Red

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You look at the red toothpick that your drew and try to keep your composure.

“Looks like we have decided who our cow will be. Fitting that the one wasting our time is the one to be in the dangerous position.” Your captain says with a hint of a smirk.

You look down and begin to undo your suit. Nudity isn’t something your embarrassed about typically, but especially not with your squad. The first week of training is done without clothes to disable any kind of chagrin in assassins. Perhaps that curious girl down there was an omen. You completely unzip your suit and step out of it as it collects on the floor.

“We’ll give Spencer here some space as she prepares.” You captain says, leading everyone else into the other room.

You think about running away for a second but immediately rule it out. You’re loyal to your team and on a mission. You have to do what you were ordered. And besides, running won’t save the 17 agents that you feel confident are down there, as well as all the other innocent women. Running won’t take out the mogul and shut this place down. You sit down, the worn, scratchy carpet abrading your bum. You pull the thick lyocell stockings up your legs. The stockings roll all the way up almost the entirety of your thighs before they’re finally taut. They completely cover your legs and feet save for small openings allowing your heels to pop out. You then slide on the lyocell gloves with an identical Holstein friesian pattern that the stocking also bear. You keep pulling the gloves up until your hands finally find themselves split into different finger separations. You pull out the bunching of fabric around your elbows and find that the gloves crawl just inches away from your arm pits.

You bend down and grab the neck collar. You’re glad to see this one doesn’t have a bell. You saw some women with bells and some without, but with you not having a bell, not only will stealth be easier but your new attire will be slightly less denigrating. The collar is split open, and you raise it to your neck. The cool metal brushes the heat of your body as your fit the collar around your neck. You hold up your hair as you lock the collar around your neck from the back.

You bend down and grab the 4 shackles from the pile next. You notice that two are a bit larger than the other 2, and you guess that the large ones are for your ankles. With a similar clasping mechanic as the collar, the shackles aren’t to difficult to figure out. As the shackles are attached, they detect your presence and light up with a ring of small pink ovals. Once your fetters are in place, you do the same to your wrists, and once again bright pink lights come to life.

You grab the largest item in the ever-shrinking pile. You examine the corset and get a feel of what it’s like. It seems like it’s maybe made of rigid silicone or something similar. You pull the corset apart and find that its natural position is to tighten back into the shape of a closed corset. You also spot two clasps near the top and bottom of the opening. You take a very deep breath, and at the trough of your exhale, you clamp your trachea shut attach the corset, using your arm muscles to pull the corset open. You slide it on to your abdomen and twist your arms as you try to gently ease it back together. Once you’ve done so, you fiddle with the clasps until both are attached. You take a much needed gasp of air and get oxygen flowing through your system again, despite your decreased lung efficiency.

You reach over and pick up the helmet. The key to all the control. Abbott and Gonzalez were supposed to have fixed it, you just hope they did. The headset looks like a pair of black headphones with horns and a visor on it. You rub your fingers over the small rubber horns appended to the top. You slide the helmet over your hair as it tightly grasps your head. At the presence of your head the device turns on. The visor lights up and you see a slight pink tint over your gaze. Nothing more happens. You still have your intellect. You still have your will. You breathe a sigh of relief.

Lastly, you grab the tail. Ugh. You are NOT looking forward to this. The base of the tail is not only a dildo, but a long, fat, bumpy, veiny one. You create a pool of spit on the dildo as you attempt to lubricate it. You close your eyes and hold your breath as you quickly cram it up your sphincter. It takes everything in you not to scream. Your ass has never felt a thing inside of it, so it hurt like the devil to shove that demented, barely-lubricated dildo deep into your rectum. You push it a little deeper until it is completely submerged inside of you. The tail, seemingly with some sort of mechanic, begins to swish around. Completely dressed in your attire, you knock on the door to let your team know that you’re ready.

As the team slowly shuffles out of the room, you stand stoically still. They all look you over, and apparently believe you look convincing enough. Then, your captain addresses you.

“Spencer. You will discreetly make your way down onto the floor and assimilate into the herd with other women. The headset will enable you to speak with us up here through a mic that will be constantly turned on. Make sure that nobody hears you speaking or you will be caught. Keep in mind: You are our eyes and ears on the floor, and you need to inform us how to safely sweep the area and shut it down. Understood?”

You nod.

“Then get going, Spencer!”