Chapter 1

Usually, I don’t go to estate sales, but it was Saturday and I had nothing else to do. The signs led to a dilapidated Victorian house set back from the road behind a stone wall and rusty iron gate. It was late in the afternoon and there wasn’t much left. Rummaging around, I found an old black leather briefcase with the initials DKMvH. Inside were drawings for some type of device and a notebook written in German. Not the kind of thing that a bargain hunter would want, but I had learned the language during a neurobiology fellowship at the Max Plank Institute and was curious about what it could be. The briefcase had a price of ten dollars. I offered two and we settled on five. I drove home, emptied out the contents on the kitchen table, poured myself a glass of cab and examined my purchase.

I could tell from the tubes and coils that the drawings were plans for building some type of old-fashioned electromagnetic device. At the turn of the century people thought that electricity and magnetism were a cure for almost every ailment. Usually, it was one or the other, but this one cleverly combined them into an electromagnetic pulse. That was way more advanced than anything from that time. I picked up the notebook to see if it provided any explanation. It was a lab journal. The first entry was dated 14 April 1938, which made more sense. It would correspond to the beginning of the Nazi’s preparations for war, so this may have been some type of military experiment. EMP’s can disable electronic devices, but there weren’t any at the time and this one wouldn’t have been powerful enough anyway, so it had to have some other use. I took the notebook into the living room and continued reading.

Herr Doktor, I guessed from the D, was excited about a project to restructure the mind. Continuing, I realized I misinterpreted the meaning. It wasn’t an academic study about how we think, but a military program to control what we think. Not surprising, given the Nazi’s obsession with obedience. By the beginning of the war the doctor had made some progress. He could control his subjects’ behavior by using EMP’s to interrupt their thought process, but with a corresponding reduction in their intelligence. The longer they were exposed, the harder it was for them to think coherently and the more juvenile they became. Turning adults into obedient children had no military value.

By 1940 the program had changed to experimenting with drugs. It too was a failure. The doctor’s entries were pessimistic for both his work and his future. Then he had a breakthrough. He found that lab rats exposed to prolonged EMP’s produced a substance in their brains which created a highly suggestible state when injected into humans and during which the subjects could be made to accept new memories. He experimented with brainwashing enemy spies. Unfortunately for the doctor, making them compliant by giving them new memories erased the information they wanted to extract. The notes ended abruptly in 1943.

I thought about the potential use of the device and the drug. Mental illness usually manifested itself in adults, so if you could reduce their mental age, perhaps you could also control their symptoms. And criminal behavior was linked to childhood conditioning. What if you overwrote those negative memories with positive ones? I decided to follow up the experiments.

On Monday I spoke with Alice in our school of engineering. They built the prototype equipment for our lab. She looked over the drawings.
“Can you build it?” I asked optimistically.

She shook her head. “This technology is obsolete and probably a lot of it was specially fabricated back then.”

“So, there’s no way to duplicate it?”

She smiled. “I didn’t say that. Whatever it was used for, it would have been in a cabinet the size of a refrigerator. Using a circuit board would reduce it to about a desktop computer. A chip would make it the size of a laptop. That’s how much progress we’ve made.”

“So you can build it.”

“Yes and no. I can build you something that will do the same thing, but it won’t be identical. And this,” she pointed to the helmet, “looks large enough to fit a person.” She looked at me skeptically. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know yet. It was an early attempt to treat epilepsy, but it appears to have had a side effect of stimulating nerve regeneration,” I lied. “I need it that size to fit over a rat.”

Alice nodded. “Do you want me to bill your department?”

“Yes. How long will it take?”

“Things are slow, so I should get it done in a week. Is that okay?”

“Perfect.”

Chapter 2

Alice called and said the equipment was ready. I stopped by after work. She showed me a black metal box with an on-off switch, a red button and three knobs. Next to it was a plastic bowl with a wire lead.

“These controls,” she pointed to the knobs, “adjust the amplitude, strength, of the pulse; its duration, how long it lasts; and its frequency, how many times it cycles per minute. The red dots on the dials are set to about what the device would have produced. The device will continue to send out EMP pulses until it is turned off. The antenna system,” she pointed to the bowl, “is insulated, so it won’t affect your electronics, and the lead plugs in here.” She picked up the cord and showed me a jack on the side of the control box.

I brought the device home with me. How to test it was a problem. The Nazis weren’t concerned about using human test subjects, but the university’s ethics committee would require years of testing to prove it was safe before allowing clinical trials. I looked over at my desk and the message light was blinking on my answering machine. It was Rob. We had been dating for a few months. He wanted to break up. The bastard couldn’t even tell me in person. Problem solved. I called him back, but he didn’t pick up. He probably expected hysterics. Instead, I left a message that I understood and that I had some friends who I can fix him up with. Why didn’t he come over for a drink Saturday night at about nine? Of course, a few minutes later he called me back. Guys think with their dick. Welcome, Mr. Guinea Pig.

I had my plan worked out. At the lab, I filled a syringe with pentobarbital and put it in my handbag. On my way home, I stopped at the hardware store and picked up a roll of duct tape and a strip of Velcro to secure the cap. Saturday morning the secondhand furniture store delivered a heavy wood armchair. That night, I put the syringe under a napkin on the side table next to the couch and positioned the chair across from it. I took off one of my earrings and tossed it under the chair. For effect, I opened a bottle of wine, poured two glasses and put them on the coffee table. I looked at my watch. It was quarter to. What the hell. I drank the wine and refilled my glass. The intercom chimed at nine. I buzzed Rob in and stood at the open door.

“Hi Rob,” I greeted him warmly.”

“Umm, hi,” he responded tentatively. “Umm, you aren’t . . .?”

“No, of course not,” I reassured him. “Relationships don’t always work out. Better to know sooner than later. We can still be friends.”

“Yeah, friends, sure.”

“Do you want to come in or do you just want me to text you Susie’s phone number?” Susie was an attractive blonde. I knew Rob had eyes for her at one of my parties.

“Susie? Oh, yeah, sure,” he agreed enthusiastically.

I took his arm and guided him in. I could see him looking at the wine. A drink and maybe he’ll get lucky, a twofer. Little did he know. Like I said, guys think with their dick. As we headed for the couch, I reached up and felt my ear lobe.

“Oh Rob, I lost one of my earrings.” I pretended to look around. “There it is, under that chair. Would you be a dear and get it for me, please?” I gave him a big smile.

He had to get down on his hands and knees to reach under the chair. As he did, I picked up the syringe, stuck it in his butt and pushed the plunger.

“Ow, what the fuck?” He tried to stand up and hit his head on the chair seat. “Ow, fuck, fuck , fuck.” He rubbed his head and struggled to stand up, but the sedative was beginning to work.

“You really hit your head, Rob. Here, let me help you up.” I took his arm and guided him to the chair. “You’d better sit down.” I watched as his eyes began to close and his head nodded.

“What’cha do, wha,cha, mmm,” he slurred and slumped forward. I caught him and pushed him back. I used the duct tape around his chest to hold him upright and to secure his arms and legs to the chair. He’d be out for at least four hours, so there wasn’t anything more for me to do. I finished off my glass of wine and toasted him with his. Waste not want not.

Tomorrow was going to be a busy day, so I decided to get some sleep. My alarm went off at 2 AM and I eagerly went into the living room to see if Rob was awake. Nope, but he had pissed himself while he was out. I covered his mouth with duct tape, stood back and slapped him. “Wake up!” No response. I slapped him twice. “Wake up!” He groggily lifted his head. I slapped him again. “That a boy, we’ve got work to do.” His eyes focused on me. I slapped him again, just for fun.

He realized he was restrained and started to struggle. I grabbed his hair and pulled his head up “You must be thirsty. I am going to cut a slit in your gag so you can drink.” I went to the kitchen and came back with a knife, a glass of water and a straw. I showed him the glass. He nodded that he wanted the water. I shook my head. “Not yet.” I put the glass down and used two fingers to unzip his fly. I reached in and pulled out his dick. Assuming the worst, he shook his head wildly.

I cut a slit in the tape covering his mouth and put the knife down. He relaxed. I gave him the water. “Now, here’s the deal,” I warned him picking up the knife and testing the edge with my thumb. I am going to remove the tape. If you make any sound, I will cut off you dick and stuff it in your mouth to shut you up. Nod if you understand. He nodded. “Good.” Menacing him with the knife, I stripped off the tape. I stepped back and glared at him. “I mean it. Not one word or I separate you from your pathetic manhood.”

I brought over the generator and plugged in the cap. He watched apprehensively. I am going to use you as a subject for an experiment. It’s not painful,” I reassured him. Actually, I had no idea. “I am going to put this cap on your head and record your brainwaves.” Big lie. “After we finish, you will sign a consent and release form saying that you volunteered as a test subject. Once the experiment is complete, you can go.” Bigger lie. I tucked his dick back in his pants and zipped up his fly. “Okay, no trouble. We can always go to plan B. I held the knife against his crotch.

I placed the cap on his head and wrapped the Velcro over it and under his chin to secure it. I left the settings Alice thought duplicated the device. “One, two,” I pushed the button, “three.” I thought his eyes blinked, but there was no other visible reaction. “Just answer my questions while I record. What’s your name?”

“Rob.”

“Your full name.”

“Robert Johnson.”

“Where do you live.”

“365 Memorial Drive, apartment 3A.”

“How old are you?”

“37. Are we done? Can I go now?

“No, shut up.”

I didn’t have the doctor’s time or resources. It was also possible that the doctor was making up his results to keep his project and himself alive. I pushed the red button. At the end of the cycle, I questioned him again.

“What’s happening?”

“You had an accident and you’re in a private clinic. We had to restrain you. I need you to answer some questions. Do you understand?” He nodded. “Good. “What’s your name?”

“Robby”

“Your full name.”

Robby Johnson.”

“Where do you live?”

“27 Cypress St.”

“Who lives there with you?”

“My mom and dad and Katie, my sister.

“How old are you?”

“Umm, I, umm, sixteen,” he replied hesitantly.

Apologies to the doctor. Two cycles regressed him about ten years. Just like Alzheimer’s, the EMP’s seemed to wipe out newest memories first. I pushed the red button. He looked scared and struggled to get up.

“Hi, I’m Sally,” I didn’t want him to have my real name, “your babysitter. Your mother and father had to go away and I’m taking care of you. We played a game and I tied you up. Let’s play some more and then I’ll let you go. What’s your name?”

“Wobby.”

“Do you know your last name?” He shook his head. “Is it Jones?” He shook his head. “Is it Johnson?” He shook his head. “Do you know your last name.” He shook his head and started to cry. “It’s okay. Do you know how old you are?”

“Uh huh.”

“How old are you?” He looked at his right hand. I cut it loose. He held up five fingers.”

“You’re five?”

“Uh huh”

“Do you now your mommy and daddy’s names?” He shrugged. “Is her name Mary?”

“I’m firsty.”

“Okay, let’s get some milk and cookies.” I released him and brought him into the kitchen. “Sit down.” I poured him a glass of milk and found a package of chocolate chip cookies. I put some on a plate and put it in front of him. Not the ideal breakfast for a little boy. I suddenly had an image of Tom Hanks in ‘Big.’ A child in a man’s body. Except this wasn’t a fantasy.

While Rob ate, I thought about what to do with him. I assumed his memory loss was irreversible, but I couldn’t be sure. Amnesia victims often regained their memories, while Alzheimer’s and other types of head injuries never recovered. I needed to observe him for a week. At the same time, I didn’t want anyone to know he was here. I called the lab and left a message that there was a death in my family and needed to take time off. As to Rob, I wanted to be sure that nobody could recognize or find him. I had an idea.

“Robby, come with me.” I took his hand and brought him into my bedroom.” I’m your babysitter and your mommy wants you to be a good little boy and do what I tell you. We’re going to play a dress-up game. You had an accident and wet your pants. We have to change you. I undressed him. His cell phone and wallet were in his pockets. I took a pair of pink panties from my dresser and slipped them on him. “You look very pretty, Robby. We’re going to make believe you a girl. You can be my sister Robin, okay?” He looked at me blankly. “It will be fun.”
I found a skirt with an elastic waist and a pullover top. My shoes wouldn’t fit him or now her. She’d have to wear his, oops, her sneakers. Maybe tights. They’re stretchy. I pulled on a pink pair. “Now we’re going to do a makeover.” I took her hand. “You have to stay still.” Luckily, Rob never had much of a beard. Some foundation, a touch of lipstick, a little blush and brushing his hair into bags with a couple of barrettes did the rest.

“Okay Robby, now you can play. Do you want to watch television?”

“Uh huh.”

I looked at him disapprovingly. “Good little girls say, “Yes, Sally.”

“Yeth, Thally.” Too bad he grew out of his lisp and into a macho asshole. She looked and sounded adorable.

“You’re welcome, Robin. That’s going to be your new name. Like a pretty bird. Can you say it?”

“Wobin.” I laughed.

“Say it again, please.
”
“Wobin.”

“Perfect.”

I took Robby, now Robin, into the living room, turned on the TV and found a kid’s program. I left her sitting on the rug. I had an old stuffed teddy bear in my bedroom. I brought it out and gave it to her. I went back into the bedroom, took his cell phone and threw it in a sink of water. There was twenty-three dollars in his wallet. I took the money, shredded his license and credit cards, checked to make sure there was nothing that could be identified in his wallet and threw it and his phone in the dumpster. Robby was gone for good.

I didn’t have any food in the house to feed a kid. Robin looked convincing enough to take out. I decided to take a trip to the grocery store.
“Robin.” She didn’t respond. “Robin,” I said loudly to get her attention, “that’s your new name. You’re Robin and when somebody calls you, you have to answer. “We’re going to the store. When we get there, you have to hold my hand and you are not allowed to speak to strangers. Do you understand?” She nodded. “Remember, use your words. Do you understand?”

“Yeth, Thally.”

“Very good. Let’s go.”

I took her hand and we walked to my car. I buckled her in the passenger seat. To be safe, I drove to a Walmart that was half an hour away. I went up and down the aisles with Robin in tow filling the cart with easy to prepare foods that I guessed she would eat. On our return home I made us mac and cheese.

After dinner I put her in front of the TV and by nine o’clock I had enough babysitting. I took off the skirt and kept her in the panties and top. I wanted to keep an eye on her, so I put her in my bed, gave her the teddy bear, turned out the light and waited until she was asleep. I was concerned that she might recover some of her adult memories overnight, so I filled another syringe with the anesthetic, just in case. At five I rolled over and checked. She was still asleep. At seven I nudged her awake.

“C’mon sleepy head, it’s time to get up.” I watched for any change in her behavior as her eyes opened. “Your name is Robin,” I coached her. “Say it.”

“Wobbin.”

Perfect. No change. That didn’t mean the effect was permanent. Sometimes it took months or years for recovery. I needed a way to get rid of him permanently. Murder wasn’t an option. Not just morally, but practically I had no way to dispose of a body. I could regress him to an infant, but that just postponed the problem, if his memories eventually returned. He thought he was such a ladies’ man, selling him to a brothel in Asia would be poetic justice. I had no idea of the logistics of shipping him. Maybe something closer to home.

I went on the Frederick’s of Hollywood website and ordered their slutty schoolgirl costume with a red plaid pleated microskirt and sheer crop top with a tie and a pink glamour wig. White cotton panties with a unicorn, white over the knee socks and pink glitter sneakers from Etsy completed the outfit. Both had two days shipping. I continued to observe her over the next week. There was still no change.

On Saturday I put my plan into action. I dressed her in all the items, supplemented with bright red lipstick and glamour eyelashes. “Robin, it’s Halloween and we’re going to get you dressed to go trick or treating. You have to be a good girl and do what Sally says. Then we’re going to go out and get lots and lots of candy. Look, a pretty wig, I settled it on her head. And makeup! You’re going to look like a grown-up. We’re going to have lots of fun!”

As it started to get dark, I put her in the car and drove to where the hookers hung out. “Okay, Robin. You see the woman over there?” I pointed to a black woman in a purple Lycra dress and platform heels. “She has lots of candy for you. Go on.” Robin naively went over to her. I got in the car and kept an eye on Robin. The woman confronted her and after a minute realized that Robin was clueless. She looked around to see if this was some kind of a setup, then dragged Robin over to another woman and they had a conversation. The first woman held onto Robin while the second woman used her cell phone. About five minutes later a black Lincoln pulled up, the passenger’s window rolled down, the woman holding Robin spoke to someone, the back door opened, Robin was shoved in and the car drove off. Rob was about to get all the sex he could imagine, although on the receiving end, I laughed at the pun. Mission accomplished.

Chapter3

The device worked. Now I needed to figure out what to do with it. The technology wasn’t patentable and proving that it had medical value, if it did, was expensive. Even if I could get funding, which I couldn’t, because I turned the proof into a tranny prostitute, it would take years for approval. So, right now all I had was a very satisfying way to punish ex-boyfriends.

On Monday, I had to return to work. Helen, my boss, a fifty-something frustrated bitch, was waiting for me. “Come into my office,” she ordered. I followed her. She picked up a piece of paper. “Did you buy this equipment?” she accused me. Without seeing what it was, I couldn’t know for sure, but I assumed that it was the invoice for the EMP device. “Twelve hundred and twenty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents,” she carried on. “What is it for and where is it?”

Shit. I needed to think fast. “What are you talking about,” I challenged her. “I didn’t buy any equipment. Let me see the invoice.” I studied it. “There must be some mistake. They’ve got the wrong name. I have no idea what this is for. Give me the invoice and I will take it upstairs and get it straightened out.” Since she was fat and lazy, she handed it to me.

“Don’t take too long,” she warned me.

The obvious solution was for me to pay the invoice. The obvious problem was I didn’t have twelve hundred dollars. Okay, Plan B. Maybe the device could also get rid of pain-in-the-ass bosses. I went down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. Twenty minutes later I returned to the lab. “Well,” she confronted me, hands on her hips. Fuck you, came to mind, but instead I smiled and told her that they had the wrong department. She shook her head and went back into her office. I figured it would be a while before they sent another invoice, which gave me time to put Plan B into action.

Tuesday morning, I put the device, the Velcro and the duct tape into a small suitcase and left for work early. On the way, I stopped off at Starbucks for a grande mocha Frappuccino. I only needed her unconscious long enough to secure her and hook her up, so I got a bottle of chloral hydrate from the stockroom, old fashioned knock out drops among its other uses, and added a dropperful to the cup. When my boss came in, I greeted her with the doctored coffee. “I’m sorry about the confusion yesterday,” I apologized using my most sincere voice. Being unable to resist anything both fattening and free, she took it. “You’re welcome,” I mouthed as she carried her prize into her office. Ten minutes later the bitch was face down on her desk. And to work.

I went into her office and shook her. “Are you okay,” I asked with mock concern. No response. Excellent. I duct taped her upright in her chair and secured the helmet. I got her wallet out of her bag and checked her license. She was fifty-three. She also had sixty bucks she no longer needed. Waste not want not. I took fifty. I wanted her gone for good, so I gave her twelve cycles over the next hour. From the puddle on the floor and the smell of shit when I finished, she was regressed to infancy. I released her and her head flopped onto the desk with a satisfying thud.

The next morning when I got to the lab, the VP of HR was waiting. The cleaning crew found her slumped over her desk making babbling noises. He wasn’t sure how it happened. It might have been a stroke. As soon as he left, I called up Alice. The device was promising. We needed something that would hold a dozen rats. An order for two dozen rats completed the preparations.

Chapter 4

The rats arrived the next day. I prepared half of them as a control. On Friday, Alice delivered a metal box with an antenna inside the lid and leads to plug into the device instead of the helmet. I had no idea how you figured a rat’s age or whether they needed to be alive to produce the extract. The notebooks became less detailed as the need for a result became more imperative. I put the rats in the box, closed the lid and gave them one pulse. I checked and they were alive, but not moving. A comparison of the brain tissue with the control group showed a unique protein. I had no idea how much was necessary. A lot of biologicals work in minute doses and with the use of modern technology the extract was pure compared to the homogenized tissue that Herr Doktor would have used.

I wanted to test how effective the drug was at reprogramming a subject. The notes indicated that there was a complete personality change without any loss of cognitive function. I feminized Rob by asserting my authority over him as a child. Changing a straight man into a transwoman would be dramatic proof. I needed a guinea pig and, being short an ex-boyfriend, I put on a red minidress with a plunging neckline that just covered my nipples, red patent fuck-me pumps and headed for the local bar. Within five minutes I was hit on by a dozen hairy chested, gold medallioned, macho assholes. I blew them off, figuratively, and chatted up a short, thin guy with his hair in a ponytail.
“Hi, I’m Karen,” I smiled demurely. “Do you come here much? This is my first time. It seems like a nice place.” He introduced himself as Alex. A couple of drinks later we were headed back to my place for fun and games, at least for me.

At my apartment, I sat him down on the couch, pulled down his pants and gave him a handjob. Mmm, well, mostly a handjob. Professionally, I wanted to confirm that he was heterosexual, which his less than impressive, but perfect for panties, dick confirmed. Personally, I was horny anticipating that I would soon have the little sister I always wanted to boss around. Pretending to be thirsty after our five minutes of cosmic lovemaking, I brought two glasses of wine. Five minutes later, he was out. I took his wallet out of his back pocket, carried him to the chair and taped him in. After a couple of hours, he started to come around.

“Aaah, waah, haahpen,” he asked groggily. I slapped him. “Huh, wha, whaya do?” I slapped him again. Okay, so I like slapping guys. As he came awake, he tried to get up and realized he was tied to the chair. “What’d you, what the …?” He struggled to move his arms.

“Relax tiger. You like sex games, don’t you? You want to fuck me,” I offered suggestively. I could see him thinking about it for a second and deciding that he liked being tied up less than he liked getting laid.

“No, let me go you crazy bitch.” He struggled to get loose.

“I got you off, remember. Now it’s my turn. C’mon. Be a good sport. Relax and enjoy it,” I encouraged him. I showed him the syringe. His eyes went wide. “This is a designer drug that enhances your sexual experience. Better than Viagra. It’ll keep you hard for hours.

“No, no, no!” he shouted,” I don’t want to. Let me go.” He changed his tone. “Please,” he begged, “I’ll do anything you want. I promise.”

“Sorry, not gonna happen and you’re making too much noise.” I tore off a strip of tape and covered his mouth. “There, that’s a good little boy,” I patronized him. “Mamma’s gonna make you feel so good.” I held up the syringe. He shook his head wildly. “Look,” I said sternly, “It’s going to happen and if you struggle and the needle breaks off in your vein, it can go to your heart and that’s the end,” I warned him, “so stay still and let me get on with it.” I moved forward and found a vein. He gave me a terrified look. I smiled reassuringly as I injected the drug. After a few minutes his expression went blank. I had prepared a script:

“Your name is Alexandra, but you like to be called Alexa. You are a man, but all your life you have wanted to be a woman. There is nothing more important to you than being a woman. You love to dress very feminine, in skirts and dresses, pretty, lacy underwear, stockings, shoes with high heels and use makeup. I am Karen, your older sister. When you were little, I dressed you up in girl’s clothes so we could play dolls and now I am helping you to become a woman. You want to please me so that I will help you. There isn’t anything in the world you want more than for me to help you to be a woman. It is very important that you please me so that I will help you. Everything I tell you to do is for your own good. You must do whatever I say. I know what’s best for you and you will never question me. You will be completely obedient to me.”
After about twenty minutes, Alex, now Alexa, I hoped, opened his, now her, eyes. I pulled off the tape.

“What is your name?”

She gave me a puzzled look.

“You have to answer my questions,” I reminded her.

“You know my name. It’s Alexa.”

“Your full name.”

“Alexandra Chandler.”

Interesting, the new memories were superimposed on her old ones. I continued to question her about her date of birth and address. She remembered both the same as they were on her driver’s license. I tested her false memories.

“Alexa, who am I?”

Again, she was puzzled. I looked at her impatiently.

“You’re Karen, my sister.”

“Why are you here?”

“You, you’re helping me to be a woman.”

“Do you want to be a woman?”

“Yes.”

She realized she was restrained and struggled.

“You have been very naughty. You dressed as a man. You know you are not allowed to wear men’s clothes. I had to punish you for disobeying me.”

She looked down and saw she was wearing pants. “I, I’m, sorry. I,” she shook her head, “I don’t remember ….”

“Don’t worry, I interrupted her. I’m not angry with you, just displeased.”

“Oh no,” Karen, “You know I want to please you. I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ll be good, really good,” she pleaded.

I wanted to test her compliance. “All right then,” I pretended to relent, “come with me.” I brought her into the bathroom and ran a bath, adding some lilac scented bath salts. “Get in the tub, soak and then shave off all of that ugly hair. I handed her a lady’s razor and gel. Shave your legs, under your arms and all around your clitty.” She gave me a questioning look. “If you were a man, you’d call it a penis, but you’re a woman, so it is your clitty. You need to remember that. Men have penises and women have clittys.”

“What are you?” I challenged her.

“I’m a woman,” she replied tentatively.

“Yes, I confirmed, “and what do women have between their legs?”

“I have a clitty,” she dutifully replied, looking expectantly at me for approval.

“Now, do what I said, shave off all your hair. Even the hair around you clitty. Just leave what’s on your head and your eyebrows.” I stood over her and supervised until I was satisfied. “Stand up.” I patted her dry with a towel and dusted her with scented powder. “Come with me.” She dutifully followed me into my bedroom. For the time being, I gave her an oversize tee shirt to sleep in.

Chapter 5

Last night’s ordeal must have been physically and mentally exhausting because Alexa was still asleep at eight o’clock. “Hurry up, Alexa, we have a lot to do today.” She opened her eyes, stretched, yawned and then realized she was in a strange room.
“What, who, I don’t …,” she asked in a daze.

I wasn’t sure if the programming had worn off or it was just taking time for Alexa to assimilate her new self. “You’re Alexa. I’m your sister Karen. You came to me because you want to be a woman. You must do as I say if you want my help. You must be completely obedient.” I reinforced her conditioning.

“I don’t, I, uh,” I gave her a disapproving look, she paused for a moment, “Yes Karen,” she conceded.

First, you need to call your work. Tell them you’re sick and won’t be in this week.” Damn, they wouldn’t know him as Alexa. Then again, not my problem. Now, let’s get you dressed properly. I handed her a pair of my panties. They fit, but there was a noticeable bulge. I had her tuck her cock and balls under, but the panties were too skimpy to contain them. “Take them off.” I handed her a pair of white control panties with lace trim around the leg openings. The Lycra was enough to do the job. None of my bras would fit her. She’d just have to be titless until we went shopping. A knee length black pleated skirt and white wool turtleneck jersey completed the outfit, except for shoes. She’d have to wear Alex’s slip-ons. I sat her at my vanity, thinned her eyebrows and put on some light makeup, just lipstick and a little blush. One of the reasons I picked Alex was because of his ponytail. Undone it was almost shoulder length. I brushed it out and trimmed it into bangs. I found one of my old pocketbooks for her to carry and we were off to the mall. I didn’t want to run into anyone we knew, so I picked a mall across town.

“When we go in, I want you to either hold my hand or take my arm.” She looked confused. “Alexa, if you want to be a woman, then you have to act like one. “

“I’m sorry Karen. I ...,” she trailed off. I wasn’t sure if this was Alex breaking through or a just a gap in her experience that needed to be filled. Her expression changed and she smiled. “I, I’m not very good at being a woman yet,” she apologized.

“Don’t worry about it, Alexa. Just do what I tell you. “You do want my help,” I challenged her.

“Oh, Karen, yes please.”

“Good. Then take my hand.”

I wanted to start feminizing her. A perfumed bath, shaving, makeup, eyebrows, clothes and a hair trim were superficial. I wanted to see if there was any resistance to permanent changes. Our first stop was the costume jewelry store that did ear piercing. I brought her to the back. A young woman came over.

“Hi, I’m Becky.

“I’m helping my brother to transition. She wants her ears pierced.”

Becky looked Alexa over and shrugged. “Whatever. I need his consent. Yes?”

Alexa looked at me. I nodded.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” I wasn’t sure if she was testing or teasing.

“Yes, please?”

“Yes, what?” she repeated.

“Um, yes, I want my ears pierced.”

“Gold or silver?”

Alexa looked at me.

“Do you want gold or silver studs? I think gold would be pretty, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Becky left and came back with another girl. She looked at Alexa than at Becky. Becky nodded. The second girl went over and whispered something. They both looked at Alexa and giggled.

Alexa winced as the guns clicked. I smiled at her. “You look pretty,” She smiled back. The girls explained how to care for the piercings and gave her a bottle of cleaning solution. On our way out, I picked out a gold heart necklace and matching bracelet. I opened the package and put them on her. Alexa paid with her credit card, which brought a grin to the salesgirl, because it was in Alexander’s name.

Next stop was the nail salon. I directed Alexa to an open station. “Just shape and polish,” I directed the Asian woman. She looked at Alexa. Alexa looked at me. “She needs your hands.” Alexa tentatively put her hands out. They were obviously man’s hands. Apparently, nails were nails. I looked over the nail polish selection and picked out a classic red. Alexa sat complacently as the woman filed, applied the polish and put her hands under the dryer.

“Careful not to smudge your nails,” I cautioned Alexa as we walked through the mall with some quizzical looks and a few whispered comments by the people we passed. Obviously, there was still a lot of work to be done. In the department store, I took Alexa to the lingerie department. A young woman came over as we looked at bras.

“Can I help you,” she asked politely.

As before, I explained that I was helping my brother to transition. By her flustered response, she hadn’t looked closely at Alexa. “Oh, um, ah, oh, okay” she stammered, “I, um, oh, ah, I,” she paused composing herself, “I’m going to ask Cecily to help you, she’s, um, she’s ah, she knows about these things,” she finally got out.

“Knows about what things,” I teased her.

“Oh, um, you know, um, men who …,” she trailed off realizing she was getting herself in trouble. “I’ll be right back.” She quickly turned and hurried off. A few minutes later, she returned with an older woman.

“Hi, I’m Cecily,” she introduced herself. I understand you are looking to help your sister,” she looked at Alexa, “select a bra. I believe she might be more comfortable in our fitting room. Taking Alexa’s arm, Cecily guided us into a small room closed off with a curtain. “Do you know what size you are, dear?” Alexa looked at her blankly. “Have you worn a bra before?” Alexa thought for a moment and shook her head. “Really, hmm,” she looked at me skeptically.

“Alexa only came out recently. I tried one of my bras, I’m a 36, but it was too small.”

“Yes, I would think a 38. Take off your top and I can measure you.”

Alexa looked at me. “It’s all right, we’re all women here,” I reassured her. She started to pull up her top. “Wait.” She hesitated. “Not that way. Put your hands underneath to pull the neck away from your face, so you don’t get makeup on it when you pull it over your head.” Alexa awkwardly pulled off her top.

Cecily raised an eyebrow at Alexa’s smooth hairless chest. “You’ve prepared.” I smiled. She proceeded to measure. “Yes, a 38.” She turned to me. “I would recommend a B cup for an inconspicuous figure until she has completed her transition.” I nodded my agreement. “Dotty,” she directed, “pick out some 38B bras for Alexa to try on.”

Dotty hesitated. “I don’t know which ones you want.”

“You’re about Alexa’s size and age,” Cecily observed to Dotty’s embarrassment. “Pick out what you would wear. She’s your customer. You can have the commission.” With that encouragement Dotty left. About ten minutes later she optimistically returned with an armload. Cecily looked over the selection and nodded her approval. She picked up a white one with lace trim on the straps and under the cups and offered it to Alexa. “Try this on. It’s a front hook, so you can slip your arms through the straps and then this clip slides through this loop,” she demonstrated. Once on, Cecily made a few adjustments and stood back. “Do you like it?”

This was the type of active involvement I was curious about. Becoming a woman wasn’t Alexa’s idea, so how would she respond when asked whether she liked wearing a bra? She hesitated.

“Look in the mirror, dear,” Cecily encouraged Alexa.

Alexa looked at her reflection and gave me a confused look. “It’s very pretty.” Alexa took the cue and repeated it.

Cecily proceeded to try on four more bras, black, pink, another white with a back hook and a cute floral print. “Hmm,” she studied Alexa and then smiled. “Something’s missing, isn’t it. That’s the problem,” she surmised, mistaking Alexa’s disinterest for disappointment. You need something to fill it out. Dotty, we have some of those silicone enhancers in the stockroom. Turning to me, Cecily explained, “They’re what in the old days we would call ‘falsies,’ not real breast forms, we don’t carry mastectomy supplies, just pads that add a cup size, but they’ll give Alexa the look she wants.”

A few minutes later, Dotty returned with a package which Cecily opened and took out two clear half-moon shaped pouches which she slipped into Alexa’s bra. “Turn sideways, dear. She nodded her approval, “that’s much better.”

“Is she wearing panties?”

“Alexa, take off your skirt.” She fumbled with the waist looking for a zipper. “No, it just pulls down.” She tugged and with no hips it dropped to the floor.

“Uh huh, a control panty, yes, that would keep everything tucked in nicely.” Cecily peeled down the back. Medium. Dotty, bring some medium control panties.” Dotty hesitated. “What?”

“I don’t wear them.”

Cecily gave her an exasperated look. “You’re getting the commission on the sales,” she remined her. With that reminder Dotty left and appeared five minutes later with an armful of underpants. Cecily sorted through them and picked out four pairs that complemented the bras. “These should do. She looked impatiently at Dotty. “Aren’t there other things Alexa will need?”

Dotty’s eyes lit up. “Yes, ma’am, of course.” She hurried out. A half hour and four hundred and thirty-six dollars and seventy-two cents on Alex’s credit card later we left with three bags of assorted bras, panties, nighties, pantyhose and tights. “Thank you,” Dotty said appreciatively, having been converted by the reward for being trans friendly.

At the MAC counter, Renaldo was happy to spend a half hour enthusiastically educating Alexa to the use of cosmetics in exchange for another few hundred dollars’ worth of cosmetics and brushes. Our outing, both literally and figuratively, was intended to test the effectiveness of Alexa’s drug induced programming, but it turned out with the right clothes and makeup Alexa was pretty.

Our last stop was the women’s shoe department. An impeccably dressed young man with a neatly trimmed beard hurried over and directed us to a seating area. “I’m Richard. Oh my,” he remarked, looking down at Alexa’s shoes. “Do you know what size you are in a woman’s shoe, dear?” Alexa shook her head. He removed one of her shoes and looked inside. He removed the other shoe and went off, returning with a pair of peds and slipped them on. “Now, what did you have in mind? Heels?” he asked with a smile. “Not too high. Booties would look good with what you are wearing. Black, no, purple suede, yes,” he discussed with himself, then looked at Alexa for confirmation. When he got no reaction, he turned to me.

” I’m helping her to transition. This is her first time shopping,” I explained. “Thank you for the suggestion, Richard.”

He looked around and then whispered, “Ricky. What’s your name, dear,” he asked Alexa?”

She hesitated. “Tell Ricky your name,” I encouraged her.

“Alexa?”

“Yes, Alexa.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Ricky complimented her.

“Alexa,” I schooled her when he left, “ladies sit with their legs together or crossed at the knees or the ankle.” She looked at me apologetically. “It’s okay. I don’t think that Ricky minded. I think he likes you. Do you like him?” I tested her reaction to men.

“I don’t know. He seems nice, I guess.”

Ricky brought back the boxes of shoes. He tried on the booties and had Alexa walk around. Her movement was still masculine. The second box had black patent leather pumps with a kitten heel.” The third box had a pair of high heeled black boots. “Kinky boots, for when you go out,” he said suggestively.

“And where would you recommend Alexa wear these?”

“I like Jacques, the French spelling, “j-a-c-q-u-e-s. It’s a bar downtown on Broadway.”

“Do you go there?”

Ricky looked around again and whispered, “Thursdays they have a great drag show. I’ll be there.”

“On stage?”

“No,” he laughed, “but I have some friends who perform.”

On Sunday I helped Alexa get dressed. She readily helped me make the bed and do the breakfast dishes, which I guessed were remnants from her previous life. The image of Alexa in a French maid’s dress with, black stockings and frilly black panties peeking out from underneath a black dress held out by rows of white petticoats came to mind, but that costume was not part of her feminization, at least for now.
“Alexa, you need to learn to do your makeup. I want you to go on YouTube and watch the videos.” I brought out the products we purchased yesterday. “You need to learn how to use these.” Alexa did as she was told and by the end of the day Alexa was fairly proficient at applying her makeup.

Chapter 6

Given her domestic abilities, on Monday I left Alexa to clean the apartment and to continue her instruction on using makeup, as well as adding videos on fashion. When I returned home, the apartment was spotless, Alexa had done her makeup and was wearing the outfit I had put together for her to go shopping. The first part of my experiment on using the drug had been a success. How far I could go with reprogramming Alexa was the next question. In college I took an introductory psychology course which included a discussion of hypnosis. A subject could not be made to act against their nature. Alexa might not have any inhibition about pretending to be a woman - I think that most men are curious about the feminine mystique, but afraid to do anything about it - but how far could I go if he wasn’t gay or bi? Ricky’s invitation was the perfect opportunity to test the power of the drug.

I only had three days to prepare. During work on Tuesday, I went online and made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon at what was recommended online as a trans friendly salon. On my way home, I stopped at the mall and picked out a hot red minidress. My next stop was an adult toy store where I purchased a strap-on with a realistic removable dildo and a pink butt plug. A package of condoms, a tube of KY jelly and six fleet enemas completed my shopping for Alexa’s introduction to oral and anal sex. After dinner, I told her she needed a booster shot of hormones to help her fill out the dress. I prepared the script while she was changing into her nightgown and washing up. As before, within a few minutes Alexa became expressionless.

“Alexa, you are a woman. A woman has sex with men. You want to have sex with men.” I watched her for any sign of conflict or resistance. She remained passive. “You want men to kiss you and you want to kiss them.” No change. “You want them to touch your naked body, to touch every part of you and you want to touch them all over, their cock, their balls and their ass.” Nothing. “You want to play with their cock, to stroke it, to kiss it, to lick it, to put it in your mouth and suck them off. You love the taste of cum.” Still no conflict or resistance. “You want them to stick their cocks in your ass, to fuck you in the ass and to shoot cum in your ass. When you are having sex with a man, you will do anything to please him.” I ended with reinforcing my requirement for obedience “Remember, Alexa, I am your sister and I am helping you to become a woman. There isn’t anything in the world you want more than for me to help you to be a woman. It is very important that you please me so that I will help you. Everything I tell you to do is for your own good. You must do whatever I say. I know what’s best for you and you will never question me. You will be completely obedient to me.”

“How do you feel?” I tested Alexa when she came around.

“I’m okay, why?”

“You passed out for a few minutes.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Do you remember when you were about ten you had a crush on the boy who lived down the street? What was his name?”

“Billy?”

“Yes Billy,” I agreed.

“No, Karen, I don’t. Did I?”

I planted a false memory. “Yes, Mom caught you and she told dad and he threatened to have you sent away. You must have wanted to be a girl and he wouldn’t let you. But now that you’re going to be a woman you want to have sex with men,” I reinforced her programming. “You want me to help you learn to have sex with men.”

“I, …,” she hesitated, “I, don’t ….”

“I’m your big sister and you have to do what I say,” I interrupted her, “and I say you want me to help you learn to have sex with men. Now come with me.” I directed her into the bedroom. “I want you to pretend that I am a man. Come over here, put your arms around me and give me a kiss.” She moved forward, embraced me and reluctantly kissed me on the cheek. “No, Alexa, what kind of kiss was that? On the mouth and with feeling, like this.” I pulled her tightly against me and gave her a passionate kiss. “Now, kiss me again, like that.” Better. “Again, but this time I want you to use your tongue. Push it into my mouth and move it in and out.” She complied and I French kissed her back. “Don’t stop.” I brushed my hand over her dick to see if there was any reaction. None, but my pussy was getting drippy. Either I was a lesbian or got off on domination, probably the latter, since Alexa wasn’t really a woman.

After about ten minutes of making out, it was time for stage two. I stripped to my panties and bra and strapped on the penis dildo. “On your knees.” I pointed to a spot directly in front of the dangling dildo. Alexa obediently followed my order. “Stroke my cock,” I commanded her. Geez, I was sopping. Definitely a dominatrix. This could get addictive. Alexa mechanically ran her hand back and forth. “Kiss the tip. Again. Now lick the shaft. Imagine that it is a real cock. You’re making love to a big, strong man. He loves it. He’s moaning. Keep it up. Make love to his cock, Alexa. Look up at me and open your mouth. “I moved forward and pushed in the cock. Close your mouth. Suck on it. Keep sucking. Move your mouth over the shaft. Back and forth. Just use your lips. That’s it. Back and forth, in and out. You love it, Alexa. You love giving blow jobs. If this was a real penis, you’d want to make me cum in your mouth. You love cum, Alexa. Pleasing a man by making him cum in your mouth and swallowing it is what women do and you want to be a woman.

So far, so good. It was time for stage three. There’s another thing that you have to do as a woman, Alexa. Stay on your knees and bend over the bed with your ass sticking out.” I put on a surgical glove I brought from the lab, lifted her nightgown, put a generous gob of KY jelly on my finger and started to message around her asshole.” Just relax, Alexa.” I slowly worked the lube around and into her hole with the tip of my finger while watching for any reaction. She was complacent and her dick stayed limp. I inserted my finger up to the first knuckle and wiggled it. Still no reaction. I inserted it fully and began to finger fuck her. After a few minutes, I pulled out my finger, slipped a condom on the dildo, coated it with lube, pressed the tip against the opening and popped it in. “Push back against me and wiggle your butt. Fuck my cock,” I demanded. “Faster.” Holy shit! The hell with Alexa. I was about to cum.

After two orgasms, I was exhausted while Alexa was still dutifully humping the dildo. I pulled it out. “Don’t move.” I picked up the butt plug, lubed it, and held it for her to see. “This is a butt plug. It goes in your ass-pussy, that’s what women like you have for men to fuck, an ass-pussy. I shoved it in. It was bigger than the dildo and Alexa squealed at the intrusion. “You have to keep this in you, except when you go to the bathroom. You can take it out, clean it and yourself and then put it back in. And finally, stage five. “Okay, Alexa, you’ve been a good girl for me. Get on the bed and roll over on your back. Pull up your nightgown. Jerk yourself off. Stroke it! Faster! Definitely a dominatrix. “Cum in your hand,” I ordered. I wondered if Alex’s feminization affected his manhood, which his hardon and handful of cum answered. “You love cum. The feel in your mouth, the taste, lick it up and swallow it.” Watching Alexa slurping her cum, I couldn’t help myself, I stuck two fingers in my pussy and jilled off to a third orgasm.

After I recovered, I continued with Alexa’s introduction to womanhood. “You love being fucked, Alexa, and you have to keep yourself clean so men will want to stick their cocks in your ass-pussy. You have to douche morning and night.” I showed her a fleet enema. “Come with me.” In the bathroom I had her bend over, I stuck the nozzle up her ass. squeezed and emptied the bottle. “Hold it in for ten minutes, then you can sit on the toilet and let it out. That’s another thing. Women sit to pee. You will sit to pee from now on.”

To reinforce Alexa’s instructions on having sex with men, I surfed the internet for transexual porn sites and spent the rest of the night downloading videos. In the morning, I had Alexa drop her panties and bend over to check that she had used the enema. “Very good. You are becoming the woman you want to be.”

“Thank you, Karen,” she said appreciatively. “I want to please you.”

“I am pleased, but you still have more to do. Looking and feeling pretty are only part of your transformation. You still need to work on having sex. That’s the most important part of being a woman, pleasing a man sexually.” Unless you just got off sticking a strap-on cock up some guy’s ass. But then she was already equipped, if it turned out she had similar tastes. Getting back to Alexa’s training, I told her that there were some videos that I wanted her to watch. I had her sit in my tilting office chair, opened the file and started the first one. There was a tranny with a big black dildo pile driving it into her ass while she jerked off and when she came, she licked the cum off her hand. I detached the dildo from the strap-on harness and handed it to Alexa. “I want you to do what you see in the video. You love cum. It’s delicious. You love to eat it. When you finish the video there are five more. Keep using the dildo and wanking. After you’ve watched them, you can clean the apartment. If you finish before I get home, put on the boots and practice walking in heels.”

I left before I got turned on again. HR still had not hired a director, so there was nothing for me to do at work. Helen had conveniently left her password taped inside the top drawer to her desk, so I logged onto the lab account and approved the invoices for the equipment and rats. At two o’clock I closed up and went home to get Alexa for her hair appointment.

“Hello, Karen,” Alexa greeted me. She was wearing the boots. I watched as she circled the living room. You need to take smaller steps and put one foot in front of the other. She complied. “Yes, that’s it.” Combined with the butt plug, the catwalk stroll gave her hips and ass a nice wiggle. “Okay, you can stop now. We need to go to the hairdresser.’ She gave me a questioning look. “A woman’s hair is important. We need to get it done and you need to learn to manage it. Take off the boots, put on your pumps and get your bag.”

The address was in an upscale part of town. I would have thought that a trans friendly salon would be less conspicuous. I checked in and the receptionist politely offered us refreshments while we waited. About fifteen minutes later an older woman introduced herself as Jeanette. She looked Alexa over and shook her head.

“As this is obviously Alexa’s first experience with having her hair done, I believe she would be more comfortable in our private spa,” Jeanette considerately offered. Closing the door, she picked up a comb and circled Alexa, studying her hair. “Did you have a style in mind?” Alexa shook her head shyly. “You?” she turned to me. I told her that we would rely on her. She nodded. “I recommend a trim,” she combed through the side and held it out. “Longer in front to frame her face,” she angled the comb, “yes,” she agreed with herself, “and,” she held the comb against Alexa’s forehead, “wispy bangs,” she nodded her head, “very feminine. Another pause as she considered, “yes,” and a softer color.” Janette cocked her head. “Mmm, a few shades lighter and some highlights.” She looked at Alexa. Alexa passively Looked at me. I nodded my agreement. Jeanette stood back considering Alexa’s submission. “Okay,” she conceded to my control, “let me get Denise to shampoo and we’ll get started.”

Two hours later, Jeanette stood back and admired her work. Alexa was a light brunette, almost a dirty blonde, with subtle reddish highlights. “Perfect, you’re a magician,” I complimented Jeanette on the transformation.

Jeanette shook her head. “If I was a magician, her makeup would disappear. I would say whoever sold you the cosmetics unloaded at lot of product. The colors are wrong for her skin tone, they don’t cover, she could use electrolysis,” she digressed, “and her eye makeup,” she shook her head.

“I don’t wear much makeup and, well, Alexa has been learning from watching YouTube” I explained apologetically.

“Some of the women who get their hair done for an event have Angela, our cosmetician, do their makeup. I don’t think she has a client. Do you want a consult?” I agreed. Jeanette left and came back with a very stylish younger woman rolling a cart. Angela studied Alexa, turning her head from side to side and lifted her chin. Another hour later, a flawless complexion, shaped brows, long black eyelashes, eyeliner, shadow, blush and a glistening pinky red lips emerged. I couldn’t get over the plain duckling being turned into a show stopping swan. Never mind Ricky, she could walk into a regular bar and the straight guys couldn’t keep their hands off of her until they tried to get to third base and found that they were in the wrong ballpark.

Nobody said beauty was cheap. The bill was over two weeks of my salary. With all the other purchases, I was concerned that we had reached Alexander’s credit limit, but the charge went through with no problem. I hadn’t asked Alexa anything about her life as Alexander. All I knew was that he was an accountant and worked at a downtown firm. On our way home, Alexa’s good credit was explained by her alter ego being a CPA with a six-figure salary. Perhaps I should rethink cutting her loose after I finished using her as a test subject.

Back at the apartment, I helped Alexa get ready. I didn’t want to muss her hair or makeup, so I used scissors to cut off her sweater. A black bra with the enhancers and a black control panty replaced the white ones. I held the red cocktail dress for her to step into, pulled it up and zipped it. The red heels, a pair of dangly crystal heart earrings and a matching necklace completed the outfit.

We got to the bar about nine o’clock. As we entered, Ricky stood up and waved. I guided Alexa to a seat that Ricky had strategically left open next to him. I found a seat across the table. If Ricky was interested in Alexa before, he was infatuated with her now. In the guise of introducing her to his friends, he variously held her arm, put his hand around her waist and over her shoulder. He leaned over, whispered something in her ear and she looked at me.

“What does Alexa drink?” Ricky asked in a puzzled voice.

“We both drink scotch.”

He got up, went to the bar, and returned with two glasses. Cocksucker! Literally. It looked like Alexa’s was a double, which left no doubt about Ricky’s less than honorable intentions. A woman doing a Judy Garland impression was on stage. As the show continued, Ricky was cuddling with Alexa and nuzzling her neck and ear. As what I assumed to be a formally straight man, I was curious to see how effective the drug was in programming her to please men, as well as whether the alcohol – Ricky had plied her with a second double scotch – would repress or enhance her feelings. By the time the show was over Alexa was unabashedly making out. I couldn’t see under the table, but by her suddenly raised eyebrows and then submission, it was obvious that Ricky was trying his best to work around the control panty. And from Ricky’s pleased expression a few minutes later, it was obvious that Alexa had found his underwear less of a challenge.

And so, the experiment was a scientific success. Ricky and Alexa became an item, her new life slowly replacing her old, confirming the effectiveness and permanency of the drug. Alexa returned to work while continuing with her domestic duties for me and unknowingly being used as a test subject. Her salary, which she gratefully contributed as compensation for my transforming her into the woman she never wanted to be, was sufficient for me to quit my job; but I still had no idea how to profit from the mind control device. A Google search about age regression, infantilization and mind control only turned up transgendered fiction sites with stories about women turning men into submissive maids, sissies, children and babies and disobedient sons into petticoated daughters.

Chapter 7

About a month after Alexa’s transformation, I saw a news story about a nasty divorce over a billionaire cheating on his wife. Punishing errant husbands was a common theme in the trans fiction stories, but I could do it for real. What if the husband suddenly turned into a child? The wife could take control of his assets. That opportunity had to be worth a lot to her. It was worth a try. The story gave the name of the law firm that was representing the wife. I figured she would have to go there to meet with her lawyers, so I hung around the lobby. Luckily, they had a Starbucks. A few days and a few gallons of latte’s later, I recognized her going through security. I caught up with her as she was leaving. I knew I wouldn’t have much time, so I made it short.

“Excuse me.” I took her arm. She pulled away. “I have a way for you to get your husband’s assets without having to divorce him.”
She stopped. “If this is some type of stunt by my husband, so help me,” she threatened angrily.

“I have a device that can undetectably regress you husband to an age where he is not capable of managing his money.”

She looked at me skeptically and started to leave. She paused at the door, turned back and handed me a card. It had her name and an address. “Four o’clock.”

I arrived at appointed time and used the intercom. The gate opened and I drove in. She met me at the front door and silently guided me outside to the pool. I followed her to a cabana. She pointed to a bikini bathing suit. I looked at her questioningly. “Put it on or leave.” She inspected me as I changed. When I finished, she handed me a pony elastic. Again, she watched intently as I put up my hair. When I was finished, she walked me to the pool and pointed to the steps. I slowly waded in. She sat down about midway along the edge with her feet dangling. I swam to her and held onto the edge. She reached down and held my head under. I struggled wildly, thinking that she suspected I was working for her husband and that she would claim my death was a pool accident. What seemed like a minute later, she released me and I came up gasping for air.

“My husband is a devious bastard and I had to make sure you weren’t hiding a transmitter or a recording device,” she explained. “Your claim was so bizarre that it intrigued me. I’m listening.”

Having recovered, I told her the story of my discovery of the notebook and using the device on my ex-boyfriend and boss.

“Why not just sell it instead of trying to con me?” she asked incredulously.

“It’s not a con,” I insisted. “Medical devices take years and cost millions in testing to prove their effectiveness and safety before they are marketable and the technology isn’t unique, so I can’t prevent a company from duplicating it. And what if it got out that there was a device that could turn adults into children or infants? In the wrong hands,” I winked, “it could have devastating effects.”

She looked at me skeptically. “How does it work?”

“It’s just like reformatting a computer. The device erases memory, newest first, ultimately rebooting the brain to its bios, infancy.”

“Is it like a ray gun? You know, like in the cartoons. You zap someone and poof, they’re turned into a baby?”

“No, it needs to be attached to them. The longer it’s used, the more the subject is regressed.”

“What good is it then? My husband is not going to sit around while you hook him up.”

“I would need to get him alone and sedated.”

“Well, good luck with that.” She got up and held out a towel. I swam towards the steps. “Stop,” she said abruptly, “there might be a way.” “Back,” she pointed towards the middle of the pool where we had been talking. I went back and she stood over me. “My husband loves pussy,” she shrugged. “He has a trophy girlfriend, big tits,” she put her hands under her own ample breasts and bounced them, “bubble butt and I’m sure she sucks like a vacuum cleaner. Even so, he isn’t any more faithful to her than he was to me. He’ll fuck any target of opportunity.” She studied me. “I’m sure you’re pretty enough to catch his eye.”

“Me?” Actually, it wasn’t a bad idea. It worked for my ex and for Alexa. “Okay,” I agreed, “how do I get him alone.”

“My husband plays golf at his country club on Wednesday afternoon. Afterwards he has drinks with his buddies. I can get you in. After that it’s up to you. He uses the pro shop for the wives he seduces.” She frowned. “I should have asked. Is your device portable?”

“Yes, it fits in a carry-on suitcase.”

“You understand that my only involvement in this is getting you into the club. After that you’re on your own. Speaking of which, I assume that this is not a public service for women with problem husbands.”

I shook my head. “One million dollars cash.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Yes, but you’re going to pay that much to your lawyers before you’re finished with the divorce and still end up with only a fraction of your husband’s wealth. For the same money, you can have control over him and his finances with no risk to you.”

“Let’s go back to the con. How much up front?”

“No con. Nothing.”

She nodded. “When do you want to do it?”

“Next Wednesday.”

“I’ll leave word that you are coming as a guest of Bitsy Carlisle. She’s in Europe. There are cc cams all over, so I can’t be seen with you. Bring the suitcase here on Tuesday. I will leave it for you in the pro shop.”

“How much do you want him regressed?”

“Will he know what happened to him?”

“No, but I can turn him into a helpless infant who will spend all day in diapers crapping and pissing himself or into a little boy whose life you can make miserable.”

“Helpless or miserable. Hmm,” she mused. “Miserable.”

Chapter 8

Over the weekend I picked up a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, a riding crop, blindfold and a ball gag, an enema kit with Bardex nozzle and a jar of Vaseline, and a bottle of 90 proof vodka. I put the handcuffs and the gag in a big shoulder bag with a pair of surgical gloves and a tampon and added the other items to my suitcase with the EMP device. Wednesday afternoon, I walked into the clubhouse in my red titty dress and fuck-me pumps. In the bar, I recognized my victim. I didn’t see anything that would make a woman want to fuck him, but maybe he was packing something special in his pants or maybe a billionaire’s cum was tastier. I waited until he went to the bar and sidled up next to him. The fish took the bait.

“Hi, I’m Donald,” he introduced himself with a phony smile. “I haven’t seen you here before. I’d remember a beautiful woman like you.”

“Oh, you’re sweet. I’m Cassandra.” I put out my hand. He held it. “My husband is around here somewhere,” I pretended to look for him while gently trying to retrieve my hand, which he wouldn’t release. “Somewhere,” I repeated and shrugged.

“What are you drinking?”

I got right to the point. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes.” Hooked.

“Mmm, in that case Scotch, please.”

“I know a quiet place where we can get to know each other better.” Reeled in.

“Oh, Donald, I don’t know. What will I tell my husband?”

“You can tell him that I took you to see the pro shop.” And ready to be fried, literally.

“What about the drink?” I reminded him.

He called the bartender over, whispered something to him, he left and returned with a bottle and two glasses.

“Chivas,” Donald proudly held up the bottle as an enticement. “Let’s go.” He escorted me through a door at the back of the bar, down a service corridor and to an exit door. Furtively look around, he hustled me across the parking lot to a building with golf carts being charged. Inside, I stopped to admire a rack of skorts.

“Oooh, this is really cute. I held it up and spun around. “Would you like to see it on me?” I asked suggestively.

“Yah, sure, take it,” he said impatiently, tugging on my arm. “This way.”

He led me to the back of the shop and into a stockroom. As soon as we were inside, he grabbed me and started kissing. I slid my hand down and rubbed his crotch. Encouraged, he held onto me with one hand and started to feel me up with the other.

“Hold on, Lover,” I protested. He kept groping me. “Donald, slow down. I am going to give you the best blow job you’ve ever had, but you have to do it my way. Now behave!” I doubt he was used to a dominant woman. “Now, turn around and put your hands behind you.” I took the handcuffs out of my bag and locked them on him.

“What the fuck, Cars. . ., he couldn’t remember my name, “what the fuck,” he repeated as he struggled to get free.

“Really, Donald, don’t you like bondage games? They really get me wet.” I placed my hand on his crotch. “And it looks like there’s someone else who likes them too.” I loosened his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down around his ankles, confirming his hardon and also immobilizing his legs. “Just one more little toy.” He looked worried. I took at the ball gag. “Open up.” He kept his mouth closed and shook his head. “Oh, really, don’t be a baby. Open and mama will make her little boy feel really, really good.” He couldn’t be enticed. Okay, B and D it is. I grabbed his nose. When he finally opened his mouth to gasp for air, I pushed the ball gag in and secured the strap. “Now, wouldn’t it have been easier to obey me. Good boys get rewarded,” I smiled, “but bad boys get punished.” I frowned, took the crop out of my bag and swatted it against my palm. His eyes went wide. I wasn’t sure if he was afraid or excited, although he still had a hardon, so maybe this was going to be easier than I thought.

My initial expectation of his endowment was not confirmed. His dick was nothing to write home about. That left the second possibility still open. I got down on my knees, wrapped my fingers around his cock and slowly ran them up and down, rubbing my thumb over the head at the end of each stroke. Whatever resistance faded and I looked up at him, licking my lips as I jerked him off. Stamina wasn’t his secret either. After a couple of minutes, he began to moan and shake, signaling an impending eruption. I gave the head a kiss and then slid the shaft in my mouth, slowly moving up and down. Maybe he was into B and D because he shuddered and blew his load. Nope, I swished it around like you taste wine, but it was just plain old cum. I spit it on his tummy.

“That was just round one. I am going to fuck the daylights out of you.” Well, it was true in a way. “But not with that limp noodle. I want you to rest for a while, but I’m warning you,” I said menacingly, brandishing the crop, “if you give me any trouble, I am going to beat those little marbles,” I gave his balls a squeeze, “black and blue.” I took out the blindfold. “Just in case you have any silly ideas.” He docilly let me put it on.

I looked through the shop for my suitcase and found it tucked behind the sales counter. I had put a small luggage padlock on it. Not to prevent anyone who was intent on opening it, but enough to deter curiosity. I wheeled it back into the stockroom and started to prepare. Donald could hear the movement, but with the gag and blindfold there wasn’t any way for him to know what I was doing. I attached the enema hose and nozzle to the bag, filled it with vodka and coated the nozzle with Vaseline.

“Okay, Donald, this is the fun part. Do you like anal sex.” I assume he thought I was asking whether he wanted to fuck me in the ass, because he enthusiastically nodded his head. “Good.” I slipped a surgical glove on my right hand, dipped the first finger in the Vaseline, took his cock in my left hand and stuck my finger in his ass up to the knuckle. He bucked at the intrusion and started to grunt. “Relax,” I teased him. “You said you liked anal sex.” I pushed my finger all the way in wiggled it around, pulled it partially out and slid it back in. “Do you want me to stop?” I asked him with my finger fully in and the other hand stroking his cock. Not that I would, but he didn’t resist. “Good boy.” I pulled my finger out. He grunted.

“One second baby.” I picked up the nozzle and slid it in. It took a few seconds for him to realize that it wasn’t my finger going up his ass. “Another toy,” I reassured him. “Just relax and enjoy.” I pumped it in and out a few times until it was fully inserted and inflated the bulb. He bucked when he felt the pressure. “Now comes the fun part.” I released the clip on the enema. As he started to feel the liquid flowing, he struggled to get up, but I straddled his chest. “It’s a booze enema. You bought that nice bottle,” I reminded him, “and you can’t drink with the gag. Cheers.” I got off and started to jerk him off to distract him down while the enema did its work.

After a minute, I gave the bag a squeeze and clipped it off. A few minutes later, his cock stopped responding to the hand job. I undid the gag and removed the blindfold. “Hey, Lover, speak to me. His eyes didn’t focus and he mumbled something. “Donald?” I slapped him. No response. “Donald, wake up.” I slapped him twice more. Nothing. I slapped him twice more just for fun. Yeah, I know, but he deserved it for all the women he molested. I unlocked the handcuffs and his arms flopped on the couch.

With him incapacitated, I deflated the nozzle, pulled it out and plugged him with the tampon. I got a golf towel and ball cleaner, aptly named, to tidy him up. I unpacked the EMP device and set it up. Shit, there was no outlet in the stockroom to plug it in. I grabbed him under the arms and tried to drag him into the shop, but I couldn’t budge the tub of lard. Shit, shit, shit. All of this for nothing? Shit. Then I remembered the golf carts. There was a long cord connecting the battery charger. Back in the shop, I found his wallet, checked his age, adjusted the device and turned it on. There was no resistance as as his adult memories were wiped.

After ten cycles, I turned the device off. I did not have a lot of empirical data, but if it worked as it did on Rob, then he should end up as about a five- or six-year-old. I packed everything up, pulled out the tampon, wiped down the couch, opened the bottle of whiskey – I still had the surgical gloves on so as not to leave any fingerprints – poured a little bit in his mouth and doused him with the rest. I took a picture as insurance and left, replacing the cord on my way out.

Chapter 9

Each day I checked the papers to see if there was a story about a billionaire reverting to his childhood, but they must have done a good job of covering it up. Finally, there was a story in the Sunday financial section about Donald’s wife taking over while he pursued philanthropic work. More likely, crayons and a coloring book. The next day, I called the office and left a message that her childhood friend would like to meet her and left my cell phone number. A few hours later, I got a text message with a time.

I arrived at the house and went through the same precautions.

“I assume you want to be paid.”

“Yes and no.” She raised her eyebrows. “A million dollars showing up in my bank account would raise too many questions and I don’t want the tax headache. As the concerned wife of a man suffering from an unexplained brain condition, you can fund a foundation to find a cure. Of course, I will be the director with a generous salary, benefits and an expense account.”

A big smile crossed her face. “Brilliant. I can write it off. Donald would have liked that, he hated to pay taxes. Just one more thing. I’m rethinking infancy. Donald was a horrible person and he’s no better as a little boy. Daily tantrums if he doesn’t get his way and unfortunately spankings don’t help. He likes them. Figures. Can he be regressed further?”

“Yes. Or perhaps you would prefer him as an obedient little girl in petticoats.”

“You can do that?” she asked enthusiastically.

“Yes, but that’s another story.”

Author’s Note: I wanted to try a different method of age regression, mind control and feminization, instead of the usual hypnosis stories. I don’t intend to continue, but anyone who would like to try their hand at using the “black box” in a story has my permission to do so. I waive any copyright. Enjoy. Missy Crystal