Ray's mention of an "Exchange Program" had struck a chord with many of the men; it had also gotten me thinking of becoming an African thug myself. Of course, I needed to get permission from Cap - having a few of his uniforms being replaced by gang-bangers for a month or two (or three or four) was one thing; having one of his sergeants go through the process was quite another.
He agreed
- a little too quickly, now that I think back on it - and I started working with Zack on a date for my Conversion. I was thinking along the lines we had taken with Ray - I'd shave my head and with thickened lips, dark contacts and nose plugs - plus the skin dye - I'd make one formidable black man.
Sort of like a badass Van Jones. Minus the glasses. Zack had next Friday lined up for me - I'd take the day off and come back to the Four-One on Monday as a ghetto rat. That would also give me some time with Tommy for some particularly rough back-alley sex over the weekend - I was looking forward to raping his ass as a black felon and having him fist me to the shoulder in revenge.
That concept flew out the window Thursday when I was called into Cap's office. Two men were with him. Sitting in front of his desk was a hard-looking older guy in a suit with pale blue eyes and a receding hairline. I made him out as a Fed the moment I laid eyes on him.
The other guy was admiring the NYPD graduation pictures on the wall - he was much younger and built like one of the uniforms under my command - the soft, black-on-black dress shirt did nothing to hide the amazing musculature of his physique; his dark eyes sparkled with humor and his bright grin was surmounted by a well-trimmed mustache. When he smiled at me, I shivered - the man exuded an aura of power even more palpable than Cap's.
Shit, I'd hate to get on his bad side. I'd probably wouldn't live through it.
"Reardon. Thank you for coming. This..." He pointed to the older man.
"... is Paul Gardner. He's chief of the West Coast Bureau of the FBI." Gardner rose from the chair and shook my hand.
"And this is Lucio Giambi." The young man came forward and shook my hand as well. I was sure I knew him from somewhere...
"It's a pleasure to meet you again, Sergeant. Tanner here has nothing but amazing things to say about you and your men." He gave me a broad smile.
"We met briefly at Charlie's wedding. I'm Zack's boss... actually ... Sal Guidice's boss, but you get my drift..."
It took a moment for that to sink in. I sat down heavily into one of the chairs.
"Holy shit..." I knew that the Molanto crime family was one of the most powerful in the country. And if this guy was Salvatore Guidice's boss, that meant...
"You're the Godfather..." And he was so fucking young... plus if my gaydar wasn't failing me, he was also as queer as a three dollar bill.
"Among other things. My legitimate business interests are even more extensive." He saw the look I gave him and winked.
Christ Almighty.
Gardner spoke up.
"Strange bedfellows, right? Let's get right to the point. The Resnikov brothers are involved in some activities that have some serious national security consequences... among them smuggling in fissile materials. Dirty bombs.... or worse."
Lucio continued.
"And I want to take over most of their operations. And shut down the dangerous ones permanently. I may be a crook, Sergeant, but I'm not a traitor. And neither are any of the people that work for me. They wouldn't be breathing for long if they were."
"We're asking you to become our eyes and ears inside of their organization for a while. And this request - and the op itself - is off the books. My superiors - and the people here on the East Coast - wouldn't be too happy with me for working with the most extensive criminal organization in the country, but I'd take Lucio and his folks over any rear-echelon motherfuckers in the Bureau any day."
Lucio chuckled.
"It's actually, the world, Paul... but that's beside the point..."
My head was spinning at the situation.
"What can I do to help?"
"We need you to become a dirty cop. We need you to become corrupt."
"Huh?"
"Your request for transforming into an African thug couldn't have come at a better time. We need you to give the impression to the Resnikovs that you are exactly what you appear to be - a hardened criminal without a conscience... and a sexual predator with an appetite on overdrive. For your officers, they need to believe you've been warped by your conversion into a GENUINE black gang-banger whose life as a white cop is over and done with. No one outside this room can know what you're actually doing."
I thought of my lover.
"I have to let Tommy know what's going on."
Cap spoke up.
"I'll inform Namisato." Which meant that he would only know as much as Cap deemed necessary to tell him. Damnit.
Lucio continued.
"Since you're going to be a thug for an extended period, Sergeant, Zack is going to have to treat your transformation as a permanent one. This means facial resculpting, fingerprint changes - the whole nine yards. 'Jamieson Reardon' - the white cop - will literally cease to exist. With the ability to revert back at a later time, of course. Are you okay with these conditions?"
"Can you do this, Reardon? I know it's a lot to ask. And I have no right to put you in this position." Cap's brilliant green eyes were flinty and sad at the same time.
I swallowed hard and nodded.
"Yes, Sir." The thought of what would be happening both terrified and excited me. I could feel my rod thickening in my suddenly overtight jock.
"What if I need backup?"
"Anyone you get to assist you can't know the truth of the matter either - you're going to have to force them into helping you - whatever that takes." Lucio gave a grim smile.
"And 'whatever that takes' will be in full accordance with your new - and apparently permanent - perspective as a low-life criminal."
"We'd - encourage - you to participate in as many illicit activities as possible... this will cement your reputation with all involved. I should also mention that anything you - or yours - do during this operation will be overlooked in the grand scheme of things. You have carte blanche to do whatever you need. Up to and including murder."
Lucio smiled.
" 'It is so willed there where is power to do that which is willed; and further question not...' Virgil to Charon in The Inferno." He steepled his fingers.
"The plans remain the same - you go in for your transformation tomorrow and Monday, the Four-One will have a new-and-improved Sergeant... and the Grease Tank ... and NCIC... will have a new criminal addition."
* * *
With some trepidation, I arrived early next morning at Zack's warehouse. I was buzzed in and was greeted by the young artist. As usual, he was in his regular uniform of nothing but soccer shoes and a tight pair of ripped jeans.
"I take it Lucio talked to you yesterday?"
I nodded.
"I wasn't expecting THIS. What are you going to do?"
"First off, I'm going to take alginate casts of your face, hands, feet and teeth. That will give me the ability to revert you back to yourself after this is finished. Without those, the process really would be one-way. The prep is exactly the same - removing all of your hair and putting your follicles into the telogen phase... what is different is that we'll be remolding your head and facial features to give you a completely Nubian profile, as well as remolding your finger prints, footprints and teeth. I'm also going to use the translucent primer once you're hairless. That will cover up all your ink and we can start you off fresh. All the dyes and voice-altering compounds are based on a semi-organic nanotechnology - they will sustain themselves indefinitely until a counteragent neutralizes and breaks them down."
"How fast does that happen? The breakdown, I mean."
"Almost immediately. Within twenty minutes, everything reverts to normal."
"Is that what you're using on the muscle-bruthas now as well?"
He nodded.
"The process has come a long way since Charlie became Ray-Ray. Okay... let's get started."
* * *
The casting procedure was a bit uncomfortable. Zack rubbed some oily liquid onto my head and face and proceeded to slather me with some bright white goop; it was difficult to breathe with plastic straws up my nose. I felt it harden and then when he removed the front half, I was looking at a perfect cast of my features.
I had never stayed around for the actual process of a white cop becoming a black gang-banger, so I found myself sporting an extremely painful hardon during the entire experience. I always kept my hair clipped very short, so Zack dispensed with the trimdown and proceeded directly to applying the hair removal cream. After 30 minutes, I went into the industrial showers and rinsed the stuff off and applied the facial and body scrubs - I emerged completely smooth with my skin as soft as a baby's ass.
We walked over to the reclining barber's chair.
"I'm going to knock you out for a little bit, Jamie. I'll explain why later. Have a seat." I gave him a look as he took out a syringe and a small vial of colorless liquid.
"It's something that Lucio's people adapted from the Soviets. It's a variation on the NKVD cocktail."
"NKVD?"
"Soviet secret police. Pump your fist." I squeezed my hand shut and he wrapped a rubber tube around my bicep. In a moment, the vein rose to the surface. Zack filled a syringe with a clear liquid then held it up and tapped it to remove any air bubbles. I felt a prick as the needle entered my arm and in a few moments, the world went black.
* * *
My eyes snapped open - I was still in the chair and Zack was arranging items on the table. I cleared my throat.
"How long was I out?" Damn... the pitch of my voice had dropped considerably.
He turned to me and smiled.
"About ninety minutes. That's about normal. I also took the opportunity to tint your eyebrows and lashes. They weren't dark enough. And I used the compound to deepen your voice."
I looked in the mirror and my previously brown brows were now a dark jet. My eyes themselves looked wider with the darker lashes as well.
"We're going to do the remolding first. You ready?"
I nodded.
"Let's do it." My cock had stiffened again once I was awake; I was looking forward to the transformation Zack would perform on me. He motioned me over to a workbench that housed a large boxy mechanism. It was hinged and he opened it up. There were two hand impressions in the base of the unit.
The dark-haired artist pulled on a pair of gloves and motioned me to hold out my hands. He smeared them with a bluish compound that soaked into my skin. My hands began to turn color and soon they had taken on an ashen hue. Then he motioned me to put my hands in the cavities and closed the lid.
"I'm going to first erase your prints and then impress the new set on your hands." We had already established my criminal profile as
'Jericho Landry' and the prints that Zack would impose on me would now match the manufactured records inserted into NIBRS, NCIC and other law enforcement databases.
He sat down at a computer console and tapped in some commands. I felt a constriction on my hands within the device; the pressure stayed constant for about 10 minutes and then gradually lessened. A green light blinked on the top of the device and Zack opened the lid. I removed my hands and looked at them; They looked pretty much the same except the tips seem to be a little more tapered than before.
"Feet next!"
* * *
Zack used a similar device for my feet. When I asked him about that step, he quirked a dark eyebrow.
"For an operation like this Jamie, we should all suffer from an overabundance of caution. It's going to be dangerous enough as it is for you and I don't want to take any chances."
Next step was my face. I was brought over to a large table with a thick fiberglass and plaster mold on it. The upper half was suspended in a geared metal frame.
"Okay, I'm going to put the compound on your face and head now. Then you're going to settle into the mold and I'm going to lower and clamp the front half onto its partner. I'll be threading some rubber tubing through the mask and into your nose to reshape your nostrils and let you breathe. You're going to feel more pressure than on your hands and feet because we're physically reshaping your skull as well as your features. You ready?"
I swallowed hard.
'Jamie Reardon' - the cop - the man I was - would cease to exist until such time that Zack would change me back. Given the situation I was putting myself into, there was a chance that I could wind up being a dead man. A dead black felon. I nodded.
Zack rubbed the material onto my hairless face and head. After a few minutes, he motioned me onto the table. I laid back and stared up as the front portion of the mold as it began to drop. It stopped about seven inches from my nose. My creator then threaded the rubber tubes into my nostrils and the mold continued its descent then clamped onto me.
The pressure on my face and head was just short of painful. Zack had put his hand in mine and I gripped it tightly as the plasticity compound and the mold reshaped my features; the compression slowly eased and I felt, then heard, the front mold disengage. I blinked as the casting was removed and saw the transformation artist staring at me intently. I levered myself up and swung my legs over the side of the table.
"Ev'rythin' OK?" In addition to the deeper voice, I was now sporting a noticeable drawl. I reached up to touch my face and encountered a set of thickened lips and a much wider nose. I continued to feel the changes that had been wrought to my appearance; my brows felt thicker and heavier - my ears felt smaller and the shape of my skull felt different as well.
"Perfect. It's just a bit unsettling to see a drop-dead handsome black man with that ruddy Irish complexion of yours."
I laughed.
"You nevva heard ov summbody bein' 'black Irish'??"
He chuckled as well.
"Primer and dye is next. I'm going to apply several light coats on you. It's in a solvent suspension, so you may get a little light-headed during the process. If you feel dizzy, don't be a hero and keep quiet - you're going to be on a two-by-four about three feet off the ground and it's not worth you falling on your ass, okay?"
"You're da boss." I followed him to the airbrush booth to continue my transmutation into a gang-banger.
* * *
First step was the primer. The material that was sprayed onto the tats on my arms and chest was a much lighter and pinker color, but quickly faded into the same tone as my own skin. It was eerie to watch the ink that had been a part of me for a such large part of my life just... vanish.
"Cain we stop a minnit, Zack?" I climbed down from the platform.
"Sure bud - not a problem." His hazel eyes were full of concern.
"Something wrong?"
"No... yes... oh hell, Ah don' know... Ah know Ah'm doin' dis fo' a good reason, but itz scary losin' mahself like dis..." The deeper voice and the drawl were also screwing with my head as well.
He rubbed my shoulders.
"Everyone gets that feeling of dislocation, Jamie. It's normal. I've done enough of these to know that this midpoint is particularly upsetting for anyone. Just relax and stay calm. When we're done, you're going to be amazed at how great you'll feel. And look. C'mon - let's get the dye on you."
I got up on the raised platform while Zack donned a thin, plastic suit, goggles and respirator.
"Remember what I said about feeling dizzy..." His voice was muffled by the equipment.
I gave him a thumbs up and he started the compressor.
* * *
It was over before I knew it. The sprayer stopped and I opened my eyes to see my newly black skin. Everything was absolutely perfect - there were natural gradations of color on my body and my palms and fingertips sported a lighter color that contrasted perfectly with the rest of my complexion. I looked down at my cock. Without hair, that now-ebon member looked
incredibly large. The large, meaty head was also a slightly lighter color than the thick, dark brown shaft.
"Stay in position, bud... let me put the heaters and blowers on for a few minutes before you start touching yourself."
The warm air swirled about me and I closed my eyes in pleasure. After a short time, that stopped as well.
"You can come down now."
Zack helped me off the platform and I trailed my hands over my new African body.
"Shee-it... dis iz amazin'..."
"I have a little touch up to do. I used to do this before the general dye job, but I found it works better now afterwards. Bend over and grab your ankles, please?"
I felt the cool mist of the airbrush on my pucker as the dark-haired artist applied a bit more dye to my rosebud. This was followed up by the warm air of a hair dryer. The process was repeated two more times before Zack was satisfied. I straightened up and stretched my arms behind my back. Then he motioned me into the chair. The areas between my toes got the same treatment and finally, the strip on the soles of my feet that had been covered by the platform.
"I've got to add your hair and change your eye color as well. After that, you can take a look at the new and improved African-American you."
"Ah already have brown eyes." I was stroking my massive shaft in my dark hands and a trail of pre-cum was dribbling out of my cock.
"We're doing something a little different for you." He grabbed a small bottle off the makeup table.
"Lean back for me?"
I did and he pulled down my lower lids and put drops in my eyes. Almost immediately they began to burn and I raised my hands to my face. He batted them away.
"Don't touch. I know it burns, but the solution has to soak in and re-pigment your iris. We need five sets of drops for the change."
After a moment, he handed me a tissue and I patted my eyes dry. I was blinking away tears when he approached with the bottle again.
"First two sets go in right away. Then every fifteen minutes after the initial application."
Each insertion of the drops stung a little less, and the final set felt like nothing at all. Zack stood back and nodded in appreciation.
"You look amazing, Rico... hair and some bling, and we're done."
Rico. Jericho. My muscle-brutha name. I grinned in anticipation. Thanks to my own slumbering follicles and empty hair shafts, the curly, ethnic stuff I would be getting would be indistinguishable from the real thing and I wouldn't need to shave at all. He applied a gel to my face and head and then gently placed the artificial material onto me. The hair was suspended within a gummy base that allowed it to be stretched onto my skin and stay put. It was strange that I felt the hair starting to burrow into my skin - he explained that was due to the magnetic attraction between the applied lotion and the treated shafts. Once he was satisfied with it's placement, he handed me a pair of cylindrical electrodes to hold.
"Once I apply the nine-volt burst, the nano-fins on the shafts will open up and anchor in place. We follow a similar process when we remove them at a later date." I felt a brief, but sharp, stabbing pain all over my face and head when the voltage was applied, and then Zack used a warm sponge to remove all traces of the anchoring gel that had surrounded my head and facial hair.
He handed me a hinged cock ring and motioned me to put it on. Then he handed me the Allen wrench and I fastened it around my chocolate brown package. The ring was heavy - it pulled my large balls tight in their sac and made the engorged shaft look even more substantial.
"Okay, bud - time for the big reveal!" He pointed me to the full length mirror in the next room. With some trepidation, I got up and turned the corner.
* * *
"Jeezus Fuckin' Christ..." A totally different man stared at me in the mirror.
'Jamieson Reardon' - the man I had been for thirty-five years - was gone and a younger, meaner, brutal-looking black man named
'Jericho Landry' had taken his place. I was terrified and exhilarated at the same time.
I wasn't wearing a disguise - this was ME now. My dark hands stroked the smooth brown skin covering my body, and the razor-edged, short black stubble covering my head. Sculpted sable brows surmounted hazel green-brown eyes gave me a cold and calculating look.
I was one intimidating muscle-brutha. I sported a tightly trimmed razor-edged beard as well, and my now-wider lips curled into a wicked white smile at my transformation. I turned for a side view - I stared in fascinated approval at Zack's changes to my skull; the back of my head was rounded and dipped sharply where it met my neck; my brow ridge had thickened and my cheekbones were more prominent; my nose was flatter and broader with bigger nostrils and my lips had thickened to a sensuous new fullness that dominated my whole lower face.
My steel-encircled horsecock was weeping pre-cum onto the concrete flooring and my dark hand closed around my shaft. The reflection of a ferocious black man stroking his cock was overwhelming and after a few pulls, the orgasm of my life thundered through me; the silvery surface of the mirror was splattered with gallons of my seed. I leaned against the mirror, spent.
"Shee-it... dat wuz da best jerkoff Ah evva had..." I turned to Zack.
"Iz dis wat da otha fellas go troo when dey b'cumm bruthas?"
He nodded.
"It's an amazing feeling, isn't it?"
"Yeah... it's a real power trip..." Now I knew how the uniforms I commanded felt. No wonder it was so difficult for them to return to being a white man after being like this.
The rush was incredible.
"By the way, Rico ... 'Madagascar. Indigo. Batman'..."
I felt a sudden wave of disorientation that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"Wat da fuq jus' happen'd?"
"Remember when I said I needed to knock you out for a bit? Well, during those ninety minutes, you had some post-hypnotic directives programmed into you. I just activated them. They're some additional insurance for your safety."
Ah didn' feel no diff'rent.
"Wat did'chu do?"
"What's your Department of Corrections ID?"
"24J685... FUCK!!" It wuz like a his'try book 'bout me -
'bout Rico Landry - opened up in mah haid. Ah tol' him how Ah wuz first arrest'd an' picked out inna lineup. D'en wuz sentenc'd an' put in jail. Ah knew ev'ry detail, down tah wat da judge look'd like an' da color ov da DA's tie. An' how Ah gotz warrantz outstandin' fo' parole vio-layshuns.
"You've received implanted memories of your life as Jericho Landry as well and those will supercede any details of your former existence as Jamieson Reardon. Those are still there, of course - just not as real and personal to you now. While you're out of uniform, you also will be speaking at about a tenth-grade level - since you never finished high school..." He grinned.
"... and you'll be using much more guttural speech from now on as well. In uniform, you will really have to concentrate to speak as you did. I recommend going with the flow and just speaking as a thug all the time.
Over the course of about a week, your inhibitions will loosen and you'll be reacting and responding more and more like the gang-banger you are and less and less like the police officer you were. Finally, with the exception of the guys from the Four-One, you are completely unable to discuss your transformation with anyone that didn't know you previously as a white man, and completely unable to mention what you're really doing at the sex club to anyone except myself, Captain Morgan, Lucio Giambi and Paul Gardner."
"Wow... dat's fuckin' amazin'...." Shee-it... even mah memories wuz Rico's now...
"Did you bring your leathers with you?"
"Yeah. Got mah harness, strapz, jock an' bootz. Brought mah Muir cap too."
"Well, get them on. We're going to the Greasetank and I'm going to introduce you around." He paused.
"There'll be plenty of white boys just waiting for you to breed raw..."
Ah sidled ovva to Zack an' started t'unbutton hiz jeans, d'en slid 'em down.
"Mmmm... commando..." Ah fondled hiz growin' package d'en Ah hoisted him onta a workbench.
"Ah ain't waitin' dat long..." Ah popp'd a nearby bottle o' lube an' slicked mahself up. D'en Ah grabbed 'holda hiz trim waist an' thrust mahself in.
* * *
Well, my last story had a little bit of a cliffhanger in it, and this story is the prequel to another story arc. When I wrote "The Exchange Program", I really had to reflect as to the WHY Jamieson Reardon would behave in the way he did towards Tony McLaren by forcibly Converting him back to the gang-banger Benjamin Cantrell again.
It was important for me to try to get back to writing more of a tale that would keep you on the edge versus just a lurid screen-scroller.
This arc will have a lot more meat in terms of the story itself, as opposed to just the descriptions of thug-on-thug sex... but will still include scenes that will get you hard and leaking... You'll also notice that Jamie's (now Jericho's) asides to himself begin to mirror his urban patois as the grip of his Conversion tightens about him.
