Corporate Takeover: The Tradwife Trap Pt. 4

A smaller update today, but more to enjoy coming soon!

“This is you. The image all the way down. Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Elliot said. His voice was soft but sure.

“Could it be anyone else? You believe with all your heart that the person you see is you?”

“Yesss.”

She made him repeat it time and again, ensuring that he had no doubts that it was his own image Elliot saw floating above him, frawing him up and away. Only once his agreement became more emphatic did Benson hit the next prompt in the program.

The images of Elliot were still there, but they were not alone. The pictures of Elliot were joined by a young woman. She had wavy, strawberry blonde hair. Sometimes it was in a bun, sometimes a saucy ponytail. Her lips shone with red gloss in each picture. And her clothes were very traditional, the kind of dresses one associated with old black and white sitcoms, or movies of the 1950s and 1960s. She was buxom and alluring in her retro fashion. She could almost be mistaken for a pinup, the kind which rode the sides of planes in World War Two. But there was no battle in this woman. She held pies and bent to fasten her stocking. She was a caregiver. A nurturer. She was not entirely docile, but she knew her role was in the home.

The pictures of Elliot flowed into those of this woman and back again. Benson stroked his hair.

“This is you.” This was a statement, not a question. “Your image calls to you, beckons you Let yourself float away and into it. Let yourself become what you see. The person you are.”

The sounds droned on, shredding Elliot’s will. Benson whispered, assuring him that the pictures floating above him must be him, as he had said so himself. And the images turned and warped and shifted, all at the bottom of the endless spirals. There was no sound to accompany the fracture of Elliot’s mind, but he could feel himself rending in twain. He could not be both of the people at the same time, and yet his controlled mind insisted he must be. Elliot winced as the two personas insisted they were him.

Benson saw the conflict on her subject’s face. Yes, she decided. The new addition to her process was showing very promising results indeed.

The files covered Benson’s desk again. Now, handwritten notes were clipped inside, charting the progress of each. It brought Benson no small amount of pride to know that she had called the rapid progress of Farrell Bingham. Ted Bright displayed the greatest resistance, but was bending toward the proper curve, while the residents of the east wing, Jason and Elliot, were at the top end of the bell curve. Soon, she would bring them all together again, not that theyw ere in th height of questioning their identities. It would be helpful for all of them to see their reflections in the faces of the others, to know that there was truly no escape from the fates designed for these men.

Julie entered with her usual knock. “Busy?”

“When am I not? But always hap[py to see you, Julie. What have you found out?”

Julie stepped inside and faced Benson, seated behind her desk. Her hair was messy on one side from her fingers combing through it. She must have been staring at the files for hours now.

“You were right. There is a flight coming in the morning of the scheduled visit. While I have all the tracking numbers and identifications, I am having a tough time figuring out who the hell the plane belongs to. It’s not a rental, so it’s private, but none of the logs indicate an owner, and my initial search hasn’t turned anything up. Yet. I have some tricks up my sleeve, if you don’t mind giving me a day or two.”

Benson checked the calendar. Still plenty of time before the tour of the Janus Institute. And Julie always proved to be resourceful.

“Let me know what you find as soon as you do. In the meantime, what do you think of Farrell?”

Julie chuckled. “I think he’s almost done. I have to admit, I’m almost jealous of how sexy he is now. Is he supposed to go into modeling or something?”

“Something like that,” benson smirked. “Once he refuses his old persona, I want to have a lunch with all of them.”

“Don’t you think it might unwind some of his programming?”

“Just the opposite. I think the others may find that Farrell is happier after his change. And they might want to hurry towards the inevitable.”

Julie nodded. “That might work. He’s close. One more training session with you should do it. Should I step up the hormones?”

“Yes. Let’s make sure he looks perfect for his coming out party.”

“What about the others?”

“Continue the treatment a splanned. I believe they are coming along just as we hoped.”

She didn’t bother to dismiss Julie, but returned to her work. Julie watched her mentor for a moment before leaving, wondering how someone so brilliant could often be so clueless.

Elliot wished there was such a thing as a magic mirror, for that would explain the face looking back at him. He wanted to believe it was a lie, or some kind of trick. But when his fingers followed his smooth cheek to his eyes, he saw that the reflection did the same with unerring perfection. It didn’t help that his hair was getting longer. That suggested he had been here at the Janus Institute for weeks now. It was hard to be sure. But the way his hair hung longer and looser, nearly to his shoulders, proved that time continued to slip away from him. He teased that hair and pulled it straight to judge how long it had grown. He used to keep it so short, neat and trimmed, but now it was at least five inches or more. And so rich to the touch.

Beneath that luster of new hair was a face that resembled his, but somehow was not his own. Even the finer hair was almost gone and the texture of his skin was like that of fine satin. When he ran his fingers up his belly and along his arms, he shivered at the delicate glide against his flesh. It reminded him of his wife’s skin, when theyw ere young and started dating. He would follow her calf up to her thigh and back again, savoring the sensation of her skin while they made out in his car. Only now it was his skin that invited such a caress.

When he twisted his body to see more of himself, he found an equally alluring ass, and a general rounding of all of his curves. The net effect was easy to describe: He was becoming more womanly. He kept his hands away from his chest. Once he made the mistake of examining what felty like fat gathering there, and discovered intensely sensitive nipples and a swell of fat there that could be described as boobs if he didn’t know any better. He was not a woman, after all.

Except sometimes he caught himself thinking of himself in just that way.