|Writer: Emissa Ghaight
||Length: 212 pages (Novel)
||Mature Content: Medium
|Transformed By: Experimental Technology
||TG Occurs: Beginning and Middle of Story
||TF Details: Brief / Quick Description
|Summary: He woke up in a strange room wearing different clothes in a whole new body. Colin, a newlywed man, had somehow been completely transformed into a woman. Left all alone in a room with nothing but feminine clothes to wear, “she” had no idea just how much her life was about to change. Soon after, Colin’s wife joined her in this mysterious place, finding themselves captive to some larger unknown force — which didn’t take long to fully enslave them both, reprogramming their minds to turn them into obedient, willing, happy mind-controlled slaves. But that was just the beginning — for they were both part of an even larger plot.
I awoke on a bed in a bedroom that was not my own. In fact, I didn’t recognize it at all. As I lifted myself up, I noticed my chest felt heavier than I was used to, and I wondered if I didn’t get sick somehow. But when I felt the straps pressing against my shoulders, pulling up on fabric that was cupping my chest, I knew that I had woken up with a pair of breasts, and that I was clearly wearing a bra.
And just as my chest was now full enough to fill out my new bra, likewise my genitals were now empty enough to fit my new panties that I looked down to discover I was wearing. I suppose I would normally reach in to confirm what has happened, but I both saw and felt enough external evidence to convince me of what had happened. What I couldn’t figure out is how it happened or who did this to me.
“What the hell – ” I started to say. Then I heard the voice. Slightly higher in pitch, clearly female in timbre, and just more confirmation that something has turned me into a woman. “What the hell happened to me?” I force myself to finish saying.
I sat up to get a good look at myself. I looked for a mirror, but the only one I could find was on the door of the closet, so I stood up to walk over to it. The moment I managed to stand up, I noticed that my captors had also dressed me in a pair of pantyhose, colored to match my skin tone exactly, as I felt the nylon rub against my legs.
Once I managed to walk over to the closet, I saw my female face, which looked very much like my old male one, except in feminine form. I would have mistaken the face for one belonging to my twin sister, except for the fact that I didn’t have a sister at all, let alone a twin. My hair, still brunette, was also just slightly longer than before my transformation, but clearly styled in feminine fashion. I guess my captors didn’t bother to try to grow my hair out.
I opened up the closet to find what clothing my captors had provided for me. Inside, I saw several blouses, dresses, and skirts – not a single pair of pants or shorts available. Apparently, my captors intended to dress in exclusively female attire. I figured they either wanted to compensate for the fact that they couldn’t give me longer hair, or they wanted to drive home the reality of my new gender as forcefully as possible.
“Well, I’d better get dressed in something,” I say to myself. “If I am going to escape out of here, it’s not going to do me any good to escape naked.”
So I pull out a beige pencil skirt and a white blouse. I manage to put on the blouse, even with the buttons on the opposite side. And then I step into the skirt, lifting it up to my waist, and feeling it get more snug around my nylon/spandex-encased thighs the higher up it went. I reached around behind me to pull up the zipper and pulled it to the top of the skirt, securing it over my waist and thighs, letting the hemline bounce just over my knees.
The moment my skirt was in place, I immediately felt a sense of mild euphoria wash over me. As if it felt right for me to be wearing that skirt. That it was, indeed, my skirt.
“This is so weird,” I said out loud to myself, hearing my female voice again. “Why would I feel this way putting on a skirt? I’m really a man, aren’t I?”
Then I thought about it even further. At that moment, I realized that I actually was a woman. I wasn’t a man suddenly trapped in a woman’s body. I literally was a woman. The fact that I had been male up until the moment I woke up did not in any way shake the conviction in my mind that I was now fully female, not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, even spiritually now. So wearing a skirt suddenly became perfectly appropriate within the domain of my newly formed femininity.
Still, the fact remained that I hadn’t been a woman until just a few moments ago, when I woke up.
I tested my theory. “I am a man,” I said out loud. But something didn’t feel right about it.
“I am a man,” I repeated, this time trying to convince myself. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that what I was saying was incorrect.
“I am a woman,” I finally relented, and this time, it seemed to fit.
“I am a woman,” I repeated. And saying it a second time made it feel more…comfortable.
“Wait a minute,” I repeated out loud, “I was a man. I know I was a man. People don’t just turn from a man into a woman.”
At that moment, I wasn’t sure which I was more shocked by – the fact that they had transformed me into a woman, or the fact that they had somehow managed to burn into my subconscious so effectively that I was now a woman.
“Who did this to me?” I asked. “And why? And what else did they do to my brain? What else are they going to do?” All the questions kept chiming out of my mouth. Hearing the sound of my own voice helped me keep some semblance of sanity in these insane circumstances.
The other thing that was trying to stem my reeling was looking around the apartment to investigate, see what was there. There was no TV, no computer, no phone, no apparent means of any communication. There was a kitchen with cupboards, a refrigerator, a microwave, a stove. There was a bathroom with pretty much the basics: soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, toilet, sink, shower. The furniture was very plain – a single size bed, a sofa, and a coffee table. Everything in this apartment was merely functional to the point of being Spartan.
Except the closet.
I took another look in the closet, and below all the skirts and blouses, I saw shoes. A lot of shoes.
“Whoever they are, they really do think women are obsessed with shoes!”
I pulled out a pair of beige pumps that matched my skirt perfectly – almost as if they were handpicked to go with it. I knelt down, bending my knees and my hips, while keeping my chest upright, and I pulled out the shoes and slipped my feet into them, something that was easier with the pantyhose around my feet. I stood back up and then noticed a beige jacket in the closet, again, matching the color of the skirt. It seemed like the two went together. I pulled it out and slipped it on and looked at myself in the mirror.
“All right, what’s my name?” I asked myself. And the answer came to me. “My name is Moira Michelle LeClerc.”
Now why would I say that? My name was Colin Singleton. I was married to Kim Scharborough Singleton. So where did the name Moira LeClerc come from?
“They must have done something to my mind as well as my body. Making me into a woman, making me think I’m a woman, making me think my name is Moira LeClerc. Well, I guess for right now, it is. But they changed me into this, so there’s got to be a way to change me back.”
I walked towards the door, which looked like an automatic sliding door you’d see in retail stores, but without the glass. As I got closer, I expected it to open automatically, but it didn’t. I tried looking for some sort of control panel or key that would allow me to open the door, but I didn’t find one.
“No, of course it wouldn’t be that easy,” I say to myself. “Whoever did this to me, they want to keep me here.”
I looked behind me at the windows to see if there was any way I could escape through there. As I looked down, I could tell that I was two or three stories up, and I didn’t want to chance that I would land on the concrete and injure myself. Especially since it looked like I was on some sort of compound, and I would still have to run quite some distance to get out of the gate. And especially since I was wearing a skirt instead of pants, if by some miracle I did manage to land without getting injured, that would certainly hinder my ability to run.
“Maybe that’s another reason they only gave me skirts to wear,” I pondered out loud, “to make it harder for me to escape.”
I then had a suspicion of something I thought I remembered. I took another look inside my closet at all the skirts they had given me. And sure enough, not only did they only give me skirts to wear, they were all pencil skirts – designed to be snug around my thighs, extending down to just above my knees. Likewise, all my shoes were high heels.
“Just as I thought. They wanted to make it harder for me to run.”
Or at least that was a convenient side effect.
I went back to the window to look down at the compound. It certainly didn’t seem like any sort of prison or heavily guarded facility. People appeared to be walking around freely, enjoying themselves, as if this were a free residential community. People were smiling, laughing, all genuinely happy to be here. And there were no guards of any sort whatsoever.
So if I did manage to get out of this room and try to run, who would stop me?
Still, the first priority was figuring out how to get out of this room so I could even get a chance to escape the compound. If I was so important to them that they were going to transform me, change my gender, and give me a whole new female wardrobe, they weren’t going to let me starve to death, were they? They would have to come and feed me eventually, right?
Of course, that’s when remembered that I had been given quite the furnished apartment – a bed a sofa, a coffee table, and a complete kitchenette. Oven, stove, refrigerator, freezer, even a microwave. I took another look in the fridge and freezer, and it was fully stocked with food to prepare complete meals and snacks for one person. Again, nothing fancy or special, but it would keep me fed.
So they wouldn’t need to bring me food for a while. That precluded one possibility of escape.
All right, what about laundry? They gave me quite a large wardrobe to choose from, and even though there wasn’t that much variety in shape, there certainly was quite a variety in color. I pulled out several other skirts to see if they were machine washable or dry clean only. Turns out they were all machine washable. So I turned around and looked to see if I was provided a washer and dryer as well so that I could take care of my own laundry needs as well as eating needs.
Turns out they didn’t, but they did provide a laundry chute.
“A-ha, gotcha there,” I said. “When I run out of clothes, they’ll have to restock. I’ve got to pay attention to when that will happen.”
I browsed through just to get a ballpark figure how many different articles of clothing they gave me. Unlike the furniture and the cuisine, they spared no expense on my wardrobe. On a second look, I saw dozens of articles of clothing. As if it would last me for months.
“Damn,” I said, “They thought of everything, didn’t they?”
“Maybe I should just give myself a fashion show and go through all the clothing right now, throw it down the laundry chute, and then they’ll have to give me new clothing. Or maybe they would just let me sit here naked.”
It wasn’t worth the risk of having to go naked and cold, even in an apartment all by myself, so I decided against that particular strategy. Especially since it conflicted with my previous postulate that, in order to escape and get somewhere with any sort of reasonable chance of success, I needed to remain clothed.
I closed the closet to get another look at myself in the mirror. My face was unmistakably female. My bosom, while not excessively large, was visible and pre-eminent. My arms and legs were slender and dainty. And the fact that I was wearing a skirt only reinforced the fact that I was now a woman. Even though this wasn’t the image I was used to seeing when I looked in the mirror, this was definitely the reflection I recognized as being my own.
I took another look at myself in the skirt. I started wondering if I would even be able to choose what kind of woman I would be, or if that would be chosen for me as well. Would they make me a girly girl, or would I eventually become more of a tomboy? Would I be a super horny slut, conservative and virginal, or more normal?
I stopped myself and said, “No, think, Moira,” largely overlooking the fact that I had just called myself by my female name, “focus on the objective, how to get out of here and get turned back into a man.” I stopped pacing and sat down, thinking, trying to remember how I got here, and I finally recalled my last memory as a man.
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He woke up in a strange room wearing different clothes in a whole new body. Colin, a newlywed man, had somehow been completely transformed into a woman. Left all alone in a room with nothing but feminine clothes to wear, "she" had no idea just how much her life was about to change. Soon after, Colin's wife joined her in this mysterious place, finding themselves captive to some larger unknown force -- which didn't take long to fully enslave them both, reprogramming their minds to turn them into obedient, willing, happy mind-controlled slaves. But that was just the beginning -- for they were both part of an even larger plot.
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