"...a Transfer Machine room. The technicians there will make sure it all goes smoothly. Well..." she broke off, chuckling slightly, "...as smoothly as possible."
She led you down a hallway to a door marked with a small placard. ESSENCE TRANSFER. The door opened onto something of a balcony -- the main floor of the room was below you. The room was symmetric, consoles and various unrecognizable equipment lining each wall. Thick cables snaked from the consoles on each side to base structures supporting two large glass chambers set against the opposite wall. The entrance to each chamber was several steps up, and each could have held several people. They stretched towards the ceiling -- over 15 feet high. Set between them was some kind of machine -- tubes and wires connected it to both the bottom and the top of each chamber. A low-pitched hum reverberated faintly in the background.
Clinic staff were milling about on the floor below, male and female alike, dressed in (of course) white lab coats. The only clue that this lab was perhaps not your run-of-the-mill facility was the cut of those coats: was it standard lab protocol for that woman to be exposing quite so much cleavage? And that man's coat was tight enough to clearly display his well-defined upper body muscles.
While you stood gawking at the equipment, and wondering what sort of transfers required that much volume, one of the technicians had quietly walked up the stairs from the main floor. She discretely cleared her throat, and you turned to face her, slightly startled.
"Welcome to Essence Transfer," she said. "Are you here to watch or to participate? We don't have any transfers scheduled right now."
The redhead responded, "We're here to transfer some masculinity."
The technician smiled and looked you both up and down, perhaps doing some quick calculations. "Of course. Which of you will be the donor?"
"Isn't it obvious?" said the redhead. "It's time for me to finally do something about this thing between my legs." She pointed at her groin with both hands, her erection clearly straining against her boyshorts.
"I see." The technician turned to you. "And are you ready to participate in this transfer? Masculinity transfers, in particular, can be a bit intense."
You frowned. "Why is it so intense? She told me the same thing," you said, gesturing at your companion.
"Remember when you were a teenager? How the hormones changed your thinking, how your physicality changed your possibilities? Now imagine that process taking place over a matter of minutes, rather than months or years. The essence of masculinity involves one's mindset, hormone profile, physical being, and, for lack of a better term, spiritual aura. Transferring someone else's essence and admixing it with a pre-existing profile can lead to all sorts of interesting interactions and... well... don't sweat the details. Let's just say it'll be quite the ride. For both of you. And very pleasurable, to be sure."
You hesitated slightly. Was there a slight look of anxiety in the lines on her forehead? "It's safe, right?" you said cautiously.
Her faint smile vanished and was replaced by a look of almost surprised concern as her mouth curved into an almost perfect O shape. "Oh, of course. I didn't mean to worry you. Yes. It's perfectly safe. We have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. Androgen balancing, Cochrane anti-toxicity filters, and a karmic integration step. And like all of our transfers, we can always reset you to the state you were in when you arrived... with or without your partner."
The redhead lifted her hand to her forehead in mock offense. "What, you mean to say that my relationship with this lovely fellow might not last? Why, we've come all of this way! Nearly.... ten minutes so far! Pretty soon we'll even be on a first-name basis, and you know how serious that is."
You turned to the redhead, realizing she was right -- neither of you had introduced yourself. You opened your mouth to correct the error, and she quickly rose a finger to your lips.
"I don't want to know. That's part of the fun, isn't it?"
You smiled and nibbled her fingertip lightly. So be it.
"If you're ready, then," the technician said, "follow me."
She led you both down the stairs. From the main floor, the capsules looked even bigger. As you passed the other staff, the technician murmured and they sprang into action, entering commands into their consoles. The background hum increased in volume -- you imagined power flowing into the machinery throughout the room, preparing to work its wonders on you both. The technician stopped you before the short steps to the chambers themselves.
"You'll need to be naked, of course. We'll get you some new underwear if it's necessary afterwards."
The two of you eagerly stripped. While your erection had deflated somewhat, given the distraction of the room, seeing your companion's breasts, large, round, and capped with deliciously suckable pink nipples returned some of the blood to your groin.
"Oh, and before you go," said the technician, "I forgot to ask. How much masculinity are you transferring?"
This time it was you who turned to respond: "All of it."
The technician smiled. "You got it, sir. Ok. Into the chambers, both of you."
You turned to the redhead, not sure what to say. "Good luck?" you offered, with a slight shrug to your shoulders.
"I'll see you on the other side," she said, winking at you before striding confidently through the glass door into her chamber. You turned to face your own chamber, and walked up the steps. Although the floor was made from metal, it was comfortably warm against your bare feet. Once inside, you turned to face the rest of the room, and were somewhat surprised to see two technicians in the chamber with you.
"We'll need to get you hooked up appropriately," one said. They gestured to the floor, where the smooth glass surface had revolved quietly to reveal a pair of silver pads in the shape of feet. You stepped on them and immediately felt a slight warmth emanating from your feet into your ankles and calves. A pair of straps poked out from the floor, securing your feet in place. You heard a whirring sound above you, and looked up to see a number of tubes snaking down from the ceiling along with what looked like a helmet.
"Don't worry about a thing, just let us do the work," said the other technician. Before long two large suction cups had been fitted over your chest, covering far more than your small nipples, your hands and forearms had been inserted into some kind of vacuum harness that simultaneously immobilized and supported them comfortably. The metal helmet was strapped to your head, and a technician applied a couple of contact pads to your forehead. You were distracted from this process, however, when you heard a hiss from below. A medium-thickness tube had emerged from the floor, and the other technician was wrangling it to the top of your cock. A moment later, the tube covered your member all the way to the hilt. Again, the sensation was warm and strangely comforting -- a far cry from the medical sterility you expected.
"One last piece," said a voice. You looked up and saw the first technician holding a divided tube ending in a facemask. The technician smiled, almost apologetically, and moved it into place, securing it to the control cable that attached to the helmet you wore. While it covered your entire nose and mouth, you found that you could breath easily -- the air even smelled faintly scented, perhaps like striding through a cedar forest in August.
You realized there must have been something in the air to keep you calm -- as you felt the slight anxiety that had been building in your body melt away. Even the realization that they were using chemical means to control your mood failed to generate any concern. The technicians stepped out from the chamber, and the door slid shut. You heard the voice of the technician who had greeted you, loud and clear. There must have been some speakers built in to the helmet.
"We're ready to go. We find that most people enjoy seeing the process play out in their partners, so..."
You heard a whirring sound, and felt yourself rotate 90 degrees to face the redhead. She was similarly trussed up, tubes and wires and a helmet mirroring yours. The technician's voice appeared in your consciousness again.
"Beginning sequence. Ten seconds to initiation. Nine. Eight."
You heard the high-pitched whine of machinery starting up, felt a thrum of motion through your feet. The warmth you had been feeling in your legs spread upward to your groin and chest. Your cock ached.
"Five. Four."
You felt energy begin to flow through the machinery you were connected to -- pleasurable energy that crackled through your body, racing up and down your spine. You looked out at the redhead. Her smile, visible even through the facepiece, was devilishly delighted.
The smile triggered something in you: you realized that the redhead hadn't ever actually confirmed she was giving her remaining masculinity to you with the technician. You turned your attention inside. Was that energy building something inside of you, or pulling something away?
"Two. One. Initiate."