Richelle and Hector (Sci-Fi Gender Transformations)

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Richelle and Hector (Sci-Fi Gender Transformations)

Postby CelebrityChanger » Mon Jun 11, 2018 8:34 pm

Richelle and Hector

By Celebrity Changer

Honestly, this is watching Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde and reversing the significant characters' sex. Making it modern. Changing some of the plot, but otherwise leaving it as scene to scene jumpy as the movie.

**********

May’s pre-dawn warmth filled the air throughout a brightly lit Washington DC city scape.

The home for Dr. Richelle Jackson.

She grew up with a keen curiosity for science. She excelled in such classes, notably chemistry, and aimed to be a worker in the STEM fields when she graduated from Georgetown.

Richelle was particularly fond of experimentation, discovering things through her own work. She’d have as much fun tinkering on something at home, or in a lab, as she would in going out for the evening.

As much as Richelle got to work on experiments her mind spent most of the time unfulfilled. She was currently stuck in a job that wasn’t looking very promising the longer she stayed at it. So she would spend more of her evenings continuing in her domestic experimentation. And it wasn’t doing wonders for her love life.

Her fiancé was being neglected. A man she truly loved.

And her scientific tinkerings weren’t very interesting so far.

Richelle was frustrated and so was Stephen, her fiancé. Not to mention Stephen was a bit pissed off.

Richelle was at home, makeshift lab humming, a pen in her mouth as she ‘worked.’ Her strapping fiancé came down the apartment stares to voice his latest concern.

“Richelle, it’s 5 am.” Stephen had a tone of concern mixed with annoyance. “You’ve got to get to bed. We have to be up at 6. Come on, you’re obsessed.”

Richelle begrudgingly left to follow Stephen back up the stairway, knowing that even though she was going to bed it would only be for about an hour. She should have just stayed up, she thought.

While dressing, later around 6:30am, Richelle noted a television channel that for some reason had an old black and white showing of the 1941 movie “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“We have to be obsessed, you know,” she called back to the obsessed comment from over an hour ago. Richelle, a tall woman compared to her peers, finished putting on her clothes. She wore a long blue skirt – and a sleeveless blue shirt that showed the top of her chest. It hid her cleavage however. A black dress coat completed her business attire and matched her dark, yet conservatively lengthed hair. Her hair reached her shoulders bit went only an inch or so further. She was thin, yet sexy; and Richelle could show it without looking provocative.

“I was obsessed with science and it got me into college. He’s obsessed,” she pointed at the screen.

“Yeah but he screwed up.”

“I know, he still learned though. Who knows what else can be discovered.” She then thought of her days spent in the Men’s Wellness Center. “If I truly were that obsessed I wouldn’t be wasting my life at that wellness center.”

Stephen was putting on a button shirt, and quickly responded “You’re a brilliant scientist, Richelle.” He matched the appearance of Richelle well. Young like her, both still in their mid-thirties. He was lean and taller than the tall Richelle, but by only about two inches, he had a smattering of facial hair that added a bit of smolder to his look.

“I help geezers get boners, Stephen.” She motioned to the TV, “That’s science.”

“Well come along Dr. Jackson, or else we’re going to be late for this auction.” Stephen said as he grabbed his phone, and headed toward the stairs

**********

They had been driving down a country road for quite some ways. All in the aim of heading to the auctioning off of a defunct science lab’s building and possessions. It was in Richelle’s hometown, outside DC, and it also used to be a museum for science. She was last there when she was 13, and she wanted to see if any trinkets from the old displays were there. Perhaps even some equipment for her home lab.

And after she got there she realized the old place really did contain some nice artifacts. But she kept being outbid.

Richelle wasn’t rich, but she definitely thought she’d be able to afford something.

Be it the growing indifference of the crowd who’d outbid her on the impressive equipment, or be it that what remained was less appealing, Richelle was finally able to bid on something. She began with a bid of $10 on what was listed as “archives of past work,” which turned out to only be a small box of thumb drives and disks, plus a notebook or two.

It was sad to see this place that helped instill her scientific curiosity crumble away like this, and it was worse that see wasn’t able to bring much of it back home with her.

In the end no one else bid on that selection.

***********

Later that day Richelle arrived at the Men’s Wellness Office for a shift beginning in the late morning. She was still wearing the clothes from the auction, if only switched to more comfortable shoes. At the lobby elevator Richelle pushed the up button, only to be met with the doors opening and a sudden sound of anxious movement within the elevator. Inside a good looking yet perfectly anonymous young man hurried out into the lobby from the elevator, and the sheepish yet sly grin of her friend/colleague Patricia was still inside.

Patricia was notably shorter than Richelle. She was…adventurous, you could say. Looking more like a pixie than the larger Richelle, her short cut hair gave her a younger appearance. Patricia nonetheless was a confident woman who really liked to “fraternize” with the good-looking men at this wellness center.

Even, at times, the men who came into the place for appointments; if she thought she could get away with it.

Richelle smiled at Patricia, noting the smaller woman was straightening her clothes a bit and said “good morning” through her smirk.

The door closed and they rode up together.

During the quick walk through the upper levels of the building, on the way to her office, Richelle chit chatted with Patricia. She’d noted how Patricia at times liked to wink at some of the men in the office as they passed by.

It was definitely a shot in the arm for Richelle to be friends with such a spirit as Patricia, to hear her tales and see her aggression with the not so fair sex. Didn’t always help her get through the day, though.

Like today, there was a meeting with Mr. Unger. He was the CEO of this series of MWCs up and down the east coast, and they were in today to discuss future drugs for their field. Richelle had been working on performance enhancements in the athletics division. She was tasked with helping activate certain hormone levels in such a natural way that it gets results without throwing off sensors that professional athletes might have to deal with by their governing bodies.

Mrs. Metz, an often-bewildered woman of a certain age who also worked as Richelle’s supervisor, was also present.

What occurred was a long monologue by Mr. Unger about how little progress is being made on the PED front. It went into other avenues of the business, from weight loss to fat reduction, mental sharpness, to libido increasing drugs.

He even waxed poetic about what it meant for this firm to be having so many women working on these drugs. Richelle would defend her work, but it only drew more scorn in the vein of it being better for a man to be working on it. As if somehow he’d know chemistry better than her.

Whatever.

**********

That night, Richelle and Stephen took time to help each other out after their long days. Stephen suggested that Richelle needed a break, and they walked out onto their balcony. Richelle lamented on the fact Stephen was a successful lawyer, and she was more of a failure.

“Come on, you’re not a failure.”

They were both in pajamas, hers blue, his just a white shirt and shorts.

“I’ve been working in male enhancement for years, with little to show for it. I’m a failure.”

“Richelle, if you were a total failure why do I want to marry you?"

She thought for a witty response and was reminded of something men brag about, but flipped it for her.

“Cause I got good pussy.”

Stephen laughed. “Seriously though, I’m hardly noticed at the men’s wellness clinic. For a living, I get guys slightly thinner through drugs.”

“Richelle, it’s a start.”

“It’s more of a damned end. I graduated near the top of my class for Christ sake.”

“Exactly. And you were the youngest chemist employed by Alexion. And you were head hunted by Bristol Myers.”

“It’s Bristol Myers Squibb.”

“If you want to know the truth, they only fired you for being a bit aggressive.”

Richelle’s hand crept down toward Stephen’s groin.

“I’ll show you aggressive,” and she grinned.

**********

Richelle would go to pick up the stash she won at the auction the next day. Looking around the place again brought back memories, but one of the older workers of the place is who brought her to the storage area. Boxes were everywhere.

The attendant gave her the box of past work, and Richelle gave it a gander. It was certainly dusty. What was odd was the attendant suggest she be careful with the information. Allegedly they once were working on some interesting stuff regarding the hormone levels and sex of laboratory animals.

This interested Richelle and she wondered if something might be useful in her work.

And she broke out the drives, notebooks and stuff later that night, in the lab of the men's wellness clinic.

In her reading and studying of the material she logged in her journal that the past workers did stumble upon potent improvements toward the sexual characteristics of the lab animals. In most cases they could replicate puberty of tested animals, and on a chromosomal level the animals were improved markedly. Even the chromosome determining sex found changes.

Richelle took note of how this research may actually find a way to help some men find improvements in their vigor and manliness as they enter…a certain age.

Richelle set to work right there, and began tests of her own using the very materials she now possessed. With the added benefit of the chemicals at her employer’s laboratory/storage, she set to craft a new drug that would revolutionize the Men’s wellness industry.

Th older notes made mention of catalysts, synthetic drugs that somehow instigated the significant changes in the animals. She had the materials to create the drug she was thinking of in the company’s lab. She then increased the concentration of the catalysts to work for a man, as well as increasing the levels of androgen compounds – especially testosterone. That was the granddaddy of the androgens, and if this was going to work like she thought it would for men - then she’d need to up the testosterone doses to recreate the virile fire of late teens male puberty.

For the next several hours she created the drug.

By 3:30 am Richelle had finished. The drug, with a brilliant dark blue hue to it, was finished. Without any other person in the building to test this on, Richelle chose herself. Familiar with what would happen to -prolonged- exposure to drugs she thought were like the one she created, she knew nothing drastic would happen to her. Still, she could measure her body’s responses, if only faintly.

After taking the drug in her hands, admiring its blue color while behind the small glass container, Richelle quickly downed it. Noting that it didn’t have much of a taste. Wasn’t good tasting, but just not bad either.

Richelle spent the next few minutes cleaning up the lab, putting away her materials and notes back in her office. In nothing the early hour, she then walked up to the couch that was in her office and laid down. She set her phone’s charger in the nearby socket, and turned the phone's alarm to 7am. She had had all-nighters before, and Stephen knew she was okay in her office as she let him know she was there.

**********

The alarm went off quite on time and Richelle began to get up, still in her clothes from last night. She was beginning to walk around her office, aiming to head out into the hallway and fetch some coffee…when alertness suddenly came to her.

She had completely forgotten about a job interview.

A very important one with Dr. Manning.

With rapidity Richelle dashed into the shower near her office, and took the quickest shower of her life. From there she went to her office’s closet, where she had some nice backup clothes. She pulled out a few pieces and quickly got dressed, trying her damnedest to be Ubering to her interview by 8.

**********

The older Dr. Manning, a woman into her 60’s but sharp as a tack, waited impatiently.

The restaurant that she’d be meeting the prospective Richelle Jackson at was just beginning to bustle, as it usually did around 8am in the cityscape of D.C.

The grey-haired woman’s face perked up a bit as she heard a woman’s voice from out of nowhere say “Dr. Manning! Good morning,” and a hand was thrust in her direction to shake and a brief hand shaking occurred, “I’m Dr. Richelle Jackson. I’m sorry I’m past 8 but the Uber driver got caught up in burdensome traffic.”

The end of the sentence was cut off by Dr. Manning saying “Punctuality and self-discipline are qualities highly prized in my company, Dr. Jackson. If you don’t have them we don’t want you.”

Richelle, taken briefly aback but still calm, shifted a bit in her black Calvin Klein single button stretch blazer. Beneath was a white V-neck, and her tight one button tab-front CK black slacks completed a stylish business look that nonetheless loudly spoke of her femininity.

“Well Dr. Manning I assure you...”

“And the only thing we take less kindly to than tardiness is brown nosing yes women.”

“Uh,” Richelle smiled and attempted to take hold of the conversation, “Why don’t we order something.” Richelle turned and raised her hand to gain the attention of a waiter.

A young 20 something waitress was quick to appear at the table, offering a beverage. “Coffee, ladies?”

First went Dr. Manning, “Warm water, slice of lemon.” The waitress turned to Richelle.

“Mrs.?”

“Black, keep it coming.” As much as Richelle wanted to get through this moment she also wanted the surge of alertness that the fresh coffee would bring.

There the waitress bent over near Richelle to grab the table’s empty cup. Unfortunately, a person walking nearby bumped into the waitress’s arm – spilling some of the coffee over Richelle’s jacket and shirt.

The waitress stumbled out apologies and made a quick run to get some cloth. Richelle tried to not bother the waitress and in doing so took off her wet blazer. Some coffee had even landed on her white v neck, thankfully not on her skin to do any burning. The miscolorization was apparent, the stain clear to see. But Richelle tried to laugh it off and asked Dr. Manning “Where were we.”

“I was about to come to the point,” Dr. Manning’s sternness still was cutting. “Dr. Jackson, your career has been a model of suicidal mismanagement. Which only makes you fit for the sort of scientific wasteland you now find yourself in.”

“Well, I wouldn’t describe it as…” Richelle began to say sheepishly.

“So, I want you to explain to me why I should give you a laboratory, a research team…” she was counting these off on her fingers, “and a salary of over $95 thousand a year…”

Dr. Manning let that last part hang in the air, and smiled waitingly.

Richelle’s eyes began to widen a bit. She was slowly processing that amount of money.

“Ninety-five…” at that moment Richelle’s body had a sudden rush. Her internal temperature began to rise, and the air felt warm to her out of nowhere. Her chin dipped as she stopped talking, this flushed feeling even finding a way to invade her head. She squinted a bit in her pause.

The intense sensation seemingly danced above her brain, but below her skull, and raced toward her spinal column. Her head then went up and back slowly, Richelle’s eyes shutting.

Her mouth hung open.

She moved her head back to look at Dr. Manning…in time to note that in opening her eyes her vision was stunningly blurry. She squinted and unsquinted, repeatedly, trying to focus her vision.

Her vision slowly returned to her and focused on a surprised looking Dr. Manning, who then wondered aloud “Are you alright, Dr. Jackson?”

“No, I’m fine,” she muttered, nearly low enough for Dr. Manning to not hear it, her tricky vision still not fully returned.

“Well, I’m still waiting to hear why you’re our woman.” The tone seemed to highlight the word woman at that moment, near ominously.

Settled inside Richelle’s larynx, a transformation began to take place. In her voice box Richelle’s womanly vocal folds began to slightly lengthen. Slightly thicken. They began at a modest 10 millimeters in length, and lengthened to 11. Then to 12.

The change happened with a tickle in Richelle’s throat, and she noticed it right as she began to say “Well…” she paused as the tickle surged a bit, letting out a cough to clear her throat, noticing the slight oddness to her voice. It sounded a little bit lower than normal. Her vocal folds thickened more, and lengthened again, 12 to 13, then to 14 millimeters. Her womanly throat began to somehow show a larger voice box.

“Well you won’t find…” still oddly deep, and a persistent tickle. She moved her left hand to her throat, eyes opening slightly wider when feeling more of a lump than she thought she find. She coughed harder.

“Because you won’t find a scientist…” she looked down as she grumbled that last bit out. Her voice still oddly low, deep. She went to grab her nearby table orange juice, left hand still on her throat. She hunched over as she downed a swig or two.

Another warm rush washed over her, and down her arms. Her eyes widened as she pulled her posture back, and held her right hand down and on the table next to the juice. Meanwhile Dr. Manning quickly turned her head to look down at Richelle’s right hand, her own eyes widening at what she began to see.

The shiny white of Richelle’s finger nails slightly dulled, then actually began to retract into her hand. Quickly leaving nothing more than a rounded, plain finger nail on each finger. Between the knuckles on her right hand, dark hairs grew out thick enough for the watcher to see.

The warm tingle surged again on her forearm, and she brought her arm up closer to her face to look at it. Her white V-neck’s woven blouse was short sleeved, and she could see her arm up to near her shoulder. The tingle gave way to an itch, and Richelle gulped with wide eyes in noting hair begin to thicken and lengthen on her arms. The fine, nearly bare hairs she had had were getting easier and easier to see, beginning to look unsightly on her long – feminine arms.

She’d have kept watching if the surge of sensation didn’t suddenly ripple from her stomach down to her lap. The jolt forced her hairy right arm down to her side, her mouth still open as she looked concerned off in the direction of Dr. Manning. She tried to sneak a peek down toward her lap.

A growing churning sensation was felt. It felt sort of like something was falling from her stomach down toward her groin. Her legs moved from their normal crossed style to an alert poise right next to each other. Richelle slowly moved her legs open and closed, then open again as this sensation was seizing her legs and front.

She looked up one more time at her interviewer, then quickly looked back down at the tight front of her business slacks – hairy hands and arms on her hips’ sides.

The most unnerving feeling of inversion crept into her groin as if her lady-parts were flipping inside out. A bulge appeared in her lap, and she felt flesh expand into her now aggressively tight panties. A deep gasp rushed from her boxy larynx, and she watched with horror as the bulge crept leftward into her pant leg, expanding with ugly size into a familiar shape. Her nervous shifting turned to tight budging, trying to make this comfortable – difficult as all this was with tight black women’s business slacks that now were trying to contain what just bloomed in her pants.

The bemused Dr. Manning asked a question, snapping Richelle out of her trance, “Well, Dr. Jackson?”

Richelle’s agonized, shocked face tried vainly to maintain the appearance of calmness. As discretely as possible Richelle brought both her hands to her crotch, the large fleshy tube she felt beneath the fabric pushed right back, and she now hurriedly began to unzip the front to feel this thing.

When she slipped a hand inside, Dr. Manning uttered an annoyed “It’s a bad time for you, Dr. Jackson.” Richelle's hand found a warm cylinder of flesh, and she -felt- her hand from nerves within that flesh.

“No,” she asserted, nearly sounding as feminine as she did when she came in to the restaurant. She continued her fidgeting as she tried to rezip her pants, which was difficult as it ever was with her lap contorting around a mass that shouldn’t be inside these womanly pants.

The question that followed out of Dr. Manning’s mouth, with its near shocked tone, caught Richelle off guard. “You’ve got short hair?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous” Richelle flatly said, but soon felt a tickle on her neck. Richelle literally felt her hair move upwards along her neck. Both her hands flew to the sides of her head, feeling more face than she expected to, before coming to grips with the fact that her hands were telling her that he hair was much shorter.

There happened to be a mirror near the table.

Richelle quickly turned left to look into the mirror and tried to make out the sight before her.

A short, manly cut swept back through her hair, getting even shorter near her ears as the hair receded into a tight buzz fade. Her hands looked less feminine, notable hair between her knuckles and on the back of her hands. Her sleek arms didn’t look womanly either, with thick male hair leading from her hands up under her short sleeves. The coffee stained woven V-neck remained, and Richelle let out another gasp in noticing the reflection's bulge in her lap, nearly concealed by the chair’s arms.

Richelle quickly turned back to Dr. Manning, and began to stammer through her sentence about why she desperately needed to leave.

“I’ve got to go, I’m not really feeling myself,” but that was cut off by the young waitress quickly reappearing to help fix the spilled coffee situation.

“I’m so sorry,” the young woman said, placing her left hand on the back of Richelle to keep her steady, stopping Richelle from getting up, and beginning to move the folded cloth in her right hand to the coffee stain on Richelle’s stlyish top.

The cloth met right at the bottom of Richelle’s right breast, the rise or her bosom being slightly pushed in by the young waitress’s efforts at wiping away the coffee. That’s when Richelle felt another sudden rush, right where the young woman her prodded right breast…and it quickly deflated beneath the waitress’s touch.

The right side of Richelle’s coffee soaked shirt, and the bra beneath, collapsed onto a flat chest – the waitress yanking her hand back as if she accidently stabbed Richelle. Richelle let out a shocked, and near manly yelp as she looked down at the absence of her right tit.

Her alarmed face hung mouth wide open right back up at Dr. Manning, her hairy left hand/arm at her face.

“It’s uh, an allergic reaction,” was the best excuse she scrambled for as both the waitress and Dr. Manning looked at Richelle suspiciously.

Then another humiliating rush met the left side of her chest, and the three women looked down in shock as Richelle’s remaining breast deflated to flat nothingness.

Dr. Manning got out a surprised “Dr. Jackson..?..”

Her hairy hands tried to cup her chest, only finding loose V-beck material and empty bra cups. “I’ve..got…”

She looked directly at Dr. Manning…” I’ve got to go.”

Richelle grabbed her blazer and ran out of the restaurant leaving both women back at the table looking as if they’ve seen a ghost.

**********

Arriving in an Uber back at the lab, Richelle agonized as she got out of the back of the car. A pained yelp escaped her lips as she hunched over the car, the pain of her spinal column and hip bones changing.

She turned from the car, running toward the building with a manly trot. Onlookers observed the hairy man with the fade cut running into the building, oddly wearing the unflatteringly tight clothing of a business woman.

**********

Spilling into the laboratory, Richelle nearly collapsed on a counter. With great effort she started pulling herself toward the bathroom, as a security camera looked on.

On the camera feed, a man looked to be staggering through the lab - struggling to move while in woman’s clothes. The figure began disappearing toward the bathroom.

At the bathroom sink, Richelle stumbled over toward the counter, a manly groan emanating from her throat – through a voice box with thick, 17-millimeter-long vocal folds. She contorted as more seizing took her body. Then she could look into the mirror.

Her focus deepened and eyes widened. She took in her newly shaped neck, and her manly short haircut. She looked at her imploded chest, flat with a nascent growth of hair across it, and at her hairy arms, which themselves had thickened with muscle since the restaurant. Then she looked at her pants.

A gasp escaped her as she looked at its grotesque (for a woman) shape bulging her slacks’ front. She looked back up into the mirror and noticed the obviously shaped swelling staring back at her. In a flash of the moment she ripped open the button on the slacks and the zipper split downwards…exposing a thick, lengthy penis and scrotum which had escaped the confines of her panties down an open leg hole.

Deep breaths continued to increase in pace as Richelle drank in the sight of her rapidly masculinizing form…then…
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