Corporate Takeover: The Tradwife Trap Pt. 5

Except sometimes he caught himself thinking of himself in just that way. There were stretches of time where it felt as if he left his body and it ran on a sort of autopilot. He would come to and see that the room – his cell, he reminded himself – was freshly cleaned. Or he would find himself staring at the back of his hand, fingers outsretched, and muse over what color polish might look best on his growing nails. It was as if he was being possessed by a feminine force, and when she held the reins, the rest of him went away.

He banged the palm of his hand against his forehead, shaking loose these thoughts. So what if he never made it, the next time he had a chance tor un, he would do it. Someone had to have escaped from here before. Nobody was perfect, and Benson and her crew were bound to screw up sometime.

As soon as he had resolved to escape, he was struck by a wave of revulsion. It buckled his knees and he had to grip the edge of the sink to steady himself. And on the back of that, new thoughts.

How could he dare leave Dr. Benson, not when she was the only person helping him. But helping him with what? That part remained hidden. He only knew that the piece of him that sashayed through the room cleaning and arranging was the same part who adored Benson and would do everything it could to keep him there. The prison, Elliot understood, was both within him and without.

Furious, Elliot slammed his fist into the mirror, shattering it. He looked down at his bloody knuckles. For a moment, it felt like triumph. Then, horrified by the mess, Elliot went about cleaning his room, his thoughts of escape far away.

The days kept on dawning. While Elliot could not see the sun, he could chart the passage of ime by the meals he was brought. Breakfasts of fruit and cereal, lunches of salads and dainty sandwiches with a side of fruit, dinners of fish and plenty of vegetables. It was a diet of sorts, although his softening body responded by moving his fat around. His arms and legs looked leaner, but his hips and ass were another story altogether. When he twisted to check out his derriere, even he had to admire the peachy ass forming behind him.

He was surprised when the attendants came to collect him for another lunch. The last time they tried this, Farrell had been tased and carried away while the rest looked on. Being marched down the hall toward the lobby, Elliot wondered what might greet him this time.

What he did not expect was the lively, even chipper, conversation going on at the table among his fellow prisoners. Like before, the room was lined by the pretty young women with tasers on their sides. What was different this time were the men. At least one of them had abandoned any pretense of masculinity, so maybe “the men” was no longer the best label for his imprisoned companions. Perhaps it was poetic that it would be Farrell who succumbed the fastest. Seeing the others was surprising, but Farrell…

“Sit down,” he smiled, pointing at the remaining chair. The tip of his finger was decorated by a long, pink-painted nail.

Elliot slumped into the chair, willing his jaw to close so he didn’t look as dumbfounded as he felt.

“I know, I know,” Farrell said with a dismissive wave of his delicate hand, “I look different. And better yet, I am different.”

That was an understatement. Where the rest of the men gathered around the table stillw ore the institute-issued jumpsuits, Farrell was in a pink dress that showed off lovely legs and a generous amount of thigh. Cutouts on the sides gave a peek at his dark and lustrous skin. And the top was built to enhance his cleavage. With his ahir longer and teased out, parted in the middle, there was little to suggest that Farrellw as a man at all.

“He wants to be called Fay,” Ted said, nodding to their feminized companion.

“And I prefer she/her pronouns now. You’ll come around, Ted. I don’t know if you looked in a mirror lately, but you are getting downright hot.”

Farrell, now Fay, was grinning while she took a healthy bite out of he rbuttered toast. Her legs crossed under the table. Elliot noticed the heels she wore were quite tall. He wondered how Fay managed to walk in them. And it was easy to think of Fay as a she as there was nothing masculine about her dress, he rbody, or the manner in which she spoke. She was feminine and friendly and possessed of a body Elliot would have fantasized about in a different time. Now the sight of Fay brought more conflict.

“Shut up,” Ted countered. He blushed and looked down at his hands.

“You are, girl. I’d kill for those lips.”

Ted’s blonde hair was tugged back in a short ponytail, highlighting fine and narrow features. And, as Fay suggested, very full lips that begged to be kisses. Beneath the jumpsuit, Elliot detected some enticing curves.

Jason was the quietest. Besides Farrell, who was openly feminine now, he was the one whose visage most suggested a woman. Dark hair fell in waves and there was a strip of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He looked ten years younger, as did Fay. She could pass for mid-twenties. Say what you will about the Institute’s practices, he thought, they could hardly deny the results.

“You’ve given up,” Elliot sighed.

“You call itw hat you want,” Fay replied with a slight shrug. “All I know is that when I came here, I was on some fast track to middle management for the rest of my life. And I was angry all the time. Now?” She took another bite of toast and paused to smile, savoring the taste. “Now, I appreciate everything. I feel like I have a second chance to make my life something else. And be someone else, obviously. And I have the body for it. Don’t think I’m not using that to my advantage. I would have killed to be with a hot piece of ass like me when I was a boy.”

“They did this to you, though. You didn’t choose this. They made you this way.”

Fay laughed. No, that wasn’t right. It was a giggle. “So what? I didn’t choose it for myself, but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy with it. I think about trying to run out of here and kick myself. I wish I’d given myself over to the process way before I did. Who knows how far along I’d be by now? But Dr. Benson says I’ll be ready to leave soon. She’s good as her word on that count. We’re all walking out of her on our own when this is over. Just depends on how long you all want to make the stay. You get with the program, you can be out in a couple of weeks like me. Or drag it in. Your choice.”

Ted’s eyes followed the conversation. He lifted a hand like he was in school and asking to speak. “I am tired of fighting it, too. Sometimes I forget I was ever Ted. And I like it when I do. I feel way better when I’m that other person. Terri. With an i. Isn’t that cute?”

“It is. I don’t know what my girl name will be,” Jason offered. His voice was so soft, barely above a whisper. Elliot saw resignation on Jason’s feminized features.

“I can’t believe all of you,” he growled. “She’s making us all weak little women.”

“I don’t feel weak,” Fay countered. “I am a proud woman. Prouder as a woman than I ever was as a man.”

“That’s just what she wants you to think!”

“So what if it is?” This from Ted, who eyed Fay with naked envy. “If it’s part of us now, why try o fight it? Why not be the best version of ourselves. If I had a body like Fay’s, I’d show it off, too.”

“You just wait,” Fay teased. Ted giggled. “All I know is that I feel amazing. And once I get out of here, the world is gonna know just how amazing that is. I feel sexier than I ever have. And I am going to have some fun.”

Again, Ted giggled. Jason only blushed deeper.

Elliot had never felt so alone or so lost. He listened to the others chatter away about their new bodies and new feelings. While he was not immune to the symptoms they discussed, he spoke little for the rest of the meal. As he plucked at some well-prepared salmon, he wondered if this was his last meal before he had no more will to resist the changes.

“Julie?” Benson only announced herself once the door was open. If she interrupted Julie coming out of the shower, where was the harm in that. Seeing her new subjects embracing their new lives had her feeling slinky, and a toss with Julie to celebrate might not be the worst idea.

Before coming to her assistant’s room, Benson tried paging her in all the obvious places, but there was no response. If the girl weren’t so cute and so reliable, the search for her might have inspired some anger in Benson. But she allowed her assistant wide latitude. Perhaps to a fault if ignoring her summons was going to be a regular thing. She was looking for any new information on the mystery donor, but now Benson was thinking of taking Julie over knee, giving her the kind of spanking that might lead to something more. Still, she was in her room, so why not explore?

The room wasn’t much more ornate than those of their test subjects. Julie had a desk and softer lighting, and more décor, but the size was roughly the same. It was the desk Benson took an interest in, and sifted through some of the papers in the long, shallow drawer up front. It was in one of the deep bottom drawers that Benson found the phone. It was older, a flip phone. What some might refer to as a burner. Benson turned it over in her hand and considered it. Why would Julie have a secret phone?

Whatever arousal Benson felt on entering Julie’s room evaporated with her anger and suspicion. She opened the phone and skimmed through the menut o find text messages. The only sender or recipient was someone known only as RJ. Whoever RJ was, he or she was telling Julie to maintain her cover. Her cover.

Benson had to return the phone to the desk lest she break it in her grip. She slammed the drawer shut and stormed out of the room, pausing long enough to ensure that there were no signs of her having been there. She marched down the hall toward the elevators to make her way back to her apartment on the top floor of the Institute. She had to pass through her office to get to her private quarters, and once inside she locked the door. With no one to hear her, Benson screamed. In that sound was all the fury of her betrayal, the rage of her efforts to connect with Julie turned into a vulnerability.

Her face was frozen in a sneer as she considered her next move. The messages spoke with familiarity about the coming trip to the Janus Institute. They must act as if they had never met, RJ reminded her. And once they had all the technology catalogued and the feminization process recorded, Benson would no longer be necessary. Not in a management role. She could, RJ old Julie, remain onboard as a technological consultant. And could she be trained using Benson’s own process to comply? Julie assured RJ that such a thing was quite possible. And she could take over the Janus Institute in Benson’s stead.

Another roar, and Benson lashed out, swiping a porcelain vase of dried flowers from the shelf and onto the floor. Something about the shattering of glass soothed her. She breathed hard, her shoulders hunched, her fists clenched at her sides.

Benson had to calm herself. They must not know what she knew. And, in time, she would exact her revenge. If this RJ was so curious about the process, perhaps they would like an up-close look at it. Yes, and Julie, too. It was time for Benson to try something new.