The Experiment

The basement had evolved into a full-fledged lair of transformation, wires snaking across the floor like veins, screens flickering with data logs from the past four years. Harold—or what was left of him—stood before Ethan in a flowing dress, his body a canvas of engineered femininity: soft curves, smooth skin, and a demeanor that hovered between resignation and haze. The second chastity phase had ended, but Ethan had "forgotten" to unlock it, citing data integrity. Harold hadn't protested much; his will was a whisper now."Phase three, Dad," Ethan announced, his voice buzzing with fervor. He adjusted a headset rigged with electrodes, a custom hypnosis rig of his design, blending audio subliminals, light pulses, and mild neurostimulants. "We've sculpted the body—now the mind. You'll think and act like the obedient woman you were meant to be. Graceful, compliant, devoted. To me, to the experiment."Harold's eyes, framed by mascara Ethan had applied that morning, widened slightly. "Son... I don't know. This feels... deep." But his voice was soft, lilting, the estrogen's legacy. Resistance flickered, then faded under Ethan's insistent gaze. "It's necessary. Science demands totality. Sit." Ethan guided him to a reclining chair, strapping on the headset. Harold complied, as always. The session began with a hum—waves of sound washing over him, Ethan's recorded voice weaving commands: "You are Harriet now. Obedient. Feminine. Your thoughts are soft, your actions pleasing. Serve without question." Alongside the hypnosis, Ethan introduced the physical tweaks. Injections first— a serum of his concoction, designed for targeted atrophy. "This will shrink it down, make it... dainty. Fitting for your new self." The needle slid in, a cool sting targeting the locked-away manhood. Over weeks, it worked: measurements in Ethan's logs showed reduction, inch by inch, until it was a modest nub, sensitive but subdued. Pills followed, popped daily under Ethan's supervision. "These keep things tight back there—super tight, like a vice. Enhances... utility." The formula, a blend of muscle toners and collagen boosters, focused on the rear, ensuring perpetual firmness. Harold—Harriet now, in sessions—swallowed them without fuss, the hypnosis embedding compliance. "Yes, Ethan," she'd murmur, voice programmed to a breathy timbre. Sessions ran nightly, deepening the trance. Ethan scripted scenarios: "Walk like a lady—hips sway, steps small." Harriet practiced in heels, curtsying on command. "Think obedient thoughts: please your son, follow his lead." Mental barriers crumbled; Harold's old memories blurred, replaced by feminine urges—cravings to nurture, to submit. The lock stayed on, a four-year-plus anchor, frustration fueling the hypnosis. "No release until perfection," Ethan decreed. Months in, Harriet was reborn. She glided through the house in aprons and lace, cooking delicate meals, cleaning with a demure smile. "How may I serve today, dear?" she'd ask, eyes downcast. The shrinkage was complete—tiny, almost ornamental under the cage. And the pills? They delivered: tightness that made even sitting a reminder of control. Ethan observed, notes flying: psychological profiles showing full immersion, physical scans confirming the tweaks. Neighbors had long stopped visiting; rumors swirled of the "weird recluse and his... companion." By year one's end, Harriet begged for more sessions, trance-addicted. "Make me better, Ethan. More obedient." The second year polished her—role-plays of total submission, thoughts locked in femininity. On the phase's close, Ethan removed the headset one last time. Harriet knelt, awaiting orders. "What now, Master?" Ethan's laugh echoed madly. "Phase four? Eternity, perhaps. Science evolves, Harriet." She nodded. She always did.