Deep inside her suddenly much more youthful and feminine body, Melinda May wanted to scream bloody murder. She wasn't one for emotional displays almost ever, but this bastard deserved it. Just looking at him she could see every single bone she could break
in his body, and all she would have to do is...
"Now, Melinda, what should your first order be? Ah, yes, of course. Get on your knees."
"Yes, Master," she replied almost automatically. Even her voice had been changed, sounding higher-pitched and breathier than it ever had when she was actually the age she looked now.
And when she knelt down, in spite of a futile desire to resist the command, a sudden rush of pleasure overtook the former agent's mind. Not sexual pleasure, but something even deeper, a pure satisfaction at having followed an order. What was going on? This
"Who do you serve, Melinda?"
The first wave of pleasure had barely subsided befoe another one hit her, and the parts of her mind that insisted that she was still Agent Melinda May and could still find a way out of this felt themselves slipping away.
And why wouldn't they? Hurting her master would make Melinda a bad girl, and she wanted nothing more than to be good. She would protect him from bad people who wanted to hurt him, and please him any way she can. She wasn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent anymore, and
never would be again. And why would she? Her new life was so much better.
Melinda watched as her master unzipped the fly of his pants, a sense of longing and eagerness starting to build up in her very core.
"I believe you know what to do next," he remarked, expectantly and just the slightest bit amused.
She gave a simple, compliant nod before setting to work on his increasingly erect member. Some orders really didn't need to be spelled out.