Picture Perfect

 12/25

The shutter snapped closed with a click as another picture was taken, and Liam shuddered, knowing that another layer of what remained of his identity would soon be removed. The photograph would be perfect, of course – to the observing eye anyway. They would see a beautiful young women, her tongue stuck out playfully, round breasts pushed out in a cute red bikini, old fashioned camera clutched in one carefully manicured hand and pointed at the mirror – a vacation snap, maybe... To Liam it may as well have been a mugshot taken right before he was hauled off to prison for a crime he hadn't committed.

When discovered, the camera had seemed like quite the find. Like buried treasure, it was hiding between garments and various other knick-knacks on a shelf at the back of Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly, an new vintage store on the edge of town. As an amateur photographer, Liam had always wanted a film camera, and so the Canon seemed like the perfect find. He had grabbed it at once and carried it to the counter, where he had shoved some bills into the hands of a tall dark woman and, unable to believe his luck, taken his prize home.

Liam's luck hadn't lasted long. Once a film canister had been loaded, he took his first picture of the same thing any young photographer uses for their first snap – himself. As soon as the shutter closed for the first time, there was an odd jolt that travelled up his arm to his head. It was as if something had been transferred into him – a thought, an idea...a compulsion. He had instantly taken another picture. By the end of his impromptu shoot, he had used the entire file, and oddly in the later pictures he had been wearing lipstick.

But the camera hadn't been satisfied. With every new selfie Liam took, the need to look more feminine grew. It was not a want – he did not desire to be a woman. It was a need. With every photograph, the camera was compelling him to look more perfect...more female. Liam was merely its helpless model.

Lip-filler followed, as did hair extensions, but the camera wanted more. Liam found himself buying women's clothing, and then wearing it. When he didn't fill it out, the camera insisted its puppet get breast implants and start taking hormones that would reshape his entire body. In six short months, Liam was transformed from nerdy photographer to someone who looked born to be the other side of the lens.

Liam tried to put down the camera, but he knew by now it was no use. He felt one of his French tipped fingers needle the top of his red bikini briefs and then stroke the final remaining piece of his male form, albeit shrivelled by the rounds of hormones. 'Not that', he groaned to no-one, but he knew it was futile. His other hand reached out for his phone as if guided by marionette strings, and he watched in horror as it began to type “bottom surgery” into the search engine.

Whatever Happened to Brett? (Empathy Training)

 Original caption is here 

Touch ups! That's what Cynthia called them. Minor but vital corrections when the product wasn't quite right. Since his empathy training ten years ago, Brett had suffered through numerous of these touch ups and he was starting to hate how easily he could slip into character whenever his boss felt the need to punish his behaviour.

It was reaching the point where Brett felt the need to force his resistance to his female alter ego. It was humiliating that it had almost started to feel like part of him. That was why he was sitting up ramrod straight on the stool in the space Cynthia used as both her office and studio surrounded by photography and lighting apparatus. The leather leotard was a recent addition to his boss's wardrobe. Over the years, her tastes had shifted from shiny latex to other styles and Brett found that these always seemed to be extended to the collection of clothing used on him. The material clung to him as tightly as rubber ever had and he was restricted to short quick breaths.

“What you're feeling right now,” Cynthia told him sternly, “is something akin to what a bride will experience while she is cinched into her wedding corset. Maybe this will teach you to have a little patience.” She sighed. “With the amount of chances I have given you in your career, I would have hoped some of it may have rubbed off on you by now.” Brett would have laughed if it had been possible to catch his breath. She knew nothing of his patience. The countless humiliations he had put up with over the last decade knowing that the old bitch's retirement had to be just around the corner... And, finally, if the rumours he was hearing were true, it was finally here. “If it isn't too much to ask,” Cynthia continued, “do you mind trying to be professional for the next few minutes at least?”

The older woman whistled through her fingers and Brett sat up even straighter as the door to the studio began to open. The layers of cosmetics on his face resisted as he tried to adopt a neutral expression – Cynthia had really gone all out with the makeup this time. Brief panic flashed through him as a young woman, presumably another future bride, entered the room. The leather leotard was not only tight around his torso and he couldn't remember whether he had tucked, so he quickly wrapped one of his boot clad legs over the other – realising too late how humiliatingly feminine his pose was.

“Annabel, this is Brett. My brilliant but totally obnoxious wedding photographer. Without him, this company would not have had half the success it has had over the past ten years.” Cynthia paused just long enough for Brett to blush with surprise as the young guest looked at him with wonder. “However, without these occasional 'touch-ups' to correct his behaviour, Brett would have got us sued so many times that there would be no company. I suggest you continue them.” She stopped again to drink in the confusion on the photographer's face as his painted lips parted and his brushed eyes popped wide. “Brett, this Annabel, my niece. She will be taking over my role at the studio starting next month. I trust you will treat her with the respect you show me and not that you show our clients. To make sure, I will be showing her the ropes over the coming weeks...”

Birthday Blushes Part 3

 

“Oh look...” Steph tutted softly after Michael had finished his fifth consecutive set of push-ups. “You've got yourself all sweaty! I guess I had forgotten the effect I have on you!” She nodded to Sara to help him to his feet and then tenderly removed the ball-gag. Michael felt the air rush from his mouth like a deflating balloon. Steph smiled sweetly and planted a small kiss on his smudged lips. “Good thing we brought plenty of changes of clothes. We don't want you feeling all gross for your Birthday surprise, do we?” She said this in the purse-lipped baby voice that had been a staple of the early stages of their relationship.

“No...” Michael was still gulping in air. His skin prickled with suspicion. He knew this side of Steph – the fake niceness, the forced sympathy... She had something up her sleeve and it was sure to be humiliating for him. Still, her gentle demeanour remained as she carefully began to remove his sweat soaked dress. She motioned for Sara to help and the two women carefully relieved him of the pink dress and matching panties. If this was his present, he hated to admit that it was worth it – the two women touching him tenderly and cooing. Their soft hands aroused a hope in his manhood, yet he urged it still. He couldn't risk angering them – not yet. Once he was totally naked, Steph reached once more for the bags they had brought with them.

“From one Birthday suit to another.” Steph chided as she pulled out an expensive looking dress with a silver trim. “Now, come here so we can get you ready for your surprise.” There was a forcefulness in her voice. She might not have been calling him 'Piggy' or 'Sissy', but she was still firmly in control. Sara pulled a fresh pair or panties up his legs before Steph wrapped the dress around him, careful not to rip of crease it. Next, they sat him down and re-fixed his makeup with soft yet uncompromising hands. As they painted his lips with a shade that matched the dress, Michael realised that he was as powerless to resist as he had been with the rubber ball stuffed in his mouth. “Final touches...” Steph muttered as she swapped the blonde wig for another from her bag – this one with a flowered hair clip that also matched the dress. She stepped back to admire her work. “Perfect!”

“I guess...” Michael's head was racing. He knew this wasn't the surprise – he was merely ready for his surprise, and while the tenderness the women had treated him with had been pleasant, he didn't think he was going to like what came next. His thoughts were still going round as Steph took him by the hand and began to lead him towards the door – his front door. At the threshold, she passed him off to her sister so that she could place a bouquet of flowers in his arms. Her cold eyes met his as she threw open the door.

“Happy Birthday, Sissy!” She screamed. Michael's eyes took a second to adjust to the scene outside his house, but he recognised some of the faces immediately – his friends, his work colleagues, his neighbours, the adult members of his family – the word 'surprise' stuck in their collective throats. “I present to you my Piggy Birthday Sissy!” Steph called out to the gathered crowd. “In his true form – now he never has to hide who he really is ever again.” She kissed Michael on the cheek and put her lips to his ear. “Or, who he belongs to...”

Birthday Blushes Part 2

 

“One...” Michael wheezed as he lowered his upper body to the floor. “Two...three...” With each push up, the blonde hair of his wig pooled on the wooden tiles before being lifted once more to cling to increasing sweaty the face. The new dress the girls had forced him to wear was made of some awful synthetic material that trapped in his body heat and made him gasp with exertion.

“Fucking hell!” Steph snorted. “You even do pushups like a bitch!” She nodded to Michael's nylon clad legs that were planted knee-first on the floor. “No wonder you were never able to satisfy me. A real man would do pushups on his toes.” She watched with curiosity as Michael pushed off his knees and onto his toes. Steph raised an eyebrow. “Did I say you were a real man, sissy?” She grinned as Michael looked back at her, obediently dropped back to his knees. “That's right!” She sneered. “You are my sissy piggy bitch!” She nodded to Sara, who once more swatted his pink pantied ass with a paddle that had been in one of the bags. “And as my sissy piggy bitch, you are going to count your pushups like a sissy piggy! I want you to snort, piggy! You're a stupid birthday piggy and I want you to snort all the way to ten!”

“One...” Michael started again, but his efforts were met with a ferocious glare from Steph and she signalled for Sara to smack his ass once more. The next time he lowered himself to the ground he did so with a quiet grunt and checked back over his shoulder to where Steph watched on unimpressed with her arms folded. For the second pushup he added a little snort and for the third and fourth he embellished a little squeal. He felt absurd and the heat in his body was starting to rise again.

“Predictably pathetic...” Steph sighed. “I suppose I should have expected as much. Sara, pass me that bag!” She demanded of her sister and upon receiving the small pink package, she withdrew what looked like a rubber ball with a strap on each side. “I have had enough of listening to you. Fortunately, I have this!” She strode towards Michael with the gag held out before her and placed it in front of his face. He tried to turn away but Sara immediately began to strike his butt with the paddle. His painted lips parted in pain and Steph took the opportunity to insert the ball. With a strap in each hand, she pulled them hard around the back of his head until Michael felt like his eyes would pop out. His mouth was being forced wide open by the rubber ball inside in and he had to concentrate to breathe through his nose. At last Steph fastened the gag. “Now let's try this again...in silence! To ten, my sissy piggy bitch!”

Again, Michael lowered himself to the wooden floor, his arms growing sore and saliva drooling from the black rubber ball in his mouth. As he came back up, Sara once more smacked him hard across the ass. He looked back over his shoulder again and saw that Steph had returned to her original position to watch – a cruel grin cracking her face. She was enjoying every second, and so Michael knew in spite of everything, he needed to keep going...

Birthday Blushes Part 1

 

Michael leaned toward the mirror and made a V-shape with his hands, framing the underneath of his face like the bottom half of a heart – the blonde wig sat atop his head forming the rest of the shape. No-one was watching, yet he felt compelled to press out his painted lips in a kiss. His eyes glazed and dropped to the rest of his body. He was dressed as he had been instructed – or at least the best he could muster. He didn't have a huge selection of female clothing to choose from, but the tartan bra and skirt had been underneath his bed since last time Steph had been over to play her games.

The Birthday card from his off-again, on-again, off-again girlfriend still lay on his bed. He couldn't actually recall what their current status was and he was ashamed how little he cared to remember when he read her handwriting on the envelope. He knew this was her way of saying she wanted to play with her toy, and he also knew he would forever be her willing plaything. She loved to degrade him and while being humiliated like this was far from the top of a list of his favorite things, it was how he could get what he wanted – to be near her. She might even touch him – not with her hands or mouth, and not in any way a normal observer might deem as being erotic, yet her punishments would be enough to carry him in his pleasure later on. Knowing this was enough to make him feel worthless – yet his obedience was never in question.

Steph's card was crude in its execution. Clearly intended as a store bought card from a husband to his wife, it had been vandalised so that the words 'To My Wife' had been crossed out and scrawled over with 'To My Sissy'. The accompanying image had once featured an elegant woman in a wedding dress with her bridal lingerie flirtatiously visibly from beneath the outfit. Steph had glued an image of Miss Piggy from the Muppets over the woman's face. There was no well wishes, no greeting – only a declaration that Steph would be around at 6 and that Michael 'better be ready' or there would be 'consequences'.

There was a hammering at the door and Michael swallowed hard. Steph had her own key and didn't need to be let in, yet she knocked anyway. It was a test – a check on his obedience and also a way to force him to come to the door dressed as a sissy. He would need to risk being seen by the outside world this and it both terrified and thrilled him.

“There's my birthday bitch!” Steph smirked as he threw open the door. Her eyes were glazed and there was alcohol on her breath and about a half dozen shiny bags in her arms. “I brought a party guest. I don't care if you mind.” Michael flushed at the sight of the woman who followed his girlfriend into the house. He recognised Steph's sister Sara, but she had never seen him like this though he assumed Steph had spared no detail in telling her how pathetic he was. “This won't do!” Steph tutted after appraising his outfit. “You're going to have to do much better if you want your gift...”

Topless

 11/25

Tino finally baulked – unable to maintain his balance on the uncomfortable six-inch heels in the Sicilian August sunshine. His regret was instant and he cursed softly between plump painted lips as the hot metal chassis of his master's car sizzled the backs of his soft thighs. He reached down a manicured hand and massaged the skin just below the hem of his figure hugging mini-dress and gazed up at the mansion before him – his master's house.

“Gino, prepare the car!!” a hoarse commanding voice called down the driveway. A suited man lazily trimming a hedge leapt to attention and started to trot over towards where Tino was slowly baking in the hot afternoon sun. The man paused to hear his boss's follow up order. “And I will be taking Tina out with me!”

Tino's skin crawled at the sound of his new name. It was not the name of a person, but a mere possession. He had once been the heir to his father's legacy – the future head of the family and all it ruled over. He had been promised a life of luxury and power, and instead, he got...this?! He glanced down at his large breasts bubbling out out the top of his tube dress.

His father had been a proud and ruthless man who made many enemies – none more vicious than Fabio Rossi – the leader of a crime family just as powerful as Tino's father's. The two organisations had gone to war and when the Rossi family ultimately came out on top, Fabio swooped in to claim his spoils. Stripped of all their former glory, there was nothing Tino's family could do as he was whisked away.

Nobody saw Tino for months after that. Fabio commissioned an army of surgeons, usually reserved for enhancing the prostitutes who worked for him, to transform Tino into a mockery of his former rival – a voluptuous caricature of a Hollywood idol complete with full pouting lips, round bouncing tits and an ass more than capable of filling the revealing dresses Fabio forced him to wear. Since his big reveal as Fabio's new 'girl', Tino was routinely driven past his old family home to cruelly parade to his father what had become of his son.

“Which car do you wish to use, sir?” Gino called back up to the house.

“On a day like this? The convertible!” came the instant reply. Tino's heart sank in his new silicone chest. The convertible meant only one thing – Fabio wanted to screw him in the backseat outside his old home again to taunt his father.

Whatever Happened to Paul? (Sharking)

 This one is such an old one - Original Caption

Paul hated Fridays. Ladies' night was always extra busy in the club and Johnny the Shark expected him to bring home the goods. The women's bathroom, where he would spend most of his night, milled with traffic and the walls were lined with mirrors giving Paul a reminder of what he had become from nearly every angle.

Success can be dangerous. Eleven years ago, in this very nightclub bathroom, Paul had successfully collected an assortment of clothing from his sister and her friends and pulled them on in one of the stalls convincingly enough to evade Johnny the Shark's goons waiting outside. However, Paul's escape was short-lived. He still owed money and when Johnny caught up with him, he was armed with rumours of how exactly Paul had got away that night. The Shark had grinned a predator's grin as two of Johnny's men held Paul in a chair and explained exactly how he was going to be making back the money he owed. Success can be dangerous if you prove you can successfully hide out convincingly in a women's bathroom to a loan-shark looking for a way to sell drugs at the club on Ladies' night.

“I thought I would find you here!” Paul didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. He could see Amy's reflection in the mirror, an amused smirk plastered on her face. She had been one of the girls that leant him clothing to escape all those years ago, but, still, he had never liked her much. She was smug and mean and even suspected she was the one who told Johnny how he had slipped by his men. Paul slid his flask of bourbon into the tight bust of his dress just above a heart-shaped cut out. In his platform boots he towered over Amy, but she rounded him with the confidence of a lioness stalking a gazelle. “I was hoping you had a little something for me?” She smiled. “Well, I know you have a little something...” She winked at his crotch that was barely concealed by the impossibly short skirt of the dress where his nylon clad legs stretched from beneath. “But, I think you know what I mean...” Paul rolled his eyes and felt a fresh wave of humiliation as he saw how catty it had appeared via his reflection. He tried to give Amy a stern look, but with his thick painted lips and heavy makeup, it just looked like a pout. Finally, he gave up and reached a handful of French-tipped nails into the other bust of tight dress and pulled out a small ziplock bag of pills to give to Amy. He held out his other hand for payment. “Oh, I don't think so...” The girl exclaimed in mock surprise. “Unless, you want me to tell those beefy security guys outside what you're doing in here. Trust me, girl, you don't want to be on your knees in here!” Amy glanced around the floor in disgust before accepting the pills from Paul's outstretched hand.

Paul watched her skip out of the bathroom with the drugs safely in her panties and he was alone again with his reflections. He started to play with his wig. He always did this when he was stressed en femme. It was degrading how Amy had treated him, especially given she had once been his sister's friend, but it was nothing compared to what Johnny would do to him if he couldn't come up with a good reason why he hadn't taken payment for some of his merchandise...