The Legend of Harlot's Creek Part 2

 

When Mikey and Patrick assembled in their customary place the next day for their midday smoke, they were startled to find they were not alone. As if expecting them, an elegant figure sat perched on what remained of a destroyed staircase from what was once the mansion's east wing. The woman held her head as in a daze – her multicoloured hair cascading over a revealing sheer leotard and leather corset outfit. Thigh high boots completed her look – one that was drastically out of tone with the ruined old house.

“I suppose I found my proof in a way...just as the Harlot promised I would that night I saw her down by the creek” the woman spoke softly...ruefully. “I mean, I would have settled for photos but that bitch did this to me instead.” Mikey and Patrick stared at one another and then at the women in abject confusion until finally the busty newcomer broke the silence. “Guys, it's me...Caleb!” The woman stood and took a step towards them.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Mikey finally found his voice. “I don't know how Caleb put you up to this...or how much he paid, but this isn't funny...it's just weird. You might be kind of hot but...”

“Hey!” the woman interrupted, her beautiful face stormy “You aren't listening. I am Caleb!” Her eyes soothed from anger to fear. “Guys, you got to help me. I found her, the Harlot...she told me to go to the house...she's not what we thought. She's the reason I have these!” She grabbed her own breasts firmly and gave them an exaggerated jiggle. “She's...” The woman stopped and gave her chest another shake. Her stare seemed to turn glassy and her thick pink lips parted. “She's...” Her voice broke off into a moan – snd then a soft panted sigh. She dropped one hand to the avenue of soft skin on her inner thigh between the bottom of the leotard and the top of a boot – her other hand reached her chin and pushing a long slender finger into her mouth. “You have to go to the house...tonight!”

“Lady, are you okay?” Patrick asked even as she took a step towards him. He didn't resist as she pushed a hand into his hair and pulled herself close to him. They were face to face, her round tits pushing into him. He could feel her laboured breaths as she gave another ecstatic cry and leaned in.

“Dude!” Mikey pulled his friend away from the obviously horny woman. Patrick glared at him with clear annoyance until he saw the fear in his comrade's face. “Look!” Mikey nodded to the woman's crotch where an erect cock appeared to be pushing hard against the sheer material of the leotard. The woman seemed oblivious, she merely continued to step towards them with the same dull expression of arousal on her features. “I hope to God I am wrong,” Mikey muttered, “but I think somehow, that actually might be Caleb!”

The Legend of Harlot's Creek Part 1

 This is a commission I did for DeviantArt

Harlot's Creek wasn't your average small town. Hell, it wasn't even your average haunted small town. But for Caleb, Mikey and Patrick it was home. To the three boys in their late teens, the tales of the phantom woman dressed in red roaming the local fields at night were just bedtime stories they were told growing up. The ghostly creek that filled with mist on winter mornings was just a place to catch fish in the summer – and the decrepit old abandoned mansion where the spectre supposedly lived was just a quiet place they could sneak off to for a vape or a beer free from scolding looks.

“You guys all got the same story as me growing up, right?” asked Caleb one day between swigs from a bottle of lager. “The version our parents were comfortable telling?” His friends gave him confused looks that begged 'what other version was there?' Caleb chuckled softly taking another slug. “You guys haven't heard the real one, huh? How the Scarlet Harlot came to haunt this place and how this shitty town got its name?”

“How about you quit flapping your jaw and tell us?” Mikey tossed his empty beer bottle against the wall of the house and watched it smash into a million pieces. Patrick smirked.

“Alright, calm down,” Caleb rolled his eyes. “It goes like this. So, about a hundred years ago, a guy lived in this house – not a woman like in the version you know, but a guy. He was into some weird shit, in more ways than one. The story goes that he would invite some local sorceress every couple of months to be like some old-timey dominatrix. Only, she didn't tie him up and stuff – well, I suppose she may have, but the main thing she did was use her powers to turn this guy into a hot babe.” Patrick snorted with laughter but Caleb ignored him. “Apparently, the guy got off on it. He had this whole alter ego with long blonde hair and massive tits. The sorceress would transform him and dress him all in red...red gloves, red shoes and this shiny red corset...”

“How would you know this?” Mikey scoffed. “And why is he now a ghost?”

“I am getting to that!” Caleb had grown irritated. “So, yeah, this weirdo like being turned into a woman for kicks but it wasn't enough for him. He wanted the sorceress to change him permanently. Problem is, why would she slaughter the sissy that lays the golden eggs? She refused and when the man refused to pay her, she used her other powers on him and accidentally burned his house down.” He paused to gauge the reactions of his now silent friends. “And in death, the guy finally got what he wanted...eternity as a beautiful woman, destined to haunt the creek forever.” Caleb finished his own beer and looked at his friends seriously. “And as for how I know...well, that's the wrong question. The real question is how will I prove it? Because the answer to that question is I am going to sneak in here tonight with my camera and get photo evidence.

Subliminal Part 2

 11/25

Fashion mogul Max Vektor hadn't been seen in a month. Since that fateful day when the pictures of the unfortunate Kevin had shown up on his boardroom projector, he had been walled up in his luxury city apartment praying that the subliminal ad he had watched two days earlier wouldn't have the same effect on him that it did on his poor video tech. Nearly a week passed and he began to think he had dodged such a destiny when suddenly one day the packages began to appear on his doorstep. Parcel after parcel of his own company's products – dresses, shoes, underwear, and cosmetics, and all in his size too. He didn't remember ordering any of it but sure enough when he checked his browser history and his credit cards, the purchases were all there and paid for in full in the middle of the night when he was sure he had been sleeping.

He stuffed all of the merchandise to the back of his closet even as it was still turning up at his door, but just a few days later he started waking up in the morning wearing the clothing. It was just one or two things at first. One day it was a single high-heel, the next a bra, but as the days continued to pass it started to happen more frequently and more acutely. One afternoon he apparently blacked out and came to wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a full face of makeup. It actually seemed like the more he tried to fight it, the stronger whatever force was guiding him became. He started to dream of women – glamorous beautiful women dressed head to toe in Max Vektor products and they were him. And he needed to be them.

Within a week of the first clothes arriving, beauticians and stylists began to turn up at his door. They were visibly confused upon seeing that their client was a man but seeing as he was partly dressed in bits of female clothing and they had already been paid for, they were more than happy to groom and primp and apply hair extensions and Max was powerless to resist. Each time they left their subject a step closer to the frolicking models in his dreams.

Fashion mogul Max Vektor hadn't been seen in a month and now as he sat on the steps of the office building bearing his name, no-one would recognise him. Sat next to one of his company's own limited edition handbags, he pushed his long dark hair away from his immaculately made-up face. A long wool coat wrapped around a black figure hugging dress and his stockinged legs sprawled out before into a pair of patent leather stilettos. Part of him screamed and tried to claw himself back to his apartment where he would rip off the clothes and pull out his hair extensions. But something else drove him on. It wasn't the same as Kevin – it was deeper. He didn't just need the products, not just crave to drape them over his soft feminised skin. It was his company – his life's work and he needed to do what was best for it. He pulled himself up onto his heels and started to totter up the steps. He quickly checked the thumb-drive was still in his handbag as he prepared for his meeting with the social media team. He needed to release that ad, and nothing was going to stop him...

Whatever Happened to Liam? (The One with the Twin Sister's Ballet Recital)

 The original caption is here

The air was unmistakeably Parisian – thick with the smells of freshly baked loaves and dank water, and Lianne cut through it like a luxury yacht slicing the ocean waves. Around her, the beautiful people of the French capital floated like swans in stylish outfits. She smiled and pushed her sunglasses back into her long brown hair to admire a display of tulips outside of a florist. In her flowing white mini-dress, she looked more than at home amongst the glamorous people.

With eyes fixated on the flowers across the street, she continued to walk and sip her iced coffee. By chance, she glanced to the shop window on her side of the street and paused. She was still getting to grips with the French language but even she could understand the words printed on the glass in neat gold. It was a shop selling equipment and supplies for dancers – specifically ballet, and a pair of gorgeous pink silk slippers sat on a podium just the other side of the window. Lianne stared at them for almost a minute. Pressing her lips together, she fished her phone from a small leather handbag and dialled the number at the top of her contacts. The recipient answered immediately.

“Lianne!!” A happy voice chattered through the speaker. “I had a feeling you would call. You are my twin sister after all!” Lynne proceeded to chit-chat about her day as the two girls caught up. Lianne sipped at her coffee some more as she listened, enjoying the sing-song of her twins' voice. They weren't identical but they did have a lot in common and Lynne always made her feel connected regardless of where they were in the world.

“Hey!” Lianne interrupted. “So when is your show coming to Paris? I can't wait to see you in Swan Lake... I was just thinking of you actually. There was this shop and they had these... You know, I bet you already know...being my twin sister and everything. Say, do you remember that time like ten years ago when we were kids and I tried to injure you with a roller-skate so I could take your place in some recital.” Lianne paused as an awkward silence overcame her phone. “I am really sorry about that, you know? It was...it was a weird time for me...”

Giddy laughter erupted on the other end of the phone and Lianne was helpless to giggle along. “I forgot all about that!” Lynne proclaimed. “Oh wow! Do you remember how confused Mom was? Like, where would you get the idea that my coach would just throw you in my place?” They continued to laugh together. “Honestly, I had forgotten all about that.. But, and this is a big but, you better not pull anything like that in three weeks when I visit the City of Love to perform Swan Lake. My understudy went home so it might actually work this time... By the way, I have front row tickets for you. I so can't wait to see you sister!”

Method Acting Part 4

 

Something had broken in Oscar when he saw the latest studio he was to film in. It didn't even have a parking lot and was little more than a converted condo. It wasn't even clean and while 'Pillow Fight' had been a complete and utter flop, it still had a full stage crew. This setup was just a few cameramen and a director. He hadn't even seen another cast member yet. It seemed absurd that they felt empowered to have such demands for him. Still, Agnes had said they were legit and he was grateful she stuck with him this far, even if she was an insufferable cow.

Oscar was once more on a bed for what he assumed was another sex scene – he had stopped reading scripts months ago as at this point he couldn't afford to turn anything down. He hadn't even had the money to remove the implants from 'Pillow Fight' yet and a good thing too since the latest role had demanded he keep them and then some. Not only had they paid for him to have his lips filled to bursting point, they had given him a weird ass prosthetic to wear that had fit over the lower half of his body like an ultra-realistic glove, albeit one with globed buttcheeks instead of knuckles. Gone was the long dress, he lay on his hands and knees in skimpy lingerie and glittering heels – his fake backside oiled and sticking in the air. As he began to grow impatient, not to mention uncomfortable, a familiar figure entered the room. He looked up sheepishly from his degrading pose.

“Hello, Oscar,” Agnes smiled. Her relentless grey remained, but she seemed like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Aren't you the perfect little whore?” She watched Oscar's collagen filled lips part in surprise and added. “Perhaps things would make come sense to you if you knew my real name was not Agnes Crowe, but Agnes Frain – Bianca Frain's mother. You ruined my daughter, and unlike those other women you hurt who will get their day in court with you, she will never see a penny. And why, because she dared speak up first.” She paused to watch a sneer form on Oscar's bimbofied features. “Well, don't worry, because every cent you have made in your ridiculous roles in your time with me has been paid in her name. Good thing you are too arrogant to read contracts beyond the fee, hey? Every cent that is except for this current role. As a Mother, I couldn't bare to see my daughter paid for pornography!” Agnes drank in her client's confusion. “As I said, you aren't a strong reader...or you would also know that isn't a prosthetic. You are wearing the lower half of a state-of-the-art female bodysuit. As we speak, it is bonding to your spinal cord to ensure that you receive a truly authentic experience over the next ten months. You owe my daughter hundreds of thousands of dollars and you are soon to owe other women millions. I suppose you could break this contract – cut off your only source of income and owe hundreds of thousands more in severance in the process...I just don't see how you could afford to... It as good as air-tight, which coincidentally is, I believe, the title of your next movie...”

Agnes left then and was quickly replaced by three muscle-bound men – all naked, all sporting enormous erections. Oscar didn't know if the experience was authentic but as the first man pushed a giant cock into his new pussy and reached over to gape Oscar's asshole open for his mate, only one word filled his mind – 'whore'. It bounced around his skull as he was invaded and split In half. Whore, whore, whore. He opened his mouth to say it and the third man plunged himself deep inside. The hulking men tossed him around the bed effortlessly for the next two hours, switching positions and taking turns with his sopping holes. He wasn't exactly sure when he started to moan but about an hour in as one of the men was slamming his meat into Oscar's grunting mouth while another mounted him from behind, his whole body went stiff and he began to tremble. The men kept plugging away as his first female orgasm ripped through him. The man pounding him from behind slapped him hard across the ass. “That's it you dirty whore!!”

Method Acting Part 3

 

The words of Bianca's final message played over and over in Oscar's head as crew members urgently worked to reset the scene around the bed he lay on ready for the next take. The stench of sweat and stale aftershave from the male lead still clung to his body as tightly as his red latex dress from the last attempt to film the scene. Had she been right? Had he become the whore she had prophesied? He was a filming a sex scene after all...with a male actor...or at least trying to... He leant back into the cushions in frustration. Bianca hadn't done this. How could she have? Still he needed to get this fucking scene done so he could move on with his life...

Oscar's life had someone taken a turn into ever direr territory when his bimbo housewife character had been killed off from 'Playing House' after just a single season. Not only had he had to go through the indignity of being crushed by a giant wedding cake and all the batter and cream and batter that went with it, but he was once again left without a pay-check. Agnes had lectured him sternly, or as sternly as the old woman could muster, about his mounting debts and growing legal challenges, and continued to present to him zero good offers of work.

Three months passed before Agnes brought the contract for 'Pillow Fight' – a low budget romcom about a boxer who loses his killer instinct after falling in love. It was a female part once more but this time the studio had conditions. They loved his bombshell character from tv but they were also aware that his hormone cycles had lapsed since his on-screen death. If he wanted the new role, he would need to get silicone implants, at least temporarily for his breasts and lips and have some minor plastic surgery on his face. He would also need to film a sex scene for the movie.

Finally, the crew had finished resetting the scene for the next take. A make-up girl skipped over to freshen up his lipstick and liven up his hair, slipping in a quick 'God, I love your dress' that made him want to murder her. She was exactly the kind of bimbo he would of pumped and dumped back in his prime... Now he just hated her almost as much as he hated the dress she had complimented – the one that hugged his still fresh surgery scars painfully. 'I couldn't fuck her even if I wanted' he thought bitterly of the tiny cock between his legs shrunken by the new higher dosed hormones the studio has been feeding him.

“There you are, my little whore!” Oscar's painted lips dropped open at the sight of the huge man standing over him aggressively at the foot of the bed and it took a moment for him to realise the director had called action. “How about you show me what you have for me?” Oscar leaned back on his elbows so that he could spread his legs in spite of the tight dress as his his bottom lip in practised sexuality – all the while, Bianca's words echoed...whore, whore, whore...

Method Acting Part 2

 

“You have fan mail.” Agnes presented a pile of envelopes held together by thick rubber bands. “I suppose I should say you have MORE fan mail. The audience loves you. It seems your reputation is steadily improving.” She said encouragingly. “And the acting contracts are doing wonders for the money situation.”

“Just give them here!” Oscar demanded – his voice now considerably softened by multiple rounds of hormone cycles. He was between scenes and didn't want to delay restarting filming because of any such bullshit – especially today. Wardrobe had once again put his character, and subsequently him into liquid latex leggings. He didn't care that it was one of her signature looks – he fucking hated them. They squeezed his oestrogen bloated ass like a shiny black gumball and squeaked when he walked around the set in the velvet stilettos. “Any chance any of these is a job offer where I can actually play a guy again?”

Oscar's part as a transgender pianist in the recent smash hit romcom had gone well, very well in-fact, and despite its low budget and limited audience, it had been enough to land him in a part in a brand new show. Agnes had delivered the contract offer to him in his office and he had immediately started pulling off his acrylic nails – that is until he actually read the contract and realised it was for a female part. His recent portrayal had been so convincing that the studio wanted him to play Claudette – a bored housewife turned cougar who spent her screen time tottering around her home all day in outrageous outfits while her husband was out at work. Oscar had almost ripped up the contract on the spot until Agnes showed him what they were offering.

“All these creeps know I have a dick, right?” Oscar spat as he started to tear open the first envelope. The progression of his treatments and the further growing out of his perma-bleached hair made this statement almost comical. For everything else, there was prosthetics and makeup – for which he would spend hours every day in from a mirror while some bimbo painted him and cooed over the softness of his skin. He skim-read the letter, balled it up and tossed it over his shoulder. The latex of his leggings squealed painfully against the counter top as he adjusted his position to pick up the next one. He paused after reading the first line. It was from Bianca.

“This is your last chance,” it read. “You think your career is in the gutter now? You think you can't sink any lower? Tell the world what you did to me, or I will show you the meaning of rock bottom. I will turn you into the whore you made the whole world think I am!”

“Agnes,” Oscar shouted balling up the letter, “make sure I don't get any more of these!”