Amanda Clark looked carefully at the faces around the conference table. "The Institute has been a tremendous success," she began. "Each and every one of our clients has been completely satisfied with the results of our work. Unfortunately, we are beginning to confront a new group of clients, a group that is not willing to wait the weeks and sometimes months it can take for standard procedures to create positive results in our subjects."
She frowned. "You all know that, in order for the Institute to achieve success in its ultimate goals for society, we must be able to give all our prospective clients exactly what they are looking for in our treatment of the subjects they bring to us." She reached into the box that sat beside her on the table and pulled a small metal band with a number of electrodes attached. "This is the IRG Trans/Conformer 1. We in the Technological Division have been working on it for two years. As of now, it has been successfully tested on all manner of lab animals, beginning with rats six months ago and climaxing with the stunning success with a chimpanzee we demonstrated just yesterday to many of you gathered here."
Amanda leaned forward and placed her hands flatly on the table, her magnificent breasts pushing against the thin fabric of her satin blouse. "It's time for a test on a human subject. Since we have all agreed that, eventually, we must present our own subjects for the Institute treatment, I have decided that my own husband, Mitch, will be the first to experience the Trans/Conformer." She flipped a switch and a TV monitor came to life on the wall behind her. "As you can see, even now Mitch is being prepared in our surgery. The Trans/Conformer will be implanted beneath the skin at the back of his head and, over the next three weeks, I will use it to bring Mitch to the same level of transformational success that normal methods require six months to achieve."
The room fell silent as they watched the Institute's surgeons and technicians place the strange device in the unsuspecting Mitch. Yes, unsuspecting--for Mitch had not given any consent to this procedure. Like nearly all Institute subjects, he had been chosen for treatment by the woman in his life, and that treatment would be something he would never have chosen for himself.
******
Mitch awoke and saw his wife seated in the chair opposite his bed. As he came to consciousness, he became aware of what seemed like a myriad of voices murmuring within his mind.
"Hello, Mitch," Amanda said. "Welcome back. No doubt you can feel my little addition to your mind working right now."
He nodded. "Amanda, what's happening?"
"What's happening, love, is that you are the first of what I hope will be a long and successful set of new subjects for the Institute." Mitch's eyes went wide. "Now, now, don't look so surprised, darling," Amanda cautioned. "You've always known about my work--surely you didn't think you were exempt from the plans of the Institute?" She stood and walked to a room-wide closet beside the bed and threw open the doors.
Mitch couldn't believe his eyes--within the closet was a range of feminine clothing such as he had never imagined could exist: day wear, party clothes, evening wear and even bizarre fetish clothing. Oddly enough, he couldn't take his gaze from them; he wanted them, passionately. He desired them. And, somehow he knew, too, that they were all intended for him.
"I can see the Trans/Conformer is operating perfectly, by the look in your eyes," Amanda said. "Yes, this is your new wardrobe. By the way, you have a new name, as well--Mitzi." She pulled out some articles of clothing and commanded, "Get dressed!"
Twenty minutes later, Mitzi was dressed in a black corset, black panties, sheer black stockings, and patent-leather pumps with six-inch spike heels, all accented by a pair of black elbow-length gloves. Amanda had quickly feminized her husband's face with makeup. Now came the next lesson.
"The plan does not end with feminizing you, Mitzi, dear," Amanda explained. "No, you must be taught to instantly comply with all the wishes of the women in your life. Oh--and there will be more as well." She stepped to an intercom panel. "All right, Doris, input lesson plan B."
Just a few moments later, Amanda sat, leaning comfortably back in her chair, her own elegantly stockinged and shod leg extended. Mitzi lay on the floor before her, supported by elbows and ass. As Amanda placed her foot near Mitzi's mouth, she said, quietly but firmly, "Suck it, dear."
Mitzi felt the myriad voices in her head all come together in a chorus that seemed to say, "Obey, obey....OBEY." She took the toe of the shoe within her mouth and began to suck and lick at it as if it were the sweetest of candy.
*****
Within a week, Mitzi no longer noticed the constant voices within her head; they were simply a part of her--the part that enforced the submissive, feminine psyche Amanda and the others in the Institute were working so hard to instill in her.
Each morning, Mitzi dressed in the clothes the voices suggested, suggestions that came from the various lesson plans input by the Institute technicians. Over time, she realized that the choices were overwhelmingly feminine and sexy, intended to present an image of a flirtatious young woman unafraid to flaunt her charms to all and sundry. In addition, she realized that being seen in these clothes was sexually arousing, that she got an intense sexual pleasure from playing this role.
Still, there was a part of Mitch that remained inhibited. Though Mitzi delighted in the clothes suggested by the voices, Mitch's mind frequently rebelled, to the point that he was able to prevent his body from carrying out the suggestions from the Trans/Conformer's programmers.
One of the technicians eventually showed a readout of these incidents to Amanda. She sat at her desk, studying the numbers and charts. Finally, she pointed to one graph. "Here's the problem--the level of sexual arousal when on display isn't high enough." She pulled out a folder and went through the contents, then handed a sheaf of papers to the technician. "Tomorrow, when I've got Mitzi out for her visit to the city, input this lesson plan. If we have to go to exhibitionist to get flirt, we will!"
Twenty-four hours later, Mitzi and Amanda were strolling through the downtown business district, enjoying the gaze of many male admirers and the disapproval of many jealous female onlookers.
Many of those looks were aimed at Mitzi--she wore a form-fitting white dress with a halter collar and a short skirt with a slit to the thigh on the left side. Her legs were in sheer nude hose and her feet in white patent pumps with five-inch heels.
Amanda spotted a fountain on the next block. "Excuse me," she said to Mitzi and pulled out her cell phone. "Input the lesson plan now," she instructed.
Amanda immediately noticed a change in Mitzi's demeanor. Her walk became more sexual, her hips swaying more. Her smile for each male eye became broader and she no longer attempted to control her skirt when the occasional gust would flip up under the slit.
As they approached the fountain, surrounded by businessmen enjoying the cool mist in the noonday heat, Mitzi dashed ahead, and plunged into the water, feeling the spray coat her body and make the thin white fabric of her dress cling to her every curve, revealing her lingerie beneath. She grinned with arousal as she felt every male eye upon her as well as the approving gaze of Amanda.
"At last, she's ready for the final step," Amanda thought.
*****
One week later, Amanda again addressed the assembled Institute staff in the conference room. She showed them the tapes of Mitch's transformation into Mitzi, the data from the Trans/Conformer's readouts, and comparisons of Mitch's progress as against other subjects undergoing similar changes by traditional methods. The staff nodded in agreement.
"Now, I think it's time you all met Mitzi," she said.
Amanda led the staff down the corridors to the Institute's reception area. There, behind the reception desk sat Mitzi, dressed in a low-cut blouse, tight leather miniskirt, six-inch heels and elaborate make-up. She smiled broadly as the staff approached. Just then, the phone rang. "Excuse me a moment, please," she giggled, then--still giggling--spoke into the phone: "IGR, Institute for Gender Realignment--how may I help you?"
THE END
(We may see more of the IGR in future stories.)
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