Sissified for Science 1 & 2

By Aurora Sparks

For the first time, readers can get Aurora Sparks's bestselling sissification short, Sissified for Science, and its two-part, novella-length sequel in a single convenient bundle!

Sissified for Science

The sexy and dominant Dr. Annette Braczynski has a hypothesis that could turn modern psychology on its head: in a strictly controlled environment, with the help of verbal programming techniques, any man can be transformed into an effeminate sissy boy. All she needs to prove it and claim her Nobel Prize is a suitably desperate guy to be her guinea pig. 

She finds the perfect subject in Raymond Smalls. In hopes of taking home an easy $35,000, the recently laid-off office worker volunteers to take part in her week-long study. Little does he know he's signed up for seven days of sissy hypnosis, crossdressing and nonstop erotic humiliation!

Sissified for Science 2

In Aurora Sparks's bestselling short, Sissified for Science, the sexy and dominant Dr. Annette Braczynski successfully feminized heterosexual office drone Raymond Smalls, proving that in a strictly controlled environment, any male can be transformed into an effeminate sissy.

But that was only the beginning. In order to accomplish her true goal—the sissification and subjugation of every man on Earth—she needs a more efficient feminization method; one that doesn't require her constant supervision. With that in mind comes up with the brilliant idea to prime men for feminization and submission by injecting subliminal messages into their favorite video games. All she needs is the perfect subject.

Enter Jake Miller, an overgrown frat boy whose main passions in life are coed tail, weightlifting... and first-person shooters. He signs up for Braczynski's study in hopes of earning a little extra beer money, and possibly boning the beautiful doctor herself but, after a few sessions with a modified version of hit game Modern Battlefield, he begins to find himself more interested in her hunky male assistants.

After her subliminal messages successfully sissify Jake's mind, the doctor gets to work transforming his body. In addition to giving him a crash-course in makeup and crossdressing, she subjects him to painful floggings, anexcruciating Brazilian wax, butt plug insertions and a humiliating enema, not to mention copious verbal abuse. By the time his mistress is finished with him, Jake is giving oral and taking it up the tailpipe from multiple men at once... and loving every second!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aurora Sparks
• Release date: Feb 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524281076

Aurora Sparks

Aurora Sparks is a young author of erotic fiction. Based in New York City, she loves to entertain and titillate with sensual tales that push boundaries and shatter taboos. Gender swap, BDSM, transgender and interactive erotica are her main interests right now, but she's always on the lookout for new ways to turn her readers on.

Book preview

One Friday, after a typically long and tedious day at work, I was called into the boss’s office. When I entered, the pudgy man motioned for me to sit, then looked at me for a few slow seconds with his beady eyes. His brow was furrowed with what I think was supposed to look like sympathy and regret. Just from his expression, I could kind of tell what was coming—though my conscious mind didn’t want to believe it.

Ray, you’ve been with us for a long time.

Seven years.

His eyebrows raised. Seven years! That’s even longer than I thought. My point is, you’ve been a great asset to this company.

You’re firing me. I said, and sighed.

He leaned forward and rested his elbow on his rich wooden desk, as if trying to get on my level. Look... that’s not exactly how I’d put it. I don’t need to tell you that times are tough, economically speaking. After the company’s recent reorganization, your position just isn’t creating enough value for us to justify keeping you on.

Uh-huh. I stared at him blankly. I wasn’t going to cause a scene, but I sure wasn’t going out of my way to make this easier on him.

Look, it may or may not make you feel any better, but there’s nothing you could have done to change this. You do great work, and we were lucky to have you on board. At the end of the day, though, we’ve got to make these decisions with the bottom line in mind. He reached out and clapped me on the back. I tried not to cringe too noticeably.

OK, I responded. I wasn’t sure what else to say.

We’re going to miss having you around, Ray. He stood up, gave me a firm handshake and led me to the door.

My final two weeks on the job crept by more slowly than I ever would have thought possible. I’d become more and more disenchanted with the gig over the course of the previous year-and-a-half, but I still took a little bit of pride in my work.  I’d been at it for seven goddamn years, after all; even if my heart wasn’t in it, I liked to think I was pretty damn good at what I did. Now that I knew I was being laid off, I no longer had any personal stake in the company’s success, so every second was torture.

I was too busy tying up loose ends to plan much for the future. As soon as I clocked out and left the office for the last time, I realized that I had no fucking idea what I was going to do with my life. Halfheartedly, I applied to a few jobs in my field, but I didn’t have much hope of being hired. My old company had slacked on getting me the latest certifications, so I wasn’t going to qualify for anything lucrative without wasting time, energy and my own money trying to pass a bunch of exams.

That evening, I reflected on my situation over beers with Amir, an old college buddy of mine. I just don’t know what to do. I can’t afford backpack through Europe or anything like that, but I feel like I’m overdue for a life change.

What kind of change? Amir asked.

I... really have no idea. I just know it’s got to be a big one.

Amir scratched his chin and took a gulp of his own beer. You know, three years back when they let me go from my job at Intellitech, I took a few months off to get my head together. To make extra money, I volunteered as a test subject. This town is full of universities; they’re always looking for people to take part in scientific studies.

I looked at him skeptically. Doesn’t that involve taking untested drugs and shit like that? When I said I wanted a change, I didn’t mean the kind where your skin turns green and your teeth fall out.

He laughed. Nah son, it’s not like that. Most of the time, they’ve already tested the stuff on animals. The risk of adverse effects is astronomically low.

I’ll give it some thought. Though I made it sound like I wasn’t too keen on the idea, it actually intrigued me. I’m not really sure why. Maybe I just wanted to try something new.

The next day, I searched online for studies seeking subjects in my area. Just like Amir had told me, there were lots of them, but they all seemed to be looking for somebody other than me. Are you a woman with a family history of breast cancer? Are you a sufferer of manic depression? Do you have a problem with cocaine? No, no and no. After 10 minutes of scrolling, I started to despair of finding anything geared toward average guys like myself.

Just when I was about to give up, a search result caught my eye. The title read, Are you a heterosexual male between 25 and 35 years of age? I clicked on it for more information. The details about the study itself were sparse, but the few scraps of information that were there made my mouth water. Duration: one week. Compensation: $35,000.

Holy shit—$35,000?! That’s almost as much as I made in a year at my old job. I found myself thinking the opportunity was quite literally too good to be true. Either the study involved something so horrible that nobody but the desperate or the suicidal would agree to participate or, more likely, they accidentally added an extra zero or two in the compensation field.

On the other hand, if this really was the golden opportunity it appeared to be, I could hardly afford to pass it up and allow some other guy to collect the 35 stacks that could have been mine.

Don’t get your hopes up, I told myself under my breath as I dialed the number. The phone rang once, twice, three times, four times... Just when I was ready to call the whole thing a loss, I heard a click followed by a young woman’s voice.

Hello, Dr. Braczynski’s office. This is Annette. How may I help you?

Uh, hi! I’m calling about one of your online postings. It says you’re looking for straight men between the ages of 25 and 35 to participate in a week-long study.

That’s right! And, provided you qualify, your compensation for participating will  be $35,000.

That’s one of the things I was wondering about, actually. That’s $35,000, as in 35 followed by three zeroes?

You are correct, sir.

And there’s no catch?

Well, this study will require you to remain at a private inpatient facility for the entirety of the seven-day period. Aside from that, you just need to be comfortable with the study itself. Would you like to come in for a consultation this afternoon, so we can both find out whether it’s a good fit?

Yeah, definitely. Would 2:30 work?

It certainly would! May I take down your name?

Sure: Raymond Smalls.

All right, Mr. Smalls, we look forward to seeing you!

Four hours later, I was downtown in my beat-up Chevy Nova, searching for the address from the posting. I must have gone around the block four times before I glimpsed the number I was looking for. It was pasted up in tiny stickers on the front door of the most generic-looking office building I’ve ever seen. It’s hardly a surprise that I missed it the first few times. I parked, fed the meter and headed inside.

Sitting at the front desk was an elderly black man who looked like he might not have moved for the last century.

Hello, sir. I’m looking for Dr. Braczynski’s office. I hoped I was remembering the pronunciation of the name correctly.

34th floor, the man at the desk said in a creaky voice.

Thanks. I don’t need to sign in or wear a nametag or anything? He shook his head. So I made my way to the elevator, hit the button and waited.

Once I arrived at floor 34, it wasn’t too hard to find Braczynski’s office; the name was stenciled in big letters on the frosted glass window of the first door I saw. Unsure of myself, I knocked and then just let myself in.

A young, dark-haired receptionist with big brown eyes and a sweater that emphasized her curves greeted me as I entered. Mr. Smalls, I presume? Welcome to our office! I recognized her voice from the telephone conversation earlier that day. I have a little questionnaire for you to fill out and then a few things for you to sign while you wait for Dr. Braczynski. She should be just about ready by the time you’re done. With a bright smile, she handed me a clipboard and pen, and I seated myself in one of the two plastic chairs behind me.

I began to work through the questionnaire. Most of the questions dealt with just the kinds of topics you’d expect: my age, my and my family’s medical history, what medications, if any, I took on a daily basis. But on the second page, things started to get weird.

There was a whole string of questions like these. Do you consider yourself a sissy? Do you, or have you ever wanted to, dress up in women’s clothes for fun and erotic pleasure? As a child, did you ever steal your mommy’s makeup and put it on to look more feminine? Are you attracted to the idea of a woman dominating and controlling you? When nobody’s looking, do you ever tuck your penis and dance around like a little sissy slut? Have you ever fantasized about sucking cock or being fucked by another man while a dominant woman watches you?

Needless to say, I checked no in response to each of these questions. I’d never really thought of myself as macho, per se, but I wouldn’t have described myself as a sissy either, especially if that meant wanting to dress and act like a woman. And sucking another man’s cock? The idea just grossed me out. If I had any feminine or gay tendencies, they were buried so deep in my unconscious that not even I was aware of them.

Even though the aforementioned questions made me uncomfortable, I wanted to know where all this was going, so I signed on the dotted line, handed the clipboard back to the hot receptionist and sat back down. Before long, she led me around the corner to a little consultation room. The doctor will be with you shortly.

I entertained myself for five or six minutes by flipping through a 1987 issue of People Magazine—the only reading material available. Then I heard a knock at the door and there was the receptionist again, this time wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, a white coat and a stethoscope around her neck. Or it could have been her twin sister, I supposed.

Hello! she chirped, I’m Dr. Braczynski. She extended a hand, which I shook.

Ray. Nice to meet you, doc. Say, I’m sorry if this is a rude question, but aren’t you the same woman who just met me at the front desk? Her face fell and she looked down at the floor. Sorry, sorry. You don’t have to answer, I said, waving my hands.

"No, it’s OK. I’m just starting out and my practice is still really small, but I like to pretend I have a receptionist. Her expression turned cheerful again. Just you watch, though! When I publish the results of this study, it’ll turn modern psychology upside-down and I’ll have more patients than I can handle. You and me, we’re going to make history!" She looked so damn enthusiastic that I could hardly bear the thought of letting her down. Still, I had a few questions.

"Yeah, actually, I wanted to ask you about a couple things before agreeing to participate. I have a few doubts about your study,