The Job

Well ladies and gentlemen, what you're about to read, or not, is a work of fiction.

*cough* This story includes transformation (TF), M/F sex.

No futa for now, but this is just a peek from something that escaped my perverted mind and reached the keyboard.

Thanks for srb, for the six betas, helping me growing the starting 1700 words to 2500.

I ask excuses, I need to get my medication, stupid flu is killing me.:134:

It was nothing special, the job was simple and quick enough to pay my growing debts. Well, there’s nothing wrong with making money by ruining other people’s jobs, since it’s part of the game actually.

I’m sort of a spy. Yeah, a spy. Not James Bond, I’m a real spy. It’s better for you to not know my name for now. I live by skipping towns, unknown to most people. It’s a very boring job. I don’t get any Bond-girls or save the world. I just steal some blueprints or parts from stupid gadgets to deliver to specified locales.

Late Thursday afternoon I had an appointment at a KFC, to get my white envelope with the paycheck, normally from an oblivious company or unknown subject from last job and hopefully indications for a new one.

The man from the company, sometimes a woman, usually wore a little pin on their shirt pocket. It was difficult to know who it was the first time, but they normally use ugly and strange people.

Not that I’m an example of beauty, but the last contact had a huge red zit below his left eye, I almost couldn’t eat my lunch remembering that hairy pimple.

“You’re late, Guiles,” Said the lone woman with an American Airlines pin just below her pocket. Nice, firm teats. A surprise indeed.

“Really? My watch battery must be dead, sorry,” I just sat in a chair next to her. The KFC was almost full, because it was lunchtime. She smelt nice, a scent very noticeable among the foul fat stench that corrodes the place.

“Here’s your gift, take care of her very well, or else your paycheck will be lost in the mail. Good afternoon,” She said, pushing me a little tied package with holes in a side, with the white envelope under, leaving the table with her Starbucks coffee cup. In fact that was the first signal that she was an agent, I should know better...

“Um, all right,” I replied, just having time to look her nice buns leaving in that miniskirt.

The paycheck was there, all right, but what the hell was in the box? Some animal? Usually holes in boxes are for transporting animals like this.

“Your next job is in the Blackhorn Labs, you’ll assume the scrubs’ job for two months, since he’s sick. Inside the package you’ll find a lab mouse, your new pet,” The paper explicated that I must transport the damned rat there every morning, and get him back home by the end of each day?

My curiosity was growing each minute I spent in the bus and subway going back to my spy apartment, full of advan