Lara Lake's Last Lament Part 3

 23/25

The conclusion to my Mannequeen story for a while. The first two parts were earlier in the season but you can find all my Mannequeen caps in order on my index page

By the time Lara realized she was moving entirely on autopilot, it was too late to stop. Each sway of her hips, each tilt of her head, each soft, gasping laugh was no longer an accident but an instinct implanted by the bodysuit’s design. She felt the heat pooling lower, a tightness around her chest, the subtle stretch of the synthetic skin shaping her curves into impossible perfection.

Her reflection in the mirror no longer belonged to the sharp, calculating detective she had once been. Every movement seemed exaggerated—hyper-feminine, deliberately seductive, utterly alien. Her body would betray her before her mind could command it.

Four months had passed since that night in Wesley Tanner's mansion. Four torturous months where she had lived as the Mannequeen's plaything – her taunting voice all the time inside her head as her body was cavorted around like a marionette at her captor's whim. The bodysuit didn't just control her – it WAS her. It was her every time she stood on a street corner, every time she got on her knees, every time she was reduced to a moaning cum-filled mess.

“Do you ever wonder...” came the voice in her head as she gyrated one night for a room of men at a bachelor party, “...if I am even still controlling the bodysuit at all? Maybe I don't need to any more? Maybe you've just truly become the whore I crafted you to be!”

Her hands drifted again, smoothing over the sash on her chest, down her the tops of the fishnets at her hips, under her tiny skirt trailing along the curve of her thighs. She gasped, a tremor of both horror and arousal passing through her. Her reflection in the mirrored ceiling was mesmerizing: the familiar eyes of Lara Lake trapped behind a body that was no longer hers, every feature exaggerated, perfected, primed for display.

And yet, despite the thrill, a shard of her old self screamed inside. She saw it in the reflection—fleeting, fleeting—but she also saw the golden-haired woman’s smile, approving, triumphant. Resistance was futile. She was still conscious, still aware, but the Mannequeen had her now, and there was no turning back.

“So, which one are we taking home tonight?” The voice was back as Lara gripped the shimmering stripper pole tightly and gazed out at the cheering punters – lights from the retro disco ball falling over them like snow. “One!? Sorry, I jest. Just thinking of the mess those drunken idiots are going to make of you puts be in a comedic mood.”

Lara breathed heavily as her body continued to betray her, and the mob reached fever pitch as she slipped a hand inside her panties.

Whatever Happened to Kirk? (Director's Cut)

 A Flashback Friday to the recent caption Director's Cut

“And that's when you say 'Oh, Grandma, what a big dick you have!'” Lorna explained with a deadpan expression. “And Grandma will reply, 'All the better to fuck you with, my Dear!'” Kirk wasn't sure if his blushing would be visible on the bodysuit but his cheeks burned all the same. Everything else about the bodysuit certainly felt like it was the real thing. Putting it on again had been like stepping back into a bad memory – one where he was double penetrated by two behemoths called Lance and Steve. Still, if this was how he got to see Lorna again, so be it...

“Grandma says that?” He asked dumbly, and this time he was sure his confusion was clear on the suit's face. He looked enough like a bimbo as it was...

“No...” Lorna rolled her eyes. “The Big Bad Wolf says that while dressed as Grandma. Haven't you ever read Little Red Riding Hood? Well, Little Red Riding Slut is basically the same except instead of eating Grandma, the wolf screws her doggystyle and cums on her face in the previous scene. By the way, I should have asked, you're cool fucking a guy in a wolf costume, right?” Lorna stood with her hands on her hips and looked the bodysuited Kirk up and down. Gone was the school-girl outfit from his last experience and in its place was what amounted to little more than lingerie and a red shawl. She sighed “What am I asking? Of course you are...”

“I guess...” Kirk stammered. And why not? He had come this far to be close to Lorna. What was another ten inches? Even if those ten inches were protruding from the groin of a man looking like bigfoot. His last experience in Lorna's studio had come as a result of him suspecting she was cheating on him. He had put on the bodysuit and sneaked in only to find she wasn't hiding another man after all, but rather a secret career as a porno director. However, his clingy behaviour hadn't stopped there and Lorna had soon grown frustrated, ending their relationship and telling Kirk to stay away from her. It was only as their romance was ending that he realised how much he needed to be with her. He tried calling but she blocked his number and when he knocked on her door, she threatened to get a restraining order. Then a week later as he was half crying half masturbating, he happened to see Lorna's name in the credits of the porno he had been watching and he realised there was still a way he could be around Lorna. It would just come with a cost.

“Remember...” Lorna ushered him towards the set and nodded to the prop basket of apples in his grasp. “The shiny ones are covered in lube. You will put one of those in your ass when you rub one out in the forest before entering Grandma's house. Don't forget to put it in with the stalk facing out so the Woodsman can pull it out before he fucks you. If you get it wrong, we'll have to start over. I'm sure you have it in you but our fans can tell when a gape has been pre-stretched.” Kirk shuddered. Hearing Lorna talk like this had left him turned on, which was probably for the best, yet he hated what he was about to do to be around her, to let himself be degraded like that...it was hard to justify – though he knew he would...

The Priestess

 22/25

The longer Lincoln stood next to the bar waiting for the rest of the drama club to return, the more he was sure he had been had somehow. The ruffled dress he wore was not particularly short yet he felt completely exposed and while the pantyhose had protected his legs from the cold winter air, they had done nothing to shield him from embarrassment. The rest of his outfit consisted of a sheer top with velvet cuffs to match the dress, a leather purse and painful leather heels. All of it plus the wig had been courtesy of the college drama club's costume closet and had been his fellow clubmates' vision of the Priestess – the card he had drawn from the tarot deck earlier in the night.

It was apparently a club tradition. At the end of the first college semester, all club members, no exceptions, would draw from a tarot deck blindly and whatever card they selected would serve as the basis of their outfit for the final big night out of the semester. Lincoln had of course drawn the Priestess, not only that but he had drawn it upside-down which, club rules stated, meant he had to remain in costume not just for the club party, but the wider college party that occurred immediately afterwards.

He had begged for a redo but Jean-Paul had pulled the deck away and clapped his hands gleefully while Harriet had beamed at him and started dabbing his face with an enormous makeup brush before the rest of the club had even finished having their turns. His peers had taken great joy raiding the costume closet for the perfect outfit and Lincoln had turned white upon seeing some of their offerings. They had pulled and primped and powdered him until he was barely recognisable in the ensemble he now found himself dressed in as he stood at a local bar.

Of course, none of the others had drawn their cards upside-down, and so when the club party ended at nine everyone else ran back to their dorms to shed their significantly less humiliating costumes. The Lovers, the Fool, the Hermit – all mild when compared to the embarrassment of attending the biggest night of the college semester in full drag. And now he was alone...

Lincoln thought he saw a familiar face slide through the revolving doors of the bar and relief flooded through him. Finally, he would no longer have to stand alone looking like a girl trying to get picked up. His heart went cold as he realised the person he recognised was actually one of his class professors – a department head no less. Lincoln didn't want to admit to such an esteemed figure who held at least a piece of his future in his hands that he was here in full makeup and a dress on some silly drama club lark.

“Well, hello there sweetheart,” the greying lecturer shot him a sly wink. “Buy you a drink?” Lincoln tried for a sweet smile and nodded demurely, his purse clutched defensively before him as he wished for the Earth to swallow him up.

Whatever Happened to Felix? (Trigger)

'Trigger' was my most popular ever story and was bound to get a Flashback at some point...and maybe more ;D The first four parts are on my index page but I will link the rest their shortly. Until then, just put "Trigger" in the site's search bar.

“You know...” Felix began as he leaned into the mirror to put the final touches on his lipstick. It wasn't a new shade for him, far from it – the soft red offsetting his long blonde hair and smokey eyes was by now his signature look, but it was the first time he had combined it with the suede corsetted dress and lace-up gloves and he was pleased with the results. He had been the eye-candy for Zoe's hypnotist show for eight years now – not that Zoe wasn't stunningly beautiful in her own right, and it was a constant battle to live up to the sexiness promised by the show's huge posters on the marquee. He pursed his lips in a sultry gaze. “I have been thinking...”

“Oh, how I hate it when you do that...” Zoe approached from behind and wrapped an arm around his cinched waist. “Think, that is.” The backstage dressing room was cramped and strewn with rejected outfit options and they could hear the excitement of the crowd building for tonight's show through the wall. “I didn't release your inner bimbo all those years ago for you to go all Confucius on me. I much prefer this side of you...” She used her thumb to turn Felix's chin and direct his mouth to her own for a deep kiss. Finally, when it was over, she smirked at her partner's hopelessly smudged lipstick.

“That's just it...” Felix continued pensively. “I remember you once telling me that the reason you were able to hypnotise me to be your...me, was that deep inside I wanted to be a bimbo all along. But, what about the people in our show? Last night you made a guy think he was ostrich. I am pretty sure he wasn't secretly a giant flightless bird...”

“Oh, my Sweet,” Zoe cackled wickedly. “You're thinking about it way too literally. I simply appealed to the repressed femininity in you. I didn't summon some kind of bimbo gene. And, you're right, that guy last night wasn't actually an ostrich, but he was naturally clumsy and awkward like a giant bird might be. It's subtle. There is a skill to reading people. I am watching the audience all the time, and when one of them comes on stage, I need to figure out what suggestions are going to take best.”

“Do you see more like me?” Felix asked nervously. “Bimbos...guys you can feminise?”

“Oh, my Dear Felicia...jealously is not a shade that suits you.” Zoe said plucking the lipstick from his hand and beginning to reapply it. “There's no-one quite like you. But...” She paused thoughtfully. “I admit, there are other ways. A guy doesn't necessarily need to have a hidden feminine side. You can get him in a dress by appealing to other things...like with the ostrich. Guilt for example – spot a guy clearly harboring some guilt and you can hypnotise him into thinking he deserves to be humiliated. Even better if the person he wronged is there in the audience with him. Those are the ones where it is fun to leave the trigger in place...” Zoe bit her tongue, realising the implications of her words. “That isn't what I did with you by the way.” She caressed Felix's cheek lovingly having completed fixing his makeup. “How about I show you tonight? We can find a guy in the crowd with a dirty little secret, and then make him pay with his dignity!”

The Apprentits Lost Tapes Part 6

 21/25

Celia had been blissfully unaware the whole time the throne had been completing its transformation. She had screamed in exaltation, bucking and grinding even as her ass was reshaped to bursting point, and moaned through her freshly inflated lips as the robotic arms continued their work. And then she was gone – wheeled away like the rest of them, onward to their new lives as whores and playthings. Only Angela remained, still strapped to her throne, silent but for the metal piercings thrumming away on her newly exaggerated tits and between her legs.

“The cameras are off now.” One of the latex clad members of Femnonymous announced without emotion. “We are done here.” No 'congratulations', Angela noted. No 'you are the winner' or 'thank you for helping set all this up and then foiling the escape attempt' – just 'we are done here'. Other amazons were gathering now too, yet none of them made any movement towards freeing her.

“So, that's it?” Angela stammered, her eyes flitting from one rubber suited figure to the next. “I can go home?” That was the least they could do, she thought. They should be rewarding her.

“Not quite...” The first woman said coolly. “You've been very useful, Angela. You were useful before the island. You were useful while you were here. And now...you will be useful after the island. We have a new assignment for you. One we think you will be very good at. Once a mole, always a mole, right?” The woman began to circle her. “We expect you to fill this role perfectly, and if you don't, there's always the chip to push you in the right direction.” Angela's blood ran cold. She had assumed she had been spared the compliance device given to the rest of the producers. “Of course, to complete this new task, we need to make sure you won't be recognised. You need to be perfect. Fortunately, we have just the thing...” Angela screamed and thrashed as countless robotic arms flowed out from beneath the throne to do Femnonymous's bidding...

Ten years had passed since her final transformation, and Angela was perched on the arm of a leather couch awaiting her husband's return from work. She knew it was a big day for him and he would be expecting a celebratory fuck and so she was dressed appropriately. The finale of the Apprentits Lost Tapes had been watched by millions and the Network had been resurrected. Bryce Murphy would be coming home a happy man – a happy, horny man who wanted nothing more than to pound his kinky young wife.

Bryce was predictable by now – they had been married nine years after all. But maybe he was predictable all along, and that was why Femnonymous had so easily crafted Angela into his future wife. But then again, he was a spoiled rich guy who made his fortune, and got off on, transforming gameshow contestants into glorified sex objects. Maybe the transformation of Angela into the ultimate sex object had been enough... The throne had crafted her into a walking wet dream and the compliance chip had done the rest, pushing her towards Bryce in a busy strip club – her enormous tits already out and the metal piercing thrumming busily. She had blown him and professed her love for him with the same collagen pumped lips that night, and after a whirlwind two months of 'romance' and debauchery, they had married.

The mole was in position and to make sure she stayed in position, the chip dictated that she be the perfect wife to Bryce. For ten years, she had been everything for him. Not only had she cooked and cleaned and kept their house, but she had been his own personal whore. Even a man of Bryce's sexual appetite was constantly amazed by what Angela was willing to do to keep him. She was almost permanently dressed in fetish wear such as the latex lingerie she now wore and would attend events with him wearing visible buttplugs or the occasional ballgag.

Their physical relationship was a nonstop zoetrope of new positions and sex acts that eventually involved Bryce bringing home other women to help fulfil his fantasies. One weekend he brought home Angela's former colleague and friend, Mandy, now a senior executive at the Network. She hadn't recognised Angela, of course, who now looked like a completely different person – her slim build now a curvy caricature, her small face now pouting and wild, and her formerly brown hair now long blonde and wavy – all thanks to the throne. Angela had joined Mandy on their knees as they sucked off Bryce in unison and Angela couldn't help but think this could have all been avoided if she had just got on her knees at a long ago Christmas party.

Bryce also got into the habit of taking her back to the strip club where they had first met and having her perform with the girls there. His favourite was a guy who had been a contestant on the Network's own Apprentits and had been transformed into one of the strippers when he was eliminated. Bryce loved watching him fuck his wife. It was as if his ultimate fantasy was seeing the man whose life his gameshow had ruined by turning him into a bimbo cuckold him with his own bimbo wife.

Ten years, thought Angela, ten fucking years. Ten years of degrading herself for Bryce fucking Murphy. Ten years of her clit vibrating. Ten years of threesomes with her best friend turned mortal enemy. Ten years of hell courtesy of Femnonymous's grand fucking plan of which she still had no knowledge. The chip was the only thing keeping her on their side now. Without it she would turn on them in a second. She wasn't with Femnonymous, nor the Network, nor Bryce, nor Mandy, nor the other producers, wherever they were... It was just her, and it was nearly her time...

“Angela!” A voice soothed in her head, and she realised it must be the chip. Femnonymous were using it to communicate with her. “It's time! The next phase starts now!”

Whatever Happened to the Husband? (And Now for Something Completely Sexy)

 This is a Flashback Friday for 'And Now for Something Completely Sexy'.

“Howdee, Folks, and welcome back to 'Digging for Gold'!” The endlessly charismatic Britt Bunting beamed into the television camera. “The show where you the public bring me your family heirlooms, your garage sale finds, or just the contents at the back of your junk drawer and I might just make you an offer for it. Remember, anything I don't buy will go to auction at the end of the show and all you lovely people at home will get a chance to be a golddigger just like me!” She drew her painted lips wider to show off a set of perfectly whitened teeth. “On today's show, we have Wilma! What treasure do you have for me Wilma?” The host turned to face her guest and the tall doll like figure that accompanied her.

“It is an old bodysuit.” Wilma gestured towards the glassy stare frozen on the figure's face. “I have been led to believe it is a classic and that only a small number of these were ever made. I put two and two together and figured it might be worth something. It's been in my family, and I suppose you could say my family has been in it, going on ten years now.”

“Well, Wilma,” Britt began in a sing-song voice. “Your instincts are in fact spot on. If I am not mistaken this particular model is a special edition produced by UltraReal Bodysuits in the mid-2010s called the...ahem...Stepford Slut 2000. A number rather higher than how many were actually produced. However, I don't believe these garments are from the original product.” She finished, indicating the latex bodysuit, suspenders and corset the bodysuit had been dressed in.

“Oh, no, that's just something my brothers were into a while back.” Wilma grinned. “Guys can be such perverts!” She said, swatting the bodysuit's rubber covered backside. “The hair is done differently too – a bit more feral than the pigtails they had me putting her in during their sexy schoolgirl phase...”

“I see...” Britt blushed and glanced nervously at the camera. “So, I take it that the bodysuit is still fully operational?”

“I should fucking think so...” Wilma snorted. “My good for nothing husband has been inside it for the last nine years. The only reason she's not moving right now is because she's in standby mode so we can do this interview. Otherwise, she would be trying to blow your cameraman right now. I'm sure you know this but the Stepford Slut 2000 turns its wearer into a wanton cum whore. Since my brothers got married and stopped banging her, she just sits around all day masturbating. It's annoying. She keeps stealing my hairbrush.”

“Right, well, I'm afraid if your husband is still inside there is no way we can accept him...er her into our auction today.” Britt stammered, urgently trying to get the camera crew to move towards the next waiting guest. Once the fated bodysuit and its wife/owner were well out of shot Britt turned back to Wilma and slipped her a card. “If you still want to sell, give this number a call,” she whispered. “There is an auction for everything – especially where your husband's...desires are involved...”  

The Apprentits Lost Tapes Part 5

 20/25

Angela and Celia watched in silence as the bimbofied form of Martin was wheeled away after his transformation on the throne. Each of them wondered what fate awaited him after he left the island – both their thoughts eventually drifting towards more selfish fears of way lay in their own futures. Once Martin was out of sight, two pairs of strong latex gloved hands grabbed each of the women and they were dragged forward towards the area where their former colleague had been transformed. To their horror, they saw there was now a second throne positioned facing the first. Was this it? They each feared as they were strapped in place. Was Femnonymous finishing it right here? Were they cutting their losses after the failed escape had surely ruined their farce of show and bimbofying them both, right here right now? And yet, once they were secure, the Amazons dressed in vinyl stepped back, leaving Angela and Celia to stare each other down. Angela narrowed her eyes – she hated this woman. She was an ambitious company girl...just like Mandy had been. Given the chance, it would have been Celia blowing Bryce Murphy for a promotion.

“You bitch!” Celia spat. “You whore! We were getting away! I know what you did! I don't know why, but I know what you did!” Angela ignored her and instead looked around for any hint she may be let free. They couldn't transform her, could they? Not after everything she had done... This only seemed to anger Celia further. “Is that it? You think they will spare you? Get real... You're going to get giant plastic tits like everyone else!” No sooner had the words left her mouth when Angela felt a whirring beneath her as the throne she sat on whirred to life. Two tube like arms deployed from below her and attached themselves to her bare breasts. Panic surged through her as an odd sensation, a weird thrum of building pressure, pushed into her chest from each of the appendages. They were inflating her like a balloon, she realised in terror. She was getting a boob-job in real time. She watched helplessly as her breasts swelled larger and larger until finally the arms detached themselves leaving her with a pair of cartoonishly large new tits.

“Holy shit!” Angela gasped and saw that Celia was staring at her with equal surprise but more than a little amusement. As she tried to come to terms with what had just happened, she noticed a light above Celia's chair extinguish and corresponding one light up above her chair. An idea flashed in her mind – was this how they were going to choose the winner? A game of 'Mercy'? She decided to test her theory. “Celia!” She hissed. “I'm sure yours are going to be even bigger!” Again, as soon as the words were said, the arms re-emerged – this time from Celia's throne. Angela watched wide-eyed as they attached themselves to her opponent's breasts and inflated them to absurd proportions. When they retracted, Celia was panting for breath but the light was again above her head, and she seemed to have noticed.

“So, that's the game, is it?” The ambitious young producer fixed Angela with a steely glare. “A good old game of chicken?” Celia seemed to take a moment to think before adopting a smug smile. “Those juicy new tits of yours – I think they need some decoration, They need piercing with something that never stops buzzing...never lets up...” Her eyes narrowed spitefully. “Your clit too while we're at it.” Angela desperately struggled against her restraints as the arms returned, along with a third that came from between her legs. Realising escape was futile, she instead tried to pull back from the devices that were each tipped with what looked like a needle. It was as if she was trying to pull herself down into the chair, but of course it was no good. At least the throne was fast. It was painful yet within seconds, the needles were retreating and Angela was three piercings richer. A steady thrum emitted from each of her private parts and she found herself unable to catch her breath. Heat was enveloping her – starting from her brand new enormous breasts and from between her legs and spreading across her entire body. Each of her exhalations was a tiny gasp...a tiny moan, as the little toys hummed away.

“Uh...” Angela cried softly, looking up at Celia to see she was grinning. She needed to end this now before that bitch got more of imagination. But how? Angela racked her brains for everything she knew about her opponent but she just kept coming back to that first day on the island when Chris and Jason had double teamed her after they had all got a dose of the aphrodisiac. Angela had won that game for her team by giving all their doses to Hannah. That was it?! “Celia, you're about to get as horny as you have in you entire life...as horny as Hannah was...” Angela thought hard – she needed something more. “...and every time someone touches you, it drives you even wilder!” Celia's eyes bugged but the syringe was in her arm before she could even move, and then they were rolling into to the back of her head. She was shivered and bucking, only the whites of her eyes visible for what seemed like an age. The light above Angela's throne had moved to above hers, but with her opponent unable to speak it was above Angela again, who was glancing from the bulb to her shaking opponent. She smiled. “Tickle her!” She hissed and watched on as Celia writhed in screaming ecstasy.

Lying completely still was near impossible now, but Celia new she had to if she wanted her reward...her dessert. Hell, she would be the dessert. The restaurant called her a human food dish. She could be ordered by rich private parties where her body would be adorned with foodstuffs and eaten off of – rarely with fingers. Today it was a selection of sugary treats. Donuts lay of her inflated tits and restless pussy and they were already driving her wild. Time didn't matter to her much any more and yet she was impatient. Someone bit carefully at the treat between her legs and she felt her legs buck involuntarily. She needed them to get past the foreplay quickly. She needed to be fucked. The donut on her left breast was removed and a gentle hand guided her up from lying down. A tall man stood above her, the donut hooped over the base of his giant erect cock. He beckoned for her to eat and she started in from the side, only for the compliance chip to correct her. The man smiled broadly as she opened wide to deepthroat her way to the donut, just as one of the other guests started to part her backside. Her body was in heaven but her mind was in hell.