Experimental Surgery, Part 1 (Man to Designer Woman TG) (Patreon)

By FoxFaceStories

An Anonymous Story Tier Prompt

Benjamin is celebrating a recent windfall when an attractive femme fatale begins flirting with him. Unfortunately for him, he is quickly drugged and taken to a hidden laboratory, one which exists for rich donors to pay for men to be transformed into perfect submissive trophy wives, all for their amusement. Benjamin must try to escape, before an old rival claims him as his wife.

Part 1: The Setup

Hello, dear reader. I don’t know if anyone will ever read this story, but I truly hope they do, because it is a story worth telling, and one that I would never be able to tell out loud. Only in writing can it be put down, and if you continue to read, you will begin to understand why. This is not an easy tale, especially because it is true. All the events I have written down here are entirely true; they occurred to me, and in some ways are still occurring. At times, I have even included excerpts of my writing during this period, that which I was able to hold on to without my captors knowing. But I am getting ahead of myself. You are about to read a story of a man, one among many, who was tricked, sedated, and forced to undergo surgery, hormone treatment, and mental conditioning in order to become . . . someone else. It is the story of my death, my rebirth, my fall and my survival. I hope that something is gained by it, should you read it, and perhaps something further can be done.

For now though, I simply ask that you believe what I have written down. Every word is true.

***

The first thing you should know about me is that I was born Benjamin James Hardey. Yes, if you know me in person, I imagine you find that quite a strange fact indeed. Nevertheless, I was, and I ask that you do not put down these letters just yet. If you wish, just imagine that this is some strange flight of fancy, and proceed from that assumption. I will attempt to convince you along the way, alright?

The second thing you should know is that I wasn’t exactly the most humble man in life. I was the only son of two rather pushy parents who had agitated for me at every turn to succeed. Even when I left home, that drive to succeed and overcome all obstacles in my path only increased. Without them as a safety net I had to make sure I never failed, that I was able to build my own safety net and become wealthy and successful. Naturally, I entered the corporate world several years later, and even I was surprised how much I took to it like a fish to water. 

I won’t deny, my looks helped. Some said I had a kind of ‘Bruce Wayne’ look to me - y’know, Batman - since I was tall, dark and handsome, and perhaps just a little brooding at times. Of course, I could turn on the charisma when I wanted to, an easy thing when you look good, particularly in a suit. I always made sure my black hair was styled for the office, and that I put in the extra hours. I quickly rose up the ranks in a large textile manufacturer - Texton - and soon was angling for even higher promotions. All this while only being thirty one years old when everything changed.

I made quite a few friends on this path, and not just the kind I was schmoozing and wining and dining for said promotions. No, I certainly did pretty well for myself, and I won’t lie and claim I didn’t have a few office flings here and there, particularly with the secretaries. All consensual, of course, and lots of fun, especially in the roomy, rather steamy closet of level three.

I’m trying to explain that I lacked a sense of humility at this point. There was this guy, who will become very important to the story soon. His name was Jonathan Dart. He was with the Texton for a while, and he was constantly angling for a climb up the corporate ladder like I was. Unlike me, though, he lacked a few advantages. He was an average-looking guy who almost appeared a bit rakish, and he didn’t have my charm when it came to the ladies. I won’t lie, I snapped up a few, such as the lovely Heather Grace, right out of his grasp, despite knowing he was pursuing her. He didn’t like me much, but it was easy to step on him, particularly since he was a good footstool to go places. When he did marvellous work and I was serving as his manager, it wasn’t hard to pass it up and claim the lion’s share of the credit. Oh, he glared at me, but what could he do? It wasn’t like he could dethrone me, he could only quit four years into our ongoing rivalry and disappear into the wind.

At least, that’s what I thought. I quickly forgot little Jonathan, but he hadn’t forgotten me. No, he spent a great deal of time remembering every little injustice and humiliation I’d visited on him, and vowed to do the same to me . . . with interest. I wouldn’t find this out later, though. For several more years, I coasted ever higher up the ladder, until I had become a very wealthy figure nearly at the C-suite level, and just in my mid-thirties by that point! Thirty five, specifically, and with a great future at Texton after closing yet another great deal and raising our share market value once more. It was enough to award me a grand new Christmas bonus to round out the year, and at our company Christmas Party I was the toast of the town, the one with the various awards and celebrations. Everyone knew I was going places.

And that was when I saw her.

She had legs that seemed to stretch for miles, the slits of her gold-sequin dress doing a marvellous job of tracing her smoothness all the way up to her hips. Her cleavage was fantastic, and I wanted to get lost in it; not just my vision but my face entire. I’d been dating Yin Leechun for a while by that point, but I was ready to dump her on the spot if this woman was single. She had inviting red hair that fell down over one shoulder in gentle waves, and her dress was bare-shoulders, letting me take in her cute smattering of freckles that seemed to be places just so. Her lips had been done up ruby red, her eyebrows and eyeshadow dark. She looked as if she’d stepped out of an old noir film, a classy femme fatale who knew what she wanted and would use all her wiles to get it.

I wanted to get her.

One drink for a little liquid courage, and I readied to advance toward her, ending whatever dull conversation I was having with a colleague. But then I saw that she was already heading toward me, sashaying her hips from side to side, strutting her body as if she were the radiant sun itself, there to light up my world. She smirked at me, not with any patronising quality but with a shared understanding of mutual attraction.

“Hey,” she said, as if that was enough. In some ways it was.

“Hey yourself,” I replied, arching an eyebrow. “I don’t remember seeing you around the office. I would have remembered.”

“I’m newly transferred,” she purred, getting surprisingly close to me, enough that I could smell her perfume as if it were an aphrodisiac pheromone certainly, I had a good look down at her cleavage; a show I was getting the sense was very deliberate. “I work in marketing. I try to get people’s attention, make them want more.”

“Well, it’s certainly working on me. I’m Ben. Ben Hardey.”
 She extended a hand for me to kiss, and I did so, as if we were in a far classier time. 

“Mallory,” she replied. “A last name can come later. Everyone’s talking about you, Ben; the handsome hunk who’s a rising star.”

“They called me a handsome hunk?”

She grinned, flashing me a brilliant smile. “Well, I may have embellished a few details of my own. Are you single tonight, Ben?”

“Tonight? I rather am. Why, are you looking for someone to keep you company?”

“Someone?” she said, her lips so close to mine as she looked up at me. “No. Yours? I could stomach that for a bit . . . if you buy me a drink.”

“How do you have it?”

“Sex on the beach. Or anywhere, really. Oh, you mean the drink? I’ll have a margarita.”

We got to talking some more, and if you think this amount of flirting was enough, it soon became almost explosive in its chemistry. Soon I didn’t even have time for my bosses, and whatever Yin was texting me was long forgotten. I was spellbound by Mallory, her perfect form smuggled into a dress that could barely contain her fine bosom or her sharp wit. The venue was a ritzy casino hotel, so it didn’t take her long to pull me to a quiet corner and ply me for more about myself. Naturally, I also embellished, but I did a good job of talking myself up while continuing to flirt back with her.

“I’m talking about myself too much,” I said. “And in the company of a woman like you, that’s practically a crime.”

She grinned once more, biting her full lower lip and enticing me further. She held up her drink. 

“Well, cheers to capturing your attention, Benjamin? I don’t have to worry about any rivals, right? No peers of yours ready to stab you in the back?”

And that’s when I spoke the words that doomed me for the rest of my life.

“None. The only guy who was in my way was practically pushed to quite a few years back. A sad little twerp who just couldn’t cut it.”

“Did this twerp have a name?”

“Jonathan something. Jonathan Dart, that’s it. Heard of him?”

She smiled, and didn’t answer, instead gesturing to her drink. “Get me another one of these. Don’t worry, I’ll guard yours.”

I was too enamoured to notice any manipulation, this despite her being the ultimate femme fatale in looks and style and action. Instead, I went and got her another cocktail, and when I returned she was still guarding my drink and I was none the wiser. She looked at me with a devilish expression when I sat back down.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, sipping my drink and admiring her form, especially the peaks of her two mountains.

“I’m thinking you should finish that drink and then get me out of her. Preferably back to my place.”

I sculled that drink so fast I almost gave myself a goddamn heartburn. 

***

Her apartment was rather surprisingly at this nothing motel at the edge of town. The kind of place you expected a drug deal to go bad or the FBI to hole up some stool pigeon or something until they could get him safely to court. I told her as much, but she just gave that now-familiar smirk.

“It’s not my real place. It’s just a spot I go to when I want to have fun, no questions asked. Wild fun.”

Looking back, the hook was obvious. And yet there I was, the stupid fish not just nibbling at the bait but swallowing it whole. Devouring it right down to my stomach. Or perhaps just looping it around my loins, because it was my dick that was doing the thinking that night. 

I followed her into her apartment, the one at the end, recessed in darkness. I was starting to feel a little drowsy, but I didn’t think much of it, not with her leading the way, her ass shaking in the tight confines of her dress. As soon as the door was shut and the lights were on I spun her around and pressed my lips against hers. We kissed passionately, the kind of kisses only a woman trained in such sensual arts knew how to deliver. Her body pressed against mine, her breasts pert and lovely and ready to be unwrapped. I continued to make out with her, edging closer towards the motel bed.

Only to begin to falter. The first was a stumble in my left leg, the next in my right. I began to hold onto Mallory for support, wondering what was going on, but she continued to kiss my lips, moaning as she made out with me.

“Wh-wait,” I managed, my words slurring. “Something’s . . . happening. We n-need to stop. Something’s g-gone wrong. Just need a minute.”

I collapsed to my knees, my vision blurring. There were now two Mallories that I could see, sliding into each other and circling impossibly, like I was almost blackout drunk. I remember this part clearly, though what came next was far more uncertain. I definitely remember collapsing onto the bed with her help, but she pulled away from my touch, still showing that dangerous smirk. My heart pounded, and a panic filled my heart.

“Wh-what are you d-doing?” I asked, as she picked up her phone.

“He’s ready,” she said to someone on the other end of the line. “No, the two-bit compound worked perfectly, just like you said it would. One part on my lips, the other dissolved in his drinks. He’s nearly out of it. Time to send someone in. Thank you . . . master.”

My vision was almost gone. I was struggling to keep my eyes open, my senses away, but it was too difficult. I succumbed to sleep, the narcotic drug working its way through my system. To this day I don’t remember the exact moment I fell asleep, or if I experienced anything while I was transported. I do, however, remember very, very clearly down to the last detail, how I woke up in the dungeon.

***

It was not a sudden waking like in the movies. Instead, I groggily got up, recognising that this was not my bed. For a moment, I was curious that this was Mallory’s bed, but then the last memories came to me, and I recalled that I had been dragged. That was finally enough for me to take in the smells and sights of my new surroundings, and determine that I definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore, little Dorothy.

“What the fuck? Where am I?”

It was like a dungeon, albeit with modern surveillance. The floor was made of stone, the walls too, and the door looked to be constructed of pure steel, with bars for looking out that would permit not escape. Outside the window, I could hear the sounds of people yelling, some male and others more feminine. They were demanding food, drink, and freedom. I could see why: my own cell had a toilet, a wash basin, a simple single bed that I was sitting on, and a mirror. There wasn’t much else at all, in fact.

“Help!” I called out, my voice raspy and weak. I swallowed, and regained it. “HELP! Get me out of here! I’ll pay you anything you want!”

Yelling was useless, though. That damned bitch of a woman had honeypotted me, and now I was ensnared in her trap, or whoever her ‘master’ had been. I spent the next several hours taking stock of everything, but it was mostly a mix of terrific boredom and heart wrenching terror. Occasionally doctors in coats strode by my window, but they didn’t both with me. My own clothing was gone, replaced with simple patient garb. I didn’t have my phone, my wallet, or anything that would identify me, and no one was listening to my demands. Clearly this was some kind of kidnapping scheme, at least that’s what I thought at the time, and they were waiting me out until someone paid for my release or I offered up everything.

Finally, after far too long waiting, my cell door suddenly opened. The gorgeous woman strode in, Mallory now wearing a red dress that clung tight to her curves.

“You!” I growled, and I shot to my feet, ready to strangle her. I wasn’t one for violence against women, but I needed to escape.

I stopped as soon as I saw two burly men step in with her, both of whom looked absolutely capable of throwing me like a ragdoll around the room. One even smirked at me.

“Benjamin James Hardey,” the woman said in her honeyed tone. “It’s good to see you up and awake.”

“What is this? What are you doing to me? Is it money you want?”

Someone laughed from outside the cell. Mallory smirked. “This facility is not interested in money; its patrons are more than capable of funding its progress. We are simply here to administer a set of changes to you, ones that are at the cutting edge of technology.”

“What do you mean? What kind of changes? What the fuck is this facility?”

Another smirk. “Years ago, a great man named Amadeus Markha had a dream. He had a terrible enemy, one who constantly stifled his own plans for greatness. The height of displeasure came when his lady love was stolen from him, seduced by his enemy. Amadeus was an expert in genetics, however, and he devised a series of treatments that would make his enemy not only pay, but suffer the ultimate humiliation . . . that of becoming his wife. And his enemy was not female to start with, Mr Hardey.”
 I recall scoffing. “That’s ridiculous.”

“And yet it is what he achieved. A totally biological woman was made from his enemy’s body, through a series of surgeries and chemical treatments. The new woman was made pliable and submissive through repeated mental conditioning, to the point where she served him loyally, even as her own consciousness remained. In the end, she became his collaborator, his trophy wife, the woman who warmed his bed and birthed his children for him. The ultimate woman, all thanks to this experimental surgery.”

“Where is this woman, then?”

She indicated to herself, her perfect form. “Why, she is standing before you, Mr Hardey. I am her. You may call me Mallory Markha, the very first successful test subject for Amadeus’ experimentations.”

I couldn’t believe it. I refused to believe it.

“This is sick. You’re sick. This whole thing is bullshit.”

“I thought too, until I became this woman and could not resist my new husband’s thrusts into me. Now . . . I am his. Wholly. You might say I am resigned to it, though after fifteen years this is the life I know, and can only participate in fully.”

She clearly caught my confusion.

“Yes, Mr Hardey, I am into my forties now. I do not look it, do I? Would you say thirty? I would. One kindness of the treatment is that even as you age, your beauty will take much longer to fade. Consider that as we prepare you for your first treatment; a simple hormone injection to get you started.”

My heart skipped a beat, then began thudding in my chest as the two large men advanced upon me. I tried to run past them but they easily manhandled me, gripping me and ripping up the sleeve of my patient gown to present my arm. Mallory stepped forward, as alluring and seductive as ever, but now with a needle in her hand.

“Trust me, Mr Hardey, you are not the only one here. My Amadeus runs this service as a business. He is quite rich now. You were simply poached.”

“Why me!? Why me, dammit!”

She was so close to me by that point, the needle dripping slightly. “Because someone wanted revenge on you, Mr Hardey. They wanted you to be their perfect wife, your humiliation total.”

“Who? WHO!?”

The dark laugh I’d heard outside the cell repeated itself, and then finally the figure strode into the room to reveal himself. I’m sure you’ve already guessed who it was, but at the time I could scarcely believe it: Jonathan Dart stood there in a very fine suit, looking far more professional and assured than I’d ever seen him before, and more powerfully built too. So different from the scrawny rat I’d stepped over in my corporate conquests years ago.

“You!” I proclaimed.

“Yes, me,” he said, voice dripping with acid. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Benny-boy. You ruined my life for a long time, humiliated me, stole Heather from me, and for what? Just another step up the ladder? Well, you’ll be helping my conquests soon; business, and sexual. I can’t wait to see what a sexy wife you’ll make. I’ve got a very particular look in mind, in fact.”

I screamed invectives, howling at him, trying to reach forward and ring his neck. But the hold of the two muscle bound titans was too strong, and within moments Mallory was plunging the needle into my upper arm, the flow of hormones pouring into my system. I became woozy immediately, and after several more attempts to get to Jonathan’s smug expression and wipe it off his face, I began to collapse entirely.

“There, there, Benny-boy,” he said, even as my eyes began to close and the men set me back on my bed. “Don’t fight it. You’re going to be such a beautiful wife. I just know it.”

I fell asleep, full of fitful dreams and mad wanderings. My first step towards unwanted womanhood was only at its start. It was to change the course of my life forever, dear reader.

To Be Continued . . .