Free 3 SUM by Quig Shelby Page A

Valery 01, so to speak. Splendid job, no really, splendid. Oh and your name, doesn’t really fit anymore, does it? Now you’re Valiant 01, got it?”
    â€œGot it,” I replied with my chest puffed out.
    â€œYou’ll need a razor from now on,” he said, “for your face.”
    I stroked my chin; I was bristling with excitement.
    â€œWhere from?” I asked.
    Too late, he was gone. Anais wiped her brow.
    â€œYou should know, Valery, sorry Valiant 01, the Professor advised I choose you for this experiment,” said Anais.
    â€œWhy? How?”
    â€œData, of course. He can access anyone’s personal database.”
    â€œBut ...”
    She placed her finger to my lips, and I wanted to kiss hers.
    â€œDon’t ask too many questions, not yet,” she said.
    I wasn’t in the mood to argue. I just wondered if her body wanted mine just as much. But even before she clapped her hands I could hear the heels of my guardian shemales approaching. How was I supposed to sleep tonight? I couldn’t get her out of my head.
    Chapter Thirteen
    I was staring at the night sky, wondering if I was moon-struck or love-struck. Certainly something felt different, but I still wasn’t sure what I wanted; I had no experience. I was convinced Anais would fall into my arms at some point, but when and could I wait? I tried on my new clothes out of loneliness, boredom.
    I opened a packet of tartan socks, crisscrossed purple and red. Brand new and laddered, but I wouldn’t be taking them back. I reached for my sewing kit, and saw the token. Quickly I laced up the vintage gothic boots. Torn hosiery had a desperate appeal, and I was feeling pretty desperate.
    I remembered Danny 55, and the Judge’s boots, dirty, exciting. Now that I had a sex drive, should I drive it underground to Mason? Feelings of love, lust, surged through my body; I was pulsating, vibrating. Perhaps female authority was stamped on my soul, in which case my passion could only be sated by swimming in subservience.
    A black spider, maybe a widow, was on the wall watching me. I quickly searched for a suitable swatter, before picking up the glass that had held my toothbrush. I lifted the window, not glancing back, and I and the arachnid were suddenly both free, alive. We understood the meaning of captivity and fear.
    Three floors up, I slid down the drainpipe light as a feather, but not a white one; I was courageous. The Lake, Tilda’s Boat House, was an hour’s run away. I’d cut across the woods, not for speed but cover. My tank was full of testosterone, tostestalone, or whatever they wanted to call it, and risks now felt challenging, not crippling.
    Across the Lake the lights were out, but Tilda’s had wooden shutters on the windows. I jogged, in hope, along the path.
    I was brazen enough to tag behind the crossdresser with the smudged lipstick. He’d wandered out of nowhere, and I followed him down the wooden boardwalk to the entrance.
    â€œFirst time?” asked the female at the door; she was in mufti, I was in a leather dress.
    I looked up at her, and nodded. She was in charge and knew it, but it was a different sense of authority. Not quite mutual respect but one of immediacy, intimacy, between user and abused, dominatrix and her sub.
    â€œToken?” she asked, holding out her hand.
    I handed her the coin Danny 55 had given me. She looked at it, bit it, and then returned it.
    â€œYou’ll need it for later,” she said.
    â€œWhere’s the free ride?” I asked.
    â€œTake a look in the mirror; you’ll soon find it.”
    I smiled, at least I’d been broken in at the office, but I wanted to take a good look around first.
    Lartley 87 from Rinse Gardens brought me a drink, vodka.
    â€œI’m not surprised,” he said. ‘It’s always the quiet ones.”
    â€œI just like my privacy,” I said.
    â€œOh don’t worry, there are rooms upstairs. Not