a young woman would instead of a grizzled veteran. The bleak, vicious, and horrible aspects of tradecraft had never really affected him, even when he'd been starting out. His girlish side, though, was not so detatched, and recoiled at many of the things he reported on or, even worse, ordered. And he was having trouble interacting with his co-workers. They were ruthless, heartless, cold, paranoid. They werescary. And he was hiding something from them.

He had to take breaks from funding insurgencies and buying off useful dictators or he suspected he might cry. It chilled his soul. He was faintly surprised that he had a soul.... assuming it was really his. The only thing that helped his mood was thinking of Vinicius. But that only exacerbated the situation in other ways, as he soon discovered.

The alarm on his watch beeped; the ten-minute respite he'd allowed himself was over. He sighed ruefully, clinging for a moment to the memory of yesterday's torrid session on the floor. It wasn't really a sexual daydream; it was more about how Vinicius had seemed to sense how much she - nohe, he told himself - had wanted him to appear... But now he worked to shift gears, to be Stephen Harper again.

The good feeling died utterly as he looked down at his desk. To his horror, he realized that he had beendoodling. Little hearts with arrows festooned the cover of the classified briefing he was supposed to be reviewing. Inside many of them, "Vinicius + Stephanie" or "Mrs. Vinicius Ferreira" were written in his own handwriting. Based on how many there were, he must have been drawing for a while.

No, on closer inspection it wasn'tquite his handwriting. It was very similar, but a touch neater, more fastidious. He felt sick when he noticed the other difference.

Instead of dots over the "i's", there were little hearts.

...

After work, on the drive home, he passed by a bridal shop that he had never before remarked upon. Abruptly, however, it brought back the dream. The feeling of wearing a beautiful dress... it was a powerful desire, almost a compulsion now. He stayed in the car, at war with himself, driving well past his condo. Eventually he realized why he was driving so far, where he was going. He came to a lingerie store that was well outside his usual territory, where the odds of being recognized were low. He parked in the lot, and sat for a few seconds, but he lost that final battle, too.

His knew his face was red as he walked into the store, but ironically, he was able to draw on his agent's experience to help. He had quite a lot of practice getting through unpleasant times with efficiency. It was humiliating, especially how a pair of other customers had stared and snickered, but he eventually arrived home with a few stockings and bras and lacy panties.

Altough he was starving, he fled upstairs to the mirror Vinicius had provided, and was naked in moments. He started to pull out some of his purchases, but then he remembered the stubble that tended to develop in the evening despite his morning shaving ritual. He went off to the bathroom and drew a hot bath; after a leisurely soaking his skin was soft enough to get a truly close shave. He masturbated once, thinking of his new apparel, but it barely took the edge off the tension.

Toweling himself off thoroughly, he returned to his bedroom, smooth and silky, worthy of the garments he'd bought. The red ensemble seemed to call out to him, and he slipped them on, feeling daring, naughty. Long net stockings, red thong panties with a heart motif, almost a bustier for the chest. He looked like a harlot, a walking invitation. He felt decorated, embellished, and emphasized. Revealed for what she... no, he... really was.

It was soeasy to get himself off in that getup.

That night, Vinicius didn't appear. Steve fretted and paced and accomplished nothing whatsoever. What little self-possession he'd recovered was no comfort, since he dreaded sleep for what it might bring. He lay awake for a long time.

...

Going to the bathroom was always a trial now. More and more each day he felt like an intruder there. And each trip was a step closer to being discovered. Soon somebody was going to pick up on how he never used the urinals anymore; he worked in a field where people noticed details. It didn't help that he was wearing sexy lingerie under his clothes, of course. He'd opened up his underwear drawer that morning and taken out a pair of briefs... but he just could not bring himself pull on the drab things, not after he'd shaved all over, as was his morning habit now. Today he was by turns disgusted with himself and enjoying the delicious, sexy secret. Whenever they came to mind in the course of his day, he feltso feminine! And though there was shame, it was somehow weirdly empowering...

He forced himself to triple-check his clothes before leaving the stall. A mistake would be disastrous, and he knew his own concentration was frayed. He was feeling Vinicius' absence almost like physical withdrawl.

Getting back to his desk should have been a relief, a refuge from being confronted with his own transformation. Yet he dreaded the list of payments and weapons and drugs, more chilling for the antiseptic language they were described in. He felt a growing sense of oppression in his daily life, forced to be something he increasingly wasn't. With Vinicius he was free to explore himself and his feelings in ways he couldn't - wouldn't dare to - otherwise. The fact that those feelings might not actually behis didn't seem terribly important anymore.

He stepped into his office... and there it was, an envelope on top of the keyboard. It hadn't been there when he'd left. It couldn't be anything official - the paper was fine and white and was embossed with a delicate filigree. He closed the door and shot over to his desk. On the front was an elegant cursiveS, in handwriting he would recognize anywhere.

Unable to stop himself, he held it up to his face and sniffed. He thought he could sense a trace of Vinicius's smell; earthy, manly. His heart swelled at the memories that aroma evoked. He opened the envelope carefully, knowing already that he would be keeping the note as a souvenir.

The message brought forth a tangle of overlapping emotions. He was literally of two minds about it. Stephen was resentful, furious at the condescension and sarcasm. Stephanie was excited and deeply moved by Vinicius' consideration and tact. Yet he was both sides at once - the conflict was paralyzing.

The familiar surroundings of his office helped the 'Stephen' aspects of his personality regain ascendancy for a time. He struggled mightily. He did not want to give in, to leap at Vinicius's whims like a schoolgirl with her first crush. But he couldn't concentrate on his work; the note still worried at the back of his mind, its influence growing. Vinicius had never given warning before. Why now? What did it mean? Was he simply trying to demonstrate his power over Steve? Or was it a sign that he was softening a bit toward his victim, that he might be showing some honest consideration...