Transdimensional Earbuds Ch. 02

It wasn't a full day, but Peter had learned that Clarice isn't an exactly forthcoming person and had an open relationship with the truth. The other researchers reported the "incapacitated" as either brain dead or mentally reduced, just after a brief use of pinkbuds. Oh, and that was their actual name. Pinkbuds.

"If there is anyone that could accomplish the travel to the other dimensions, then it must be you. You are a trailblazer, Peter. An astronaut." said Clarice. Peter mused that at least her pep talks were entertaining to listen to. "Remember, one to ten. One year here, ten years there. The trial lasts 1 minute, and you have 10 minutes there before we pull you back out. Oh, don't give me that face. An astronaut isn't a gloomy fella, remember?. To the moon, Peter. To the Moon!"

Despite all his ignored inquiries about the past two and a half centuries, he had learned that they don't send human-crewed space missions anymore. They treat people that travelled beyond the atmosphere in the 20th and 21st centuries as heroes of legend. The rockets and hardware weren't excluded from the fame either. The ISS became an idyllic symbol of unity and peace, apparently getting those olive branch doves out of their jobs. The little boy inside the man lamented the death of something that he would have never guessed to miss.

The trial was commencing, and Peter had to concentrate. His scraping for the whole picture about the future world had to wait. A single essential part of Clarice's speech stood alone at the heap of BS. One to ten. He had to endure 10 minutes there, in the infinitely distant world which, as it happened, has aged about 2500 years since the last time he put his feet there. He prayed that, maybe, the other world stayed more familiar to him than the current Earth. After all, book fantasy worlds always had a slow pace of advancing their sciences, so his hopes weren't unfounded.

The trip was about to commence.

The man has closed his eyes as the buzzing in his pinkbuds started. He waited for the audible sensations to end, but they only changed the medium through which they manifested themselves to Peter. From buzzing, they transfigured into tactile vibrations spanning the whole volume of his body. Then, they bent the light itself, changing into laser waves coming out of him and bouncing off invisible panes, put, seemingly, at random points in space. Then the reality itself resonated with the song of the device.

The resonance resulted in two rings of light rotating around their centre, which happened to be Peter's exact position in both cases. Their movement accelerated drastically until they were so fast that one couldn't distinguish or see them at all, for they blended into an omnipresent white sky. The blinding white light came from all directions now, at the intensity that scorched the man's flesh. He wailed in pain.

The transition, thankfully, wasn't neither eternal nor long, for that matter. As the singing light faded, Peter has learned that his pleas to higher powers have remained unaudienced. The fantasy world has changed, and his first impression of it made him swallow.

Around him and up until the horizon, a flat dry desert covered the earth, yielding against the callous sunshine coming from a spinning-at-an-angle spiralling disc that was once this world's sun. The breeze that lazily roamed the landscape implied heavily that it could sand anything in its path with the sharp rust particles it carried. Nothing above or below the ground was moving or even pretending to be alive. The only breath in a mile radius was Lacie's own.

It was a shock, to say the least. If not for the shattered sun above, he might have surmised that he ended up in some strange arid land. Before, he dreaded the possibility of returning to Lacie's body. Now, breathing in her skin was a minor issue against the perspective of him hiking through the apocalyptic wasteland.

The sound of a rag flopping in the wind has channelled his attention. A thin blanket was wrapped around his right shank. He recognized it immediately: it was the herbalists' possession, one that he slept under during the stay in the village. It must have stuck to him as he shifted through dimensions.

And it was good that it did, since, besides the damp panties, it was the only thing on him. Looking down, he had a first-person view of the voluptuous feminine body that he was stuck in during his earlier visit. He fondly remembered his previous and first-time orgasm in a woman body. If someone had suggested it to him before the incident, he wouldn't believe them. As good as the experience was, it was unsettling since it came with switching his sexual orientation. He was straight. Or had been before returning to the fantasy world.

The visible top of his large breasts enthusiastically absorbed the relentless sun's rays. Already they started to flush red in spots. To prevent burning his skin to a crisp, he covered himself with the stowaway blanket. The cloth, after tearing, also isolated against the hot ground, allowing Lacie to spend her remaining minutes wandering through the rusty desert. She seemed as destitute as the nature around her.

As scheduled, he was forced back to Earth.

The similar ringed transition took Peter back. He sighed in relief as he felt an airconditioned room embracing him in the chill air. The eggheads on this side had a way of registering his vision and hearing, but it wouldn't be after some time before they could decipher the data. They didn't know, then, about the post-doomsday reality of the other side. And it appeared they did not care about it since the first thing they did was show him a picture of a nude man.

Confused, Peter stared at the A4 print of the black hunk. The page seemed to crease at all edges of his toned body. He was bent forward, clutching his callused hands at his knees. The look beaming from his clean-shaved face glowed brilliantly with a knowing smile. However, it wasn't the light that commanded Peter's eyes. It was a shadow that directed them, an elongated contour between his legs that bewitched him. A seemingly foreign rush struck him.

"Incredible!" said a female researcher. She glided her hand under Peter's shorts to get a hold of his frustrated tool. "The hypothesis was correct. The both of them are merging!" Her hand brushed from cock's bottom to the head and gave a slight tug for good measure. Peter yelped as his foreskin slid back and got stuck due to a numbingly stiff erection.

"Stop it! Get your hand off me!" He shouted, getting her arm out of his pants. He tensed as his sensitive glands were brushing against his boxers. The scientist was a sexy redhead with a plump kisser that he would appreciate choking on his dick any other time. The insatiable puffs she gave suggested that the deviant didn't need much convincing. She was ready to perform an oral examination under the pretext to measure the salinity of his cum or to double-check the friction coefficient of her tongue. As if reading his mind, the redhead licked her lips.

"No need to get touchy with Sasha," Clarice interjected. "The professional like her sometimes is very passionate about her work. Her test subjects usually aren't so vigorous, so forgive her if she is too hands-on."

"Stop the puns, and I'll forgive the freak. What's up with the picture?" Peter asked and pointed at the print settled on a low table. His boner has finally subsided.

"This goes back before you woke up," Clarice replied. "After the stasis ended, we scanned your anatomy. One of the team found out that you had an unusually high estrogen count. We debated and reached the conclusion that the trips had a direct effect on the body remaining on Earth."

"Remaining? I thought I was travelling there physically. Like, my body transformed to big tits as I got to the other side."

"No. The body was left behind here and froze in a similar stasis as it did when we found you all the way 10 years ago. The blueprints left by offsectorians, along with our own test, suggest that it's the intended effect. It allows the team on this side to monitor your vitals in case anything happens." Clarice points up to the three triangular shapes over their heads. They all each are supported by a mobile hydraulic arm anchored to the ceiling. The trio of them was constantly adjusting their positions but always managed to point at Peter's chair.

"The state you are in during the trips we named quasi-stasis." Clarice toyed with a lime green lock in her hand. "It is similar to stasis, but with a key difference: we can shatter it and pull you back to us. Think of the whole thing like an astral projection, but uncontrollable from your side. It requires someone here to help you to get you back to safety."

She didn't stop talking. "Returning to the topic that started all of this, the point is: the more trips you do, the closer your and Lacie's anatomies will be. In practice, the process will result in you gaining a more feminine look and introducing some mental changes on the way. We doubt you will change sex entirely, but nevertheless, we have to be ready for the very possibility of you becoming cute and bi."

Clarice sounded even more excited now. "I prepared girly clothing suitable for your incoming changes. Those were my idea. They should alleviate the strain of switching back and forth between your two personalities as we continue the experiment."

She rested her arms on the hips. "So, are you ready to conquer the moon, soldier?"

"No," said Peter.

"That's an order," Clarice responded.

"I didn't plan on becoming a femboy for you. This morning, we agreed to continue trips if I succeed in the trial. There was no mention of me cross-dressing or the magical hormone therapy. I have a right to pick my clothes," the man tried to assert himself. "Don't I get a say in this?" It was easier to push a mountain.

"I'm sure that the astronauts didn't have a say in how the engineers built their rockets." Peter wanted to argue, but the boss had already left the room. He looked around for some understanding glances, but he might as well have never existed. No one asked him about his hellish trip. The soon-the-become-sissy rocket man questioned his 10-minute stay there.

With nothing to do in the lab, he left for a hallway, where bitchy Kristie waited for him. She guided him through the labyrinth of the massive facility back to his room. Neither of the two had a desire to talk. It suited the maid just fine.

When they reached his room, a question revisited Peter's mind. "Why did you kick me in my sleep?" he said.

"I was instructed to watch you until you could talk with the chief. I've sat there for 5 hours, doing nothing but just that. Then that gloating face you made told me that it was high time for you to wake the fuck up." the maid responded. "Don't annoy me with your stupid questions. I was told to take care of you, so the least you could do is to let me suffer through that ordeal in peace. Clarice is mad at me now. I can feel it." She shuddered despite herself. In fear, mostly.

After she was gone, Peter told himself that his relationship with Kristie would be a long and tumultuous one. But the topic of the rude maid fleed from his mind. He had taken with him the picture of the naked man from the lab. As he sat at the desk in his room, he tried to focus his attention on the page. The feelings didn't bubble out again, and Peter just stared at it, bored. He must have flipped back to hetero. However his experiments may affect him later, they don't seem to have accomplished anything permanent this time.

The man slouched in the chair and looked at his new clothes folded on the bed.

"This is getting out of hand," he said to himself. "Just what the hell am I doing here?" The option of running away was always in the back of his mind. It dwelled there yesterday, at the lab, in the fantasy world, and even now.

Peter couldn't just go for it. The facility is massive and partially underground. It was a giant flat dungeon, partially sticking out of the sparsely forested hill. His room had a window to outside, but it was on a ground floor, and at best, he saw a bulwarked square, with heavy transport going periodically in and out of the gates.

In contrast to those inside the main building, the guards outside wore forest camouflage, carrying conventional rifles, not unlike those in the 21st century. They looked the same. He didn't see anyone firing them, but it was safe to assume they were deadlier than those he was familiar with.

If that had been just it, he would have considered stealing the food from kitchens and legging it tonight. In the movies, it worked, and he heard stories of convicts escaping their prisons. He wasn't confined that strictly here. People are allowed to go outside as long as they don't exit the camp. Even if one were to break the rules, there were no sentry towers to spot them in time.

No, what dissuaded him were special forces that lounged now in the shade of a minor building's eaves. Their garbs had a similar forest camouflage like the ordinary watch. It was a deceiving sight, though. One of the soldiers had cheerfully flaunted the uniform's unique ability when Peter was nearby eyeing them.

The man pulled his outfit's hood, which had a zipper at the edges, and brought the slider down to conceal his face. In the span of a second, the man was see-through, and one had to pay close attention to notice the blur that was his silhouette. The soldiers laughed at Peter's flabbergasted, out-of-the-water fish expression.

They also carried long foldable anti-materiel rifles and constantly played fetch with a quadrupedal robot resembling a fierce panther if the cloaking ability wasn't frightening enough. Each apple they threw for the mechanized beast ended up smashed by its ragged jaws. The accompanying crunch told the rest of the tale.

So it was no surprise that Peter, defeated, was measuring his new attire. Clarice didn't have mercy to allow him a few pitiful scraps of masculinity. The top was a celadon off-shoulder crop top that left the midriff bare beneath all the frills. It elevated any of its wearers' movement to an elaborate dance, swinging to and fro.

The bottom didn't weaken the offensive since it completed the look with a pair of light jeans hotpants. A single glance could inform anyone that it intends to stick to the ass like a clingy lover. His own ass wasn't that fat, but even it would be revealed for all to praise. At least the adorable pair of undies could have been worse.

A knock on the door announced their opening. Willisa greeted the young man and carried in a dinner tray. She put it aside to peek at the garments the man tried to hide. Upon seeing them, she clasped her hands in joy.

"Oh my goodness! They told me that we would have another girl in our little circle. I didn't expect that to be you, dear. I am so happy to have another fellow soul to chat with. Oh, but you look at the clothes as if they were to bite you at any moment. You don't get the ins and outs yet. Do you, my dear?"

"Hah, Mrs Smi-"

"Call me Willisa."

"Willisa," he said uncertain, "I'm so glad that you want to help, but I know how to put clothes on myself." That wasn't a well-picked defence against the maid.

"Oh, not you don't. The meek of yours tells me all that I need to know. I'll help my baby girl any time." She took a few steps towards the man.

"Please, I am an adult and a man at that." Peter backed off. The back of the bed hampered his retreat.

"Even a grown-up doesn't know everything there is. Don't dally now. Strip, dear."

"No, I don't think we aren't on the same wavelength. There is no need for any of that." The man waved both his palms in front of him. He didn't take the animal for what it was.

"In that, you are very much right, sweetie. Let me calibrate the wavelength of your empty head".

Before Peter could finish squealing "what you", she had thrown out her old-fashioned maid outfit. He blinked as in front of him stood a beautiful woman, wearing only black fishnet bralette and lacy purple underwear.

"It would be unfair to leave my girl naked while I was clothed like a saint. Let me help you with that top." He scurried away from her hand, which caused him to fall to the bed. He stayed there, laying vulnerable, arms above his head, for a full second. Noticing his pose, he pushed himself to the middle of the cover.

"I am still a man. A man! You misunderstood." His breath quickened. He perceived a woman for what she was, a ripe beauty, full breasts, hips and butt. She approached with her tied dark hair matching her carnation as well as her beer eyes. The look of the hunter all but admitted her possession of both youth and vigour. She intended to use it.

"Would you separate a daughter from the caring mother? Especially when she is clutching at her breasts", she said. The words were meant to tell she was hurt, but her voice betrayed a lust for the man. She was with him on the bed, crawling towards him. Her hanging pair stretched her bralette, gifting more flesh to behold. Peter was stunned by them and noticed his carried hand only when it reached her chest. He instinctively grabbed, clasping the drawn bosom with his fingers.

"See. You even reached to Momma Willisa for help." She moaned. "If greedily at that."

Whether Peter was transfixed or stupefied, he did not know. He only was aware of the shadow that could be seen sneaking below the gaps of his heart's wooden plank floor. The sight told of a monster darker than dark. Its lurking feelers were bold enough now to constrict his limbs and strangle him at the throat. They punched his stomach and fed on his tears. The name of the beast was short. It was the fear.

The future world was as alien to him as the dimension he travelled to. The unfortunate truth was that he had only himself to trust. Of that, the man couldn't trick himself otherwise. The facility was all but a prison that kept their subjects long enough to use them. He didn't know when the days of his usefulness would come to a stop. The prisoner on the death row wasn't told the day of his execution. They had that in common.

So having only himself as a trusted friend, he held dearly onto what made him, but now even that was slipping. The feelings inside him swelled, and his eyes were now moist. The woman seeing that put his hand on her chest and got closer to him. She whispered low for solely him to hear.

"I know, sweetie, that you're afraid. Of the facility, your changes. Of me. I know that you are Peter inside, a fine young man. Even if that were to change, the core of you would stay the same. I promise you that."

Willisa gave the man a kiss on the cheek. "You may not understand where you are, what you are doing, or what you might become. People may be cold here, colder than in the better, kinder past. Me myself, I don't want you to see you hurt, dear. I try to be a Momma here, to all, even to those that sold their own." Peter tried to speak, but she put the finger on his lips. She continued to whisper.

"Don't. Let me on your lap." Peter was sitting against the headboard as she straddled his thighs. "There are people that you must not trust. They're one single group but splintered into many. Even if you were to gain favour with a side, another might still be springing a trap for you."

She kissed gently on the lips. "Your room is bugged. It must be, or Clarice wouldn't order me to come here."

Peter started to grow pale, and his strength sunk. Both of his hands were persuaded to return for her bosom. One she let slip beneath the bralette. The other she closed into the fist and tightened it for him.

"Don't lose your heart. There is hope. As long you don't openly oppose the orders and be useful for them, then you will be left alive."

She took off his coffee top, allowing their intertwined hands to snuggle against his bare chest. Both of them kissed now.