Agent
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - After the events described in 'Justice', she takes on a new identity and a new role in uncovering criminals
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I hardly recognised myself these days; there had been so many changes. Plastic surgery had resulted in some small changes to my face; my cheekbones were more prominent and my nose more retroussé. My eyebrows had been removed and replaced with tattoos in a different shape, my chin had been made slightly more pointed, and my lips slightly more plumped. My hair was cut short, almost a Mary Quant style, enabling me to easily wear one of the many wigs that I now had available. My breasts were augmented, now a cup size larger and higher on the chest. My stomach had been flattened and pulled up, revealing more of my sex crease; it was now less underneath, and my buttocks were more rounded. Finally, they had used skin grafts from an anonymous donor to replace my fingerprints, a procedure I did not know was possible. I was no longer myself.
The pain of the surgeries was now receding, and the scars, as few as they were, could only be noticed if you knew that they were there. As I healed, I focused on new skills, learning Arabic and several European languages. Practical skills too; I was adept with locks and could defend myself if needed.
The biggest change, though, had been internal. There had been a lot of discussion and a little soul-searching, but I had undergone a hysterectomy. There would be no risk of unwanted pregnancy and no inconvenient periods. There had been long sessions with psychologists in the lead up to that operation. I cared not. It was all academic to me; I cared little about the romance side of my life, the rape had seen to that, and my revenge on my rapist, leaving him neutered, had steeled my brain, emotions checked.
Although I had taken intricate steps to ensure that I would not be found out and get caught, the police had tracked me down and had been on their way to arrest me. Before they arrived, my door had been knocked on, and a mysterious couple gave me a choice: leave everything of my old life behind and go with them, or leave everything of my old life behind and go to jail.
My parents were long dead, killed in a traffic accident years ago; I had no siblings and had no lover or close friends, only acquaintances and colleagues from work. I had been quite alone, and walking away from my old life had not been difficult for me. My new life was somewhat different. I did not know how, but I had caught the eye of some secretive loosely aligned government people, people who felt they could use my skills. They had arranged the change in my appearance; although subtle, each change contributed to my new look. I doubted anyone who knew me before would recognise me now.
And my new appearance was key; I was still wanted by the police for the revenge I had wreaked on my rapist attacker. I had found him, drugged him, and removed his testicles. He had subsequently been charged with my rape, using evidence found in my home, and was now in jail, where, I had been told, he was now the favourite plaything of some of the heavier and harder inmates. I did not care. I had done what I felt needed to be done. His balls were history; I did not give a moment’s thought to his daily prison rapes. He had been dead to me the moment I had removed his last testicle.
The skills that I had used to track down my rapist, to find a means to overpower him and then take his testicles using various new identities and disguises, had been noticed by people who look for such things, and they had deemed that I had skills that would be better served in their organisation, rather than in prison. And so, here I was. New appearance, new skills, and new names. The old me was long gone.
“We want to place you in a house in a housing estate. There are some people, one in particular, we would like to keep an eye on. A house next to him has become available, and we want to place you there, and we want you to befriend the neighbours by whatever means you have at your disposal.”
“Okay. Where?” Not that it mattered to me.
“Near Bingley in West Yorkshire.”
“Okay. What is my history?”
“You have moved up from Birmingham to get away from a bad situation. You don’t know people or places around here. You left everything and everyone behind. You will be getting new furniture. You have a small amount of money that you managed to secrete from your ex, who was a money fixer for a Birmingham-based gang of less-than-desirable criminals. They caught your ex with his hands in their pockets, and you escaped, leaving him to take the blame. That will keep you going for a while, and then you will look for work.”
“Okay. And the targets?”
“Middle Easterners, they are funding Hamas through various means in the Northwest. We think predominantly in Bradford and district.”
“Okay, what is my stance?”
“You don’t know much politically, but it seems to you that the Palestinians are being poorly treated, so you have sympathies for their plight. If you let them know that you are financially astute, they may look to you for some guidance.”
“Okay.”
A few days later they gave me a call on my mobile and said I had to go and pick up a new car from the MG dealership in Bradford. It was an electric car. “It will back up your ecological ethos, and you can charge it at home, so it will always be available for a good two hundred and fifty miles range. From there go to the estate agents in Keithley and collect the keys for the house. The next day some of your new furniture will be delivered. If anyone looks up the delivery firm, they are genuine and should not arouse suspicion. You will be getting a bed, wardrobe, drawer unit for your bedroom, sofa and chair for your living room, and a dining table and chairs for your dining room. The house already has a good washing machine, tumble dryer, dishwasher, microwave, etc.”
“Okay, what about stuff like crockery, cutlery, tea towels, towels, clothes, that sort of thing?”
“There are a few basics, but I suggest that you go and buy a few of your own once you have had your delivery.” You might want to stay in a local hotel for a few days until your house is sorted.”
“Okay.”
So, that was me instructed. The next few days were busy. I booked into a hotel with a basic set of clothes and a blonde wig. I took an Uber to pick up the MG car, and then after a night in the hotel, with a curry in the hotel restaurant to help my spice acclimatisation, I drove to the agents to pick up the keys and then visited my new home.
A four-bed house on the outskirts of Bingley, no furniture, but it had the white goods I would need. Carpets upstairs, vinyl tile flooring downstairs. There was a conservatory off the dining room; I would need furniture for that. I found a Dyson vacuum in a downstairs cupboard. The house was basic; I didn’t know who had lived there before or why they had left. I guessed my new neighbours might tell me.
Another night at the hotel, another curry, and then back to the house to wait for my delivery. I had received a text that said they would be coming between ten and eleven, and they turned up just before eleven. It took them just over an hour to locate my furniture, as I needed it in my new house. When they had gone, I went to Dunelm in Keighley to get myself bedding, crockery, pans, etc. I almost filled the car; I couldn’t see out of the back and could hardly see out to the left, passenger side; there was so much piled on the passenger seat. I managed to get it back safely and started the slow job of carrying everything in from the car.
“May I help you,” a male voice said.
I looked over the pile of bedding at the voice. Middle Eastern colouring and short dark hair.
“Oh, hello, yes, I am just moving in; there is so much to do when you start anew.”
“Let me bring stuff from your car into the house; you can then move it around as you need.”
“Okay, thank you.”
It didn’t take long with his help, and soon everything was in from the car and more or less in the right place in the house.
“Thank you so much,” I said. “I would offer you a drink, but all I have is water; I haven’t been shopping yet.”
“Not to worry, that is fine. I am Ali.”
“Oh, thank you, Ali. I am Liz. I am not from here; I have moved up from Birmingham.”
“Oh, okay. Very friendly here. Are you on your own?”
“Yes. Just me, no one else.”