From the Files of Dr. Stepford

Beige walls. A big green plant in a white pot. A table with some magazines.

Looks like your average therapist office. Just another referral, another stop on the never ending battle for good mental health. You wait, maybe read a little, play on your phone, just wait to see Dr. James Stepford.

You might notice that there seems to be only woman waiting to be treated. And not just any women. Beautiful. Outstanding. Drop dead gorgeous most of them. All deeply feminine with long, well-maintained hair, and beautiful outfits (no pants in sight)

The equally beautiful receptionist finally calls your name, and you enter to see the typical Freudian set up, with a long couch and the doctor sitting nearby, notepad ready. He is unassuming, middle aged, balding, with thick glasses that almost obscure his eyes, hunched down in his seat, wearing a beige coat, a striped tie, and beige dress pants.

The doctor invites you to sit on the couch and explain what you came in for. Seems like a typical psychologist. But, there's something strange about Dr. Stepford and his practice.

[Author's Note: A few years since my last story, but wanted to try something different. Something a little more free form, that allows me to explore multiple genres and fetishes, rather than focused on just one. Though, as the name indicates, there will still be some Stepfordization involved. Okay, more than some. Inspired in part by the works of Downing Street, in particular their story "Bimbo Eyes". Will start adding chapters in the coming days]