Stick Shift

 17/25

Darren had expected lectures, not a life overturned. When the court ordered him into the mesh-assisted driver rehabilitation program, he thought it would be a handful of classes, maybe a stern instructor correcting his habits behind the wheel. Losing his license would have meant losing his job, so he chose the implant without hesitation. He could handle a tiny scar behind his ear.

At first the changes were almost invisible. The mesh encouraged him to keep a journal of his driving habits, to reflect on moments of impatience. It nudged him to set off earlier in the morning, to avoid peak traffic so he would never feel rushed. It felt harmless. Sensible, even.

But the logic crept further. Women, it concluded through carefully surfaced statistics, were safer drivers. Women had fewer serious accidents, showed more patience on the road, took fewer risks. If he wanted to be safer then why not be of the gender who drove best?

Darren was powerless to stop the transition – as subtle as it was at first. He began sitting straighter at the wheel, knees together, both hands resting neatly at ten and two. He wore softer clothes because they made him feel calmer, lighter dresses in the summer that made crossing his legs second nature. .

Surgery came later. The mesh never asked, it just drove him forward in his mission to become the safest driver possible. It spun its web in the back of his thoughts in a way that his ideas and the ones created by the implant behind his ear were completely discernable. Wouldn’t it be safer with less testosterone? Wouldn’t softer features and a smaller frame make him calmer? Wouldn’t permanent change protect him from himself? By the time Darren booked the appointments, it felt less like surrender and more like inevitability.

Now the photo on his license no longer bore his old name. A woman with glossy blonde hair and painted lips smiled back at him from the laminate surface. His final assessment had been almost anticlimactic. The instructor had handed over the certificate with a warm grin. 'Women always make the best students,' he’d said. Darren had laughed with him, just as the mesh instructed.

She drove differently now. Slower, smoother, patient at every turn. Other drivers waved her through at junctions. Strangers smiled at her at stoplights. She had not had so much as a parking ticket since the implant. The scar behind her ear had faded to nothing, and the mesh no longer stirred. Its work was finished.

Darren pulled to the side of the road and listened. The implant was silent. He opened the door to let cool air wash over him – to be sure he wasn't hallucinating – and put a hand to the side of his head, his other resting on the soft feminine skin of his leg. Still Nothing. He looked up at the rear view mirror and just sat there in silence. The mesh was silent – his thoughts were finally his own, but his appearance would forever belong to that implant...

Whatever Happened to Archie? (The Bare Minimum)

 This week's Flashback Friday is for a recent one. You can read The Bare Minimum here.

Archie sat up from his position on the yacht's sunbathing pad to admire the view as a rocky beach peppered with chalky white vacation homes whizzed past. The whole island was like this – a neverending highlight reel of paradise. He placed his hands behind him, careful not to catch his extended nails on the foam mattress, and felt the still unfamiliar bounce of his large breasts in his swimsuit. They bulged and stretched the one-piece to bursting point – tight against his smooth crotch and sculpted ass. He never had to work out to maintain his figure, hell, he never even had to use sunscreen. He was a permanently perfect object of affection – an exquisite hourglass as stunning as the views from the boat. Both the body and the life of luxury had been bestowed on him with nothing expected in return – well almost nothing...

Archie glanced over his shoulder to where the grey haired man was steering the yacht. He was staring back, as he often was, unable to take his gaze off Archie's new unwanted body. The former dock worker pushed a pair of designer sunglasses up a cute button nose to avoid making eye contact. The blowjobs were the bare minimum – the price of maintaining this existence in paradise. The man never asked for anything more, Archie supposed this had been a kind of mercy on Jeanie's part when she cast her manipulated wish, but the man asked often. He was helpless to resist, of course, and he found that he sucked with a skill as unearned as his toned body. Whether the man finished in his throat or on his delicate face, he was always satisfied and Archie's life of leisure continued. He sighed as he watched a family of dolphins frolicking off the side of the vessel – it was still better than busting his back all night at the docks – even if his new life of sucking and tanning was a little monotonous.

“Enjoying the view?” A female voice almost made Archie jump out of his new skin. He turned to see Jeanie sitting on the side of the yacht swinging her feet. She was dressed in some kind of stripper-witch outfit. Unlike his new body, she looked ridiculous in a spandex one-piece and oversized hat. He guessed the Ministry of Manipulated Wishes had introduced some kind of new uniform.

“You!” Archie scowled at her. “You did this to me!” He cupped his breasts to indicate what he meant. “You did this on purpose! You knew I would end up as some trophy wife deepthroat queen!”

“Doesn't look so bad...” Jeanie shrugged. “You should see the things I need to do to keep my job. This outfit ain't the half of it.” She nodded at the dolphins. “Seems like a nice life...”

“I suppose...” Archie softened realising there were worse things than blowjobs and boredom. “I just wish there was more for me to do...” He realised what he had said immediately and clamped a hand over his thick pink lips. Jeanie smiled and winked and Archie watched in horror as the yacht turned sharply towards a long wooden dock, where a line of large muscled men waited excitedly...

The Queen Maker Part 2 (Bimbo Note)

 16/25

The silence stretched until Azalea’s tablet pinged. Another notification. Another sneer from a new troll – another moron with no imagination for pseudonyms. She glanced at the Note, then at Rook, who raised a brow in amusement.

“Oh, don’t tell me—”

“Shut up,” Azalea snapped, grabbing the pen she kept with the book. She scrawled the troll's name into the page with a flourish. The letters shimmered, and for a split second she swore she heard giggling echo in the corners of the room.

On her phone, the troll’s comments froze mid-post. Then new pictures began appearing on the feed – a victim's life already rewritten. It was another blonde, more huge breasts, claw like fingernails. The newly minted bimbo was on her knees, a minidress riding up to just below her ass. 'I would get used to that position,' Azalea thought to herself but didn't share with Rook for fear of further derision..

Instead she threw her head back and laughed, wicked and giddy. “There. Amphitheatre enough for you? My whole fanbase gets to watch this idiot’s downfall live.”

Rook clapped once, slow and deliberate. “Better. Much better. But still…small. You’re a pyromaniac playing with sparklers when you could be setting cathedrals ablaze.”

Azalea’s grin faltered just slightly. “So what—you’re here to give me homework? Because despite my black catsuit, I am quite good at playing the naughty schoolgirl... for the right teacher.” Her tablet was pinging ten to the dozen now as her followers sent demands to the new bimbo. She knew they would exploit her creation with all their combined imaginations and the former troll would comply having been reduced to a mindless whore. In that moment, Azalea desperately wanted Rook to leave so she could get back to playing with herself watching the vacant blonde flop her tits around and try to stuff objects into herself.

“Think of it as a mission,” Rook purred, sliding gracefully down from the sofa back. She plucked the Note from Azalea’s lap without asking, turning its heavy pages with gloved fingers. “The world is full of institutions just begging for you to scribble their names. A university. A parliament. A bank. Something with real teeth.”

She handed the book back, her dark eyes glinting. “Do it with style, Azalea. Do it loudly. Otherwise…” She smiled sweetly, cruelly. “…the Note will grow bored. And you’ll find your pretty signature glowing back at you.” 

Azalea stared back at her with cold eyes – her horniness gone and a cold grip on her heart.

Whatever Happened to Lorenzo? Part 2 (Finding the Perfect Girl)

 

It's incredible what even a small town can achieve when its people come together. Located somewhere between Milan and Palermo, the (almost) entirely female town of Femini celebrated the marriage of their beloved Padre to his new bride, Donatella, the sombre funeral following the tragic passing of their patriarch on his wedding night, and now just weeks later, they were once again ready for jubilation. Giulia, the Padre's doted daughter was to marry her long time girlfriend, Lorenza, and no expense had been spared for the coupling of the town's princesses.

Lorenzo had worn some ostentatious outfits since Giulia took control of his wardrobe, but this one took the cake – which by the way was seven exquisite layers of rich chocolate and fondant. Made from a delicate blend of velvet and lace, it was in the town's traditional colours rather than white, and adorned with jewels and tassels. He had stood for hours being vigorously measured for it and only Giulia's smallest chastity cage had saved him from discovery. To top it off, he wore a diamond encrusted necklace that probably cost more than the home he had grown up in as well as an ornate tiara. So much expensive jewellery hanging from his body only made him more nervous – not to speak of the hundreds of excited eyes on him from the town's female population. After the sudden death of the Padre, they were all eager for something to celebrate again, and he was that something.

The mansion's ballroom had been prepared for the ceremony and Lorenzo anxiously awaited Giulia's arrival so he could get this over with. He knew the room full of women would be wondering why he was staring at his feet piled into a pair of towering open-toed platform heels, but he couldn't meet their gazes. They didn't know what he knew. They didn't know that tucked away inside his silk bridal panties sat a cock, shaved and waxed hairless and held securely in a cage. They didn't know they weren't here to witness the pairing of two equals – two women in love. They were here to see a meat purchase – the rubber stamping of his body becoming property of the Padre's daughter. Finally, after what seemed like hours of playing with one of the ballroom's crystal chandeliers, Lorenzo forced himself to look up – and immediately met the eyes of Donatella, the Padre's widow and new ruler of Femini. There was an ice in her stare – a steely determination...a sense of duty, and in that single moment, Lorenzo knew that crossing her would be as foolish as crossing the Padre himself. He would need to be patient if he were to escape. He would need to bide his time and endure whatever Giulia had planned – at least for the time being.

There was a collective gasp and the guests turned to the ballroom's entrance where the other bride had just arrived. Giulia stood in the doorway and Lorenzo's heart sank. Unlike, his elegant dress, she was wearing a tuxedo, her hair chopped short into a masculine fade. It was clear what role she saw for herself in their partnership. His mind immediately flicked to their wedding night and the consummation of their marriage, and he started to calculate how much wine he could drink before the evening was through.    

The Queen Maker Part 1 (Bimbo Note)

 15/25

Azalea lounged across her sofa, catsuit half-unzipped, a glass of prosecco in one hand and the Bimbo Note resting lazily on her lap. She was watching messages scroll down a tablet screen, half-smirking at a troll’s latest comments on her feed. “RyanJones92” Why did idiots do that? Include their real name in their username? She scribbled her troll's name in the Bimbo Note and imagined Ryan's new look – she closed her eyes and envisioned blonde hair, a gaping mouth, massive tits...probably stretching something obscene across a too small top. Azalea pulled down the zip of her catsuit and slipped her free hand deep inside the material to the warmth between her legs...

“You’re predictable, you know.” The voice was soft, cutting, and far too close. Azalea rolled her eyes and glanced up. There was Rook, sitting cross-legged on the back of the sofa like a cat, absently plucking petals off a lily that hadn’t been in the room a moment ago.

“Well if it isn’t Miss Goth Britannica. I was wondering when you’d pop back in. Jealous of my follower count?”

Rook ignored the jab, dropping another white petal onto Azalea’s shoulder. “You’ve been busy. Voyeur, celebrity, punter, wedding, boyfriend. Each one a tiny spark in the dark. Impressive...if your ambitions end at creating masturbatory aids.”

“Impressive?” Azalea snorted. “It’s genius. Have you seen what I did at the wedding? The bride’s mother motor-boated every bridesmaid.”

Rook gave a small, approving tilt of her head. “Inspired chaos. But your boyfriend? Panic. Clumsy. That’s how you end up in the Note.”

Azalea’s hand stiffened on the glass stem. “I’m fine. He was clingy. I cleaned house. End of story.”

“Mm. For now.” Rook leaned down, balancing her chin in her hands. “The Note is restless, Azalea. It doesn’t like scraps. It wants a stage. Not a single troll, but a whole amphitheatre. Not a gambler, but a system. The next move…it must be grand.”

Azalea smirked, but her eyes glittered nervously. “And what if I don’t feel like dancing to the Note’s tune? What if I enjoy my 'masturbatory aids'?”

“Then it will eat you,” Rook said simply, like commenting on the weather.

Whatever Happened to Lorenzo? Part 1 (Finding the Perfect Girl)

 This is a Flashback Friday for Finding the Perfect Girl but also has overlap with The Offering and its Flashback

The Padre was dead. The grand leader of Femini, a tiny town located somewhere between Milan and Palermo, had left this world behind. Their patriarch was gone, bested by a fatal heart attack on his own wedding night, and just like that, the townspeople were mourning the only man amongst them – or so they thought...

Lorenzo sat in his satin bridesmaid dress, his long hair still scraped back into a tight bun, pondering what to do next. Giulia, the Padre's daughter, and the woman who had claimed him as her own had spent hours dressing him for the ceremony, rubbing lotions into his smooth olive skin, carefully crafting his hair, and of course wrapping him in the elegant gown that matched her own. He had feigned indifference throughout, but he had never been able to fool Giulia. She knew he hated it – just as he had always hated being her plaything. She knew him like he knew the back of his own perfectly manicured hand. From the very first time he had sneaked into Femini, easily fooling many of the local women into thinking he was one of them, she had immediately seen right through his disguise, recognising his discomfort and seeing him for what he was – an embarrassed boy in a dress. So little had changed.

But, now the Padre was dead. The man whose retribution Lorenzo had lived in fear of for years was no more. But what did that mean, really? Was he free? Could he just leave? The Padre left behind a queen – his brand new bride, Donatella. Surely, any women that could tame the Padre must be fierce in her own right, and with the wound of the patriarch's death still fresh, and emotions running high, now could be a fatal time to anger her – especially as a man in a woman's world.

Lorenzo sat in thought as the material of his dress clung to his legs in the humidity of the evening. If now was the wrong time to run, then when? He hated being Giulia's toy – her doll, but he could stick around a little longer. She loved to humiliate him with the endless and extravagantly feminine outfits, constantly teasing him with imminent exposure, but like many of the women in relationships in Femini, she observed the chastity that came with her faith – and so Lorenzo did too. Alright, she did make him wear a chastity cage, but with the many beautiful female servants milling around the Padre's enormous home night and day, that was probably for the best. More often than he would like to admit, he even yearned for Giulia to touch him. He just knew that the day she did would be the day his debasement was turned up exponentially.

“There you are!” Giulia entered the courtyard where he was sitting, her matching bridesmaid dress flowing behind her. It was clear she had been crying, but she was as stunningly beautiful as always. “All of this has made me realise how short life is? We mustn't wait any longer, Lorenza. Let me make you my princess. Please tell me it's a yes!”

Sting Like a Butterfly

 14/25

“That's it Gino,” Detective Pam Larsson tapped a ballpoint pen against her chin approving. “Place one hand on the back of your head, feel that silky blonde hair between your fingers. Now part those cherry red lips. Wider. Excellent. That's exactly what it will feel like when you are servicing your boss. Minus his dick in your mouth of course!” She grinned as she watched her informant flush with embarrassment – his blushes visible even through the thick makeup under the safehouse lights. “Hey Finn, do you think it's worth darling Gino here practising being on his knees?”

Detective Finn Collier appraised the feminised man they had just watched their undercover team pour into the shimmering sequinned dress. It had been the final stage of a painstaking transformation process that had involved an entire team waxing, peeling and painting the terrified Gino in preparation of his infiltration of his boss's criminal underbelly. The notorious Fabio was the head of a dangerous crime family, and unfortunately for Gino, had a well know taste for women who had a little bit extra. “Let's stay on point.” Finn nodded. Unlike his partner, he felt some small sympathy for Gino. He may have worked for Fabio, but only as a lowly grounds-keeper.

“There has to be some other way!” Gino protested to the detectives. “Fabio, he will recognise me. He will kill me! All of this will not fool him.” He gestured to the sparkling figure hugging dress. “He is sharp – that's why he is the boss! Why can't I just wear a wire?”

“We've been over this, Gino!” Pam gave a bored yawn. “It doesn't matter if he recognises you – only that he likes what he sees. It might work in our favour if he does recognise you. Just think of it – the mob boss with a shemale fetish...looking for love...and what does he find? His loyal gardener has had a thing for dressing in drag this whole time.” She wiped away a mock tear. “It's beautiful. Truly Shakespearian. Twelfth Night at least... Besides, if you do wear a wire and for some reason in his company you enter a state of undress. He will absolutely kill you!”

“Remember,” Finn said, “this cover will get you into Fabio's inner-sanctum, at the party at least, but we don't need you to become our star witness here. We just need a thread we can pull to bring his organisation down. You get that for us and we honor your deal and the charges against you disappear.”

“And no stuffing evidence in your panties,” Pam interjected, “we don't need that falling out when Fabio gets you into a dark corner This is a mouth and ears job. The more that goes in your mouth, the more information will go in your ears.” She grinned as Gino's eyes went wide with fear and his lips parted into a wide 'O'. “Now you're getting the hang of it!”