The Puppetmistress - Complete

 Happy Halloween gals and 'gals'. As happy and as safe as we can muster in the current climate anyway. I for one will be staying home dressed as an undead panda and watching something frightening with a bottle of Jack Daniel's in my decaying paw. I believe this is called Netflix and Chills. 

Anyways... I am not a fan of posting old content for new clicks but one of these captions got taken down a few years back and today seemed an appropriate day to repost the series in full. I am sorry I don't have any new scary themed tg captions for you this year but I wasn't expecting to be home to post anything. I am working on new captions and have seven ready to go. Depending on how life goes in the meantime, I may start posting season 5 in December.

-Zoli-

 

The three ghosthunters stood in the hallway of the abandoned mansion using their flashlights to examine every inch of the gothic inspired room. There was a hushed excitement among the men as they were gearing up for a night in the last of the 'haunted' houses on soulsearchers.com's creepiest places in the state.

'Here we go boys, we saved the best 'til last,' cheered Gerry as he led his companions into the most haunted living room in the state. The room was dominated by an enormous log fireplace, a centerpiece of the wood-lined decor and somewhere that seemed to project darkness. Gerry turned up the power on his flashlight and aimed it above the mantle and jumped back in fright.

'Now that's one spooky broad,' Stephen chuckled nervously as the light illuminated a portrait of a young woman dressed all in black apart from a china white, harsh looking face. The stern features were sharpened further by thick black makeup and an angular black haircut that framed them. Her body bore an old fashioned dress under an excruciating looking corset but most jarring of all was the way the woman in the painting seemed so lifelike, as if she could jump out at any moment;

'Actually that's not a 'broad' at all,' exclaimed David studying the guidebook. 'It says here that the painting is of George Hurst, only son of the house's last owners. The legend goes that from an early age, George became fascinated with puppets, first toys but eventually he began crafting his own from wood. Apparently, his parents didn't understand his hobby and thought that he was playing with dolls and when the mother got older she went a bit mad and gave George a choice; he could either give up his puppets of live as a girl. After that the family became more and more reclusive and it's not really clear what happened to them, however, it's said that anyone who stays here leaves 'changed'.'

'Changed?' the other men repeated together. 'Changed how?'

'It doesn't say,' replied David, closing the book with a little frustration. 'Okay, it's getting late, I say we pitch down here for the night. Give Georgie some company.'

Gerry awoke with a start, unsure of why, he glanced over to where his friends were sleeping. Their sleeping bags lay empty. Where were they!? The sweet scent of women's perfume filled the air and he looked around frantically for the source, eventually fixing his eyes on the portrait. George was gone...

A shiver ran down Gerry's spine as he jumped to his feet and turned his flashlight to full beam. Keeping his back to the wall, he slowly crept out of the living room and back into the giant hall. Moonlight cast in through a large window giving the room an eerie glow that seemed to lead Gerry to another door on the farside of the room. Hurredly he crossed over to opposite wall and padded through the doorway into a large study.

The study, like the living room, had wood paneled walls and was gothic in decor and a large oak desk stood in the center of the room. Approaching the desk, flashlight drawn, Gerry noticed that the desk was covered in papers. Carefully he shone the beam on one and saw that it was a sketch for a sort of puppet design. Pictured crudely in pencil was a regal looking woman in an armchair with puppetstrings around her wrists. He traced the strings all the way around to the other side of the paper where they reached a control bar held by a sketched figure looking suspiciously like George from the living room painting. Turning the paper back over, he noticed a word neatly written under the drawing of the puppet.

MOM

Suddenly Gerry became aware of some movement in the corner of the room and shone his light over to reveal a startling sight. Sitting in a leather armchair was a feminine figure much like the one from the drawings. Her slim figure was encased in a short black silk dress beneath an old fashioned women's vest and her fair hair was carefully styled under a tiny decorative hat.

'Stephen!?' gasped Gerry, recognising his blonde friend even under the thick layers of makeup. The figure's raccoon-like eyes shot open and Gerry could see an expression of helpless panic in his friend's face. He tried to reach out to Gerry but lace binds around his wrists became tight without warning and Stephen was posed like a puppet by an unseeable master. Slowly his painted lips parted and gave a frantic cry of desperation.

'BEWARE OF THE GIRL IN THE BOX! BEWARE OF THE GIRL IN THE BOX!'

Suddenly the room was thrown into darkness. Dammit! Gerry cursed his flashlight's poor timing to cut out. He banged it frantically against his palm until the beam returned before shining it back towards where his ghoulishly feminised friend had been sitting. Stephen was gone! Shining the light wildly around the room, Gerry searched for a sign of where he had gone, finally finding it sticking out of the floor it the corner of the room. A trapdoor. Cautiously with the light outstretched in front of him, he made his way over to the gaping hole and stopped at the edge of a sprawling wooden staircase. His heart was banging in his chest with fear but the need to rescue his friends drove him onwards. It was on the third step he found it, the book, a thick leather bound cover hugging pages and pages of scrawled handwriting, a diary. Gerry picked it up and opened it near the back...

It was a tragic tale, one of misunderstood youth and misguided parents. George's diary told of how his mother had gone mad and forced him to live as a girl or give up the only thing he truly cared about, his puppets. She had kept him locked in the basement, providing him with only scraps for nourishment and girl's dresses for warmth while George's weakling father did nothing to challenge his wife. Gerry flicked a few months worth of entries forward and noted that the handwriting had started to get seriously erratic, a few more pages passed and they started to be signed 'Georgina', until finally Gerry reached the last page and the final entry, 'Mother is planning to let me out tomorrow. Father is pleased, he always wanted a daughter. I think I'm ready. I can't wait to add them to my collection. Georgina.'

Gerry felt an icy chill run up his spine as he placed the diary back on the step and continued his journey down the wooden stairs. As he descended, the ticking of a clock grew louder and he aimed his flashlight into the gloom in search of the source. Suddenly, there was a loud chime to his left and he spun round, almost dropping his flashlight at the vision before him. A pale figure clad all in black was stumbling around in front of him. Cables were tied around its wrists, pulling upwards to somewhere above them, not allowing the figure to get a good grip on the floor with the shiny black high-heeled pumps, instead forcing it to thrash and kick in search of a good footing. Gerry met its eyes, it was David, his helpless pleading gaze screaming through raccoon eyes in the same fashion that Stephen's had. Gerry could see the chinstrap of the wig now, streaking across David's thickly madeup face and he became aware of the screeching of the black latex outfit that enveloped his body as he jerked around in desperation. David's expression turned even more fearful as the cables seemed to take control and manipulate his movements, pulling him up into a graceful pose that defied his horrified face. Using the only part of his body he could still control, he called out to his friend...

'BEWARE OF THE GIRL IN THE BOX! BEWARE OF THE GIRL IN THE BOX!'

The light went out again and this time it stayed out, all the banging and cursing in the world couldn't get the flashlight back on and it hung lifeless in Gerry's hand. He fumbled in the darkness in the direction of his rubber clad friend but the surrounding black was so thick that he couldn't be sure where he was going. Stumbling on, he felt the wooden frame of a doorway in front of him and passed through it...ooommphhh...his nose smashed against something hard. He raised his fands to find that there was a wooden panel blocking his path. What the hell?! As he turned to go back the way he had come, he heard something slam behind him. Feeling with his hands, he concluded that he had accidentally wandered into a box a little bigger than the size of his body. The air around him began to grow clammy and Gerry could feel a presence next to his shoulder.

'I...am the girl in the box...apparently,' a soft voice chuckled in his ear. Gerry's skin prickled as he realised that he had probably just found George. 'I saw you reading my diary,' the voice sighed, 'I know you know why I'm down here. But you know what else? Those bastards never did let me out. They kept me down here for more than a year, and I even accepted my fate as Georgina. I convinced myself I was their daughter because I knew that if I were to have my revenge, I would have to be the girl they wanted to invite back into their home. That final day, when they told me it was enough, and that it was finally time to rejoin the family, I thought they were going to bring me back into the house, but instead they put me in here, forever!' Suddenly, the penny dropped and Gerry realised that he was standing in George's coffin. He felt like throwing up, but a waft of sweet perfume soothed his stomach. 'After all these decades buried down here, in limbo, buried as the girl I never wanted to be, I have been awakened and set free. My parents are long gone now and sadly I will never avenge what they did to me, but at least I have the next best thing. I can carry out my plot on those that dare trespass my home and make them into the puppets I do love so dearly. Oh Gerry, I am the girl in the box, and now so shall you be too!' The air around Gerry began to swirl violently, surrounding his whole body in a powerful vortex that treatened to pull him to pieces. A deep pain rose in his skull and just as it began to be unbearable, he mercifully passed out.

Gerry awoke to the timeless haze of the basement. Right away he knew something was wrong, he just felt different, like a totally different shape. He smoothed him palms over his chest to find pale breasts heaving beneath a red latex leotard that stretched tight around the rest of his torso and where his crotch had once been. Uh-oh what the hell? He tried to maneouveur out of the coffin, balancing his new thick ass with the towering platform heels on his feet and as his eyes began to adjust to the twilight, he spotted George standing across the basement. He was wearing the same painful looking outfit from the painting and was cradling something carefully in his hands.

'You look exquisite, if I do say so myself,' the phantom smiled, holding up the puppet control bar in his hands, 'just one final adjustment, and then we can go play with your friends!'

In this very special Halloween edition of Flashback Friday we catch up with Gerry, who along with his fellow ghosthunters found himself trapped by the ghoulish George, a tormented puppet obsessed soul transformed into a living doll and then left to die by his unaccepting parents. The hapless trio ended up becoming victims of George's misplaced desire for vengeance and now find themselves his eternal playthings in the mansion's basement. Let's see how they're doing...

Gerry's gloved arms lay limply by his sides as he slumped in the corner of the dank basement. The large full breasts that were now a permanent fixture on his chest rose and fell but he otherwise felt powerless to move. The unanswerable urge to cup, fondle and squeeze his own tremendous cleavage called him, prodding his curiosity, they were after all more sublime than any he had had access to in his previous life...such is the reality of being a ghosthunter.... But no...just as the strings tied to them lay still, so did his arms and he was limited to gazing upon the heaving globes tucked beneath the latex corset through makeup laden eyes while he waited for the mistress to once again take up his controls.

Georgina was the other side of the dark basement tending to Stephen and David. In contrast to Gerry, their arms were suspended above their heads by puppetstrings attached to controlbars hooked high on the wall. Georgina was hard at work putting the finishing touches on their costumes, somehow managing to split concentration between pulling Stephen's corset bonecrushingly tight and rolling up the tops of a pair of thigh-length vinyl heeled boots towards David's smooth female groin. They hobbled around awkwardly on the spot barely able to keep contact with the floor as the taut strings pulled them towards the ceiling.

Gerry knew it would be his turn next and then they would be once again be made to act out another of Georgina's crazy pantomimes. Like mere toys they would be drawn around the cramped basement by their powerful spiritual mistress, unwilling actors in bizarre scenes of drama, emotion and even love. Georgina would use her unknown power to force her meticulously dressed and madeup subjects to argue, to cry and to embrace and then she would redress her helplessly loyal playthings and start all over again, endlessly... Gerry could see she was getting more ambitious, her stories more intricate and passionate. In the last one he had felt his new curvy body grab that which David occupied and kiss it deeply. Taking such a beautiful woman in his arms in such a way should have been amazing but he found himself staring into his friend's terrified eyes for its duration. He later realised David must have had the same experience. The puppets began to hear Georgina's mutterings of new intruders in the house. She talked about them excitedly like they were new additions to her toy chest...and maybe they would be... For Gerry the idea of having others to distract Georgina from him was a good thing, he just feared what weird new adventures they would inspire...

The Sound of Things to Come

 25/25

All my Pink n Prissy caps are now on my index page.

So that's all for this batch. I hope you enjoyed them. I wrote the prologue for the next batch of 25 yesterday and I have the rest pretty much planned out. When I start posting them will very much depend on how much progress I make but also on my travel plans. Right now, I am supposed to be away for most of December and some of February bur who knows what will happen to those plans... I think I will try moving to a caption every two days, perhaps starting in January, as it will give me more to work on new captions while I am posting finished ones and reduce the time between seasons. Until then, stay safe and I will see you soon.

-Zoli-

“To high-school,” Josie raised the nearly-empty vodka bottle in a toast, “the best and worst days of our lives.” She finished the drink and retrieved a flask from inside her coat. Her fellow Fairweather Community College students; Terri, Cassie and Charlotte, snuggled against her on the bench against the winter evening chill of the local park.

“Me, first,” Charlotte snatched the flask from her friend and the four girls that had once struck terror into the hearts of the boys at their school as the Pink 'n' Prissy Collective stared with icy longing at the alcoholic prize.

“Don't you think you should let our guests go first?” Josie winked slyly and nodded at the four boys that completed their circle. Tom, Carl, Sam and Timothy went to the school the girls had ruled just three years previous and were thrilled to be sharing drinks with four college babes in spite of the frosty weather. Charlotte handed Tom the flask. He took a large swig and passed it around the circle until all four boys had sampled the hooch. “Now, where were we?” Josie nodded at Timothy, who now had the flask. “You! Maybe you would like to make a toast?”

Timothy opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. The other boys smirked yet as they tried to laugh, they too were silent. The girls grinned widely and looked at Josie with admiration as their male counterparts' faces gradually faded from amusement to panic.

“I am guessing you're wondering why you can't speak?” Josie wrinkled her nose coyly. “I will give you a clue”. She shook the flask. “Not vodka. It's actually a concoction brewed up by our resident genius, Terri, that freezes the vocal chords and makes it completely impossible to speak. Don't worry, it's otherwise harmless and looky here,” she held up four glass vials, “I have the antidote.” The boys reached forward despairingly but she smiled and returned the tubes to her pocket. “If you want these, you will have to earn them.” She handed each boy a card. “If you ever want to hear your own voice again, you're going to each have to complete a unique challenge...a very girly unique challenge, especially tailored to the preferences of one of us Pink 'n' Prissy members.” Three of the boys were looking at each other in horror but Tom appeared to be rolling his eyes. “Just in case you think we're kidding...” Josie stood and led the group towards the swings.

It was dark in the park and their destination wasn't obvious until they were right on top of it, or rather him. One of the boys' classmates had been stuffed into a sailorsuit and panties and tied with his rear in the air over one of the swings. Cassie ran over and gave him a hard swat on his exposed ass cheek. With the boys watching dumbfounded, Josie released him and made him stand before Tom, Carl, Sam and Timothy. They quickly realised he too was mute. Josie reached into her pocket again and handed him one of the vials. He downed it and ran off into the night.

“Oh dear, now there are only three left,” she covered her mouth in mock regret. “That ought to motivate you to go all out because whoever doesn't isn't getting their voice back. Now off you go...next time I see you, you will be looking very different...but sounding exactly the same.” The girls watched the boys saunter off with glee and Josie raised the flask above her head. “High school. The best and worst days of our lives. The best of ours...the worst of theirs...”

A Coronation of Sorts

 24/25

“Glaze her up boys!” Rob the leader of Mu Alpha Delta decreed. “Make sure she is worthy of that shirt!” His fraternity brothers began to chant in low guttural tones, “HO! HO! HO!” with one fist punching the air in tandem while their other pumped their cocks as they moved towards their target, a kneeling hardbodied bimbo licking her lips in anticipation – the words 'Blowjob Queen' emblazoned across her chest.

Franz watched on in terror – his viewpoint of the incident being rather unfortunate given that it was from behind the eyes of the chesty babe drooling over the charging lances. He tried to close his heavily madeup eyes but his body betrayed him and opened them wider...hungrier. His mouth followed and he waited helplessly for its inevitable impalement.

In one feeble last attempt of salvation, he willed his hands to knock the crown from atop his head, but instead they just lifted his tiny shirt of his enormous implanted breasts and rubbed them excitedly.

Needless to say, Franz wasn't excited. He hadn't been excited since he bought that crown form Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly. He cursed the day he saw it in the window of that dingy store and thought how perfect it was as an accessory for his girlfriend's winter ball costume. He had run inside and paid for it without thinking and now that was all he could do – think. The crown ruled his body like an absolute monarchy, forcing him to be a royal subject – a passenger behind his own eyes as his own skin and bones spent his savings on hormones and implants until just four miserable months later he was a busty slut with a synthetic ass, synthetic hair and very real tattooed on makeup. All that remained of his old life was a tiny shrivelled penis and a few hanger-on friends who he knew just wanted to fuck him...

The first frat boy was almost in touching distance now. Franz was helpless to avoid his gaze and in that second he realised all hope was lost. Even if he were somehow to break the spell in the moments before the hulking specimen filled his waiting mouth, he would still be stuck with his joke of a silicon filled body, a wardrobe full of skanky outfits and a mountain of debt. Maybe it was for the best the crown was in control. Maybe it was best that this impromptu visit to the frat house was involuntary – rather than being forced into to comparable situations by his dire financial straights and unique assets. The cock would probably taste the same either way, right? He shivered in disgust at his own train of thought as the brother gripped his pigtails and pulled Franz's head towards his throbbing groin.

There was one thought that continued to bother him. That first day outside the shop – did he try on the crown by choice? Or was he already in its clutches as it lay in his?

Presumed Guilty, Assured Sexy

 23/25

Good morning, you're through to UltraReal Bodysuits Customer Care, my name is Felicity. How can I help you today?

Hey, so you guys really do exist... Interesting...

I'm sorry, who is this?

Now is that any way for a pretty sounding girl like yourself to be talking? All suspicious... I'm Frank by the way.

No, yes, sorry, it's just, well, when people call this number they usually sound a little more feminine. Are you a customer?

Lord, no! But I have someone here who might be, though my eyes deceive me. I found one of my workers sneaking around my office, Tommy, only he looks more like a Tammy.

I see. And what is Tommy's full name?

It's Thomas Barrett. He claims to be wearing one of your Professional Hottie bodysuits and would like to be let out of it. Though I must say, after catching him in the act of corporate espionage, I'm not sure he deserves it.

I see, okay, yes, here is his file. I should tell you if you think Mr. Barrett was using our products to break the law, we highly recommend contacting the authorities.

Oh no, sweetheart, after the things Tommy had to do just to get me to call you, he won't be doing this again anytime soon.

I see, I hope none of these things happened to be sexual in nature, for Mr. Barrett's sake.

No, I just made him...wait, what do you mean? Why?

Well, according to our policy, any contract involving a rented suit becomes null and void should its wearer use it to engage in any sexual activity. It's for health and safety as much as it is for preserving the quality of our fantastic bodysuits.

Null and void? What does that mean exactly?

Well, if we suspected any such activity, we would terminate the contract with the customer immediately and activate the bonding mechanism in the suit remotely so that it can no longer be removed.

So Tommy would be stuck like that?

Indeed, we take the sanitation of our products very seriously. So, again, can I ask if any of the favours Tommy performed were sexual in nature?

Oh, yes. Very. We did everything.

I see. Well, thank you for your honesty. I will be activating the termination of Mr. Barrett's contract right now.

Excellent...I mean, how tragic... Ironically, I think I'm going to be offering him, I mean, her, a new one. Here, I'll pass you over so you can give the good...errrr...the news.

Life Swap

 22/25

Joe tried desperately to disappear into the red leather of the studio couch – away from the gaping mouth of his wife, from the lipsticked smirk of the show's presenter, and from the spellbound studio audience and the big screen playing out the events of the last two weeks. Try as he might, he only succeeded in making time pass even more slowly – not that it mattered, soon the taping would hit millions of tv screens across the nation and his humiliation would be immortalised forever.

Joe and his wife, Louise, were contestants on the now dated tv show, Wife Swap. The concept was as simple as it was mundane, an antiquated product of daytime television where two happy couples from different backgrounds would trade partners for two weeks and then report back to the studio in a final confrontation to talk about their experiences and what they had learned from them. Joe and Louise had been paired with a couple of pig farmers and Joe had felt a secret exaltation, believing country women to be subservient and homely. Now, as he cringed in the studio, he couldn't believe how wrong he had been.

The first week of the exchange routinely put the men in charge of their own homes and gave them authority to rule their castles as they saw fit. Joe made full use of the opportunity to have Heather, the wife of his fellow contestant, wait on him hand and foot – cooking, cleaning, bringing him beer and even rubbing his feet, all while he sat in front of the tele belching orders. To Heather's credit, she had fulfilled the tasks dutifully and without comment. Joe now realised that she had been biding her time, plotting what was to come. The second week rolled around and it was all change. It was the wives' turn to rule the roost and Joe's nightmare had begun.

Joe heard his wife let out a loud snort of laughter from next to him on the red sofa, her eyes glued to the big screen where a twenty-foot Joe shimmied awkwardly around his living room in a latex maid's uniform. Joe still bore the bruises from the cuffs that had shackled his ankles, from the high-heels that had tortured his feet and from the dildo gag that had brutalised his gums, but most of all, he still suffered the mortal injury to his pride that could only come from being trussed up, stuffed in a rubber dress and forced to clean his own house for an entire seven days. Louise stifled a gasp with her hand as she watched her husband push his stockinged knees together and struggle to pick a pair of satin panties from the floor. Joe was praying the audience had already forgotten the scene five minutes before where Heather had introduced him to his new underwear collection.

“So, Louise, what do you think of this new side of your husband?” the presenter grinned as the montage came to an end.

Louise winked at Joe and the camera zoomed in as he realised the balance of their relationship was shifting forever. “Oh, I think it is a side of him I am going to see much more often. That is, if he doesn't want me to sign us up for 'Wife Swap – Revisited. If he resists, I'm sure another week with Heather would do the trick.”

The Avatar of Daria Grey

 21/25

Darren curtsied gratefully as the strapping knight unloaded a chest of gold coins into his inventory. A bat of his eyelashes and a little pout to show how helpless he was and the warrior transferred a guilded dagger along with all the in game credits. Sucker, Darren chuckled to himself. Brand new game, same old marks. In two minutes that very dagger would be plunged between his admirer's shoulders and he would be taking the rest of his loot. All it took was playing as a female character, a nymph no less, set up with the most suggestive in game outfits stretched across an over-the-top voluptuous figure and every dope in the game would flock to him with riches and masculinity. It was almost too easy. The more they made it rain on him, the more exaggerated he could afford to make his attributes, in turn attracting even more virgins to come to his rescue. In was even easier in virtual reality than regular gaming.

But 'The Mirror Realm' wasn't just another game. It was billed by its creators as 'life-changing', a game that broke so much ground, it made earthquakes jealous. A virtual reality game so advanced that it promised not only to give players the most realistic experience imaginable, but to also evolve their experience of the real world. To Darren, however, it was just another place for him to jiggle his way to the top of the leaderboards.

Darren took the guilded dagger in his dainty hands. He was surprised how heavy it felt. Every other virtual reality game he had every played was almost entirely visuals but this game seemed to get the sensations in the accompanying gloves to the VR headset perfect as well. The knight turned back to his horse and Darren plumped up his chest as a potential distraction just in case he glanced back. He sauntered forward and raised the knife above his head. The in game sun was setting and a stream of ultra-realistic lighting pixels glinted off the blade and blinded him momentarily. He let out a soft gasp and the warrior whirled around.

“So, this is your game?” the knight met his eye. “A dangerous one to play in the Mirror Realm.” Darren hesitated. “Don't you know, you don't just play this game, it plays you. If you play with no honour, then you will live with no honour. If you play like a bimbo...you'll see...” In a flash, he pulled a hatchet from behind his back and struck Darren between the eyes. The screen went black.

Darren ripped the VR headset from his face and allowed his eyes to adjust. It would take much longer than anticipated. Not just his eyes either, his entire body alien. Finally, he got used to the light and squealed in horror as he took in the real world he had returned to. His ridiculous in-game curves remained, pressed beneath a flimsy white leotard and his chest extended out under his chin like a jiggling shelf. He screamed and was greeted with a high-pitched feminine cry as he realised being a simpering bimbo would never be just a game ever again.

The Cinnamon Tart (a Liza story)

 20/25

This is the newest cap from my Aiko series, which is in full on my index page

There was little doubt Liza's step-dad was having the most surreal day of his life, and it wasn't because he was making a fruit tart for the first time. He tried desperately to block out the scene playing in his kitchen by concentrating on arranging blueberries on top of the dessert but it was just too much. How could he possibly ignore the fact he was stuffed into a French-maid's dress and stockings whilst over-seeing the most bizarre tea-party in history? How could he ignore the tremendous itching in his scalp under his wig and on his face under the thickly layered makeup? Not to mention the fact his son, Shaun, was skulking around in a matching maid's outfit with a feather duster and his step-daughter was wandering around wearing a t-shirt with a Japanese girl's face printed on and doting on two neighbourhood boys sat at the dining table. Not to mention the thrum that encapsulated his body in a raw craving for whatever it was Liza had given him earlier – a craving so intense and insatiable, he would do anything to quell it.

For all the strangeness that followed, things had started very routinely. Mike, Liza's step-dad, had started his day as he always did, by cooking himself a large omelette and bagel for breakfast. The problem had begun when he added his secret ingredient to the omelette – a sprinkle of cinnamon. He quickly realised this ingredient was not a secret at all and in fact, Liza had swapped it out for something else entirely. As soon as he finished his breakfast, he began to sweat and breathe heavily and a desire to inhale a roomful of that sweet powder burned in him like a fire. Only, on returning to the kitchen, he found the tub gone – replaced with written instructions to return to his room.

Liza had been waiting for him, the maid's outfit over one arm and her camera around her neck. She had explained sweetly that it was nothing personal but unless he wanted to go through the entire day shivering and itching like a drug addict, he would put the dress on. He had resisted at first, but Liza just smiled patiently and waited. It took fifteen minutes for him to break and when he did, he pulled on the stockings with such frenetic torment you would have thought he had snakes writhing beneath his skin. Once dressed, Liza gave him just enough 'cinnamon' so he could stop shaking and then went to work on covering his face with cosmetics. The wig followed, as did the photos, along with the promise that his supply of cinnamon would cease if he didn't comply.

Mike realised he could draw out his tart preparation no longer, and placed the final blueberry on the pastry. He turned to carry it over to the table where the boys were sitting, hoping he could get there and back quick enough to avoid their stares.

“Wait,” Liza stopped him, smiling sweetly. “Just one more thing.” She produced a small tub marked 'cinnamon' and sieved it over the tart. “There, much better.” Mike gulped and tried hard not to sniff the fresh topping, it would only spike his desire to bury his face in it. He brushed a little powder from his white gloves and carried the tart over to his step-daughter's unsuspecting guests. Enjoy, he thought, trying to catch their eye. He caught a glimpse of himself in the glass table and dropped his head in shame. Enjoy, because what comes next won't be as easy to swallow...

Lucky Miss

 19/25

“Not bad, right?!” Jenny beamed with pride at the sight of her newly transformed boyfriend. She carefully placed her wand back in its box and handed him her phone so he could use the camera to admire her handywork.

“Not bad at all!” Mark grinned through plump pink lips. He raised the camera above eye level and brushed blonde locks behind his ears, making kissy faces and snapping some selfies from his position on the step. He glanced down and spotted the fleshy globes squeezed into the faux leather dress he was wearing and angled the camera for a closer look.

“Enough of that.” Jenny snatched her phone back. “I paid for this online witchcraft course for me, not for your perverted mind.”

Mark pouted in mock offence. “Well if you turn me into the girl of my dreams, what do you expect?” He batted his eyelashes at her.

“I thought I was the girl of your dreams,” she sighed. “And don't think I haven't noticed that choker, mister. I don't know everything that goes on your filthy mind but we're gonna have words about that once I turn you back.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased, “you're as dirty minded as it gets,” he rubbed his voluptuous body sexily, “now, how about you turn me back to the man of your dreams so that I can show you?”

“The spell to turn you back isn't until week 7!” She savoured the horror on his face for a second. “Oh, don't worry,” she laughed, “it's an online course so all the lessons are available on demand. Wait a second..” She poked at the touch screen of her phone. “Uh oh...”

“Uh oh?” Mark's lips dropped into an O and suddenly the dress felt about two sizes tighter.

“It says that due to the ongoing crisis the course has been discontinued and only the first five lessons are available.”

Mark made a terrified squeak and clenched his buttcheeks around a pair of thong panties. “So...so I'm stuck like this?” he stammered as his girlfriend continued to scroll down the page. Suddenly, her frown loosened into a relieved smile and Mark's heart slowed to a more normal rate.

“Oh wow,” Jenny sighed. “I was scared for a moment...but it says here that I am guaranteed a full refund. Lucky me, right?”

The Thin Blue Line vs. the Fat Pink Cock Part 2

 18/25

Detective Ron Cosby slowly woke in the hotel room he had been using to lay low. Two detectives, Chase Hargreaves and Alan Graham had recently gone missing and Chase at least he was sure was the work of the Cleaner. Everyone that looked into the Cleaner ever since the disappearance of Rocky Law three years ago just vanished. Everyone who didn't buy the line that the vigilante was in super max ended up missing and he wasn't about to be another notch on that sadistic maid's bedpost.

“Hello Detective Cosby,” a strong feminine voice snapped him awake. He tried to sit up and couldn't. He realised his arms were secured behind his back and when he tried to cry out in panic, his scream was stifled by a large ball-gag. Rolling over, he saw that the voice was coming from a tape recorder on the hotel room desk. “I want to play a game. For too long, Detective, you have been flapping your gums, talking to anyone who would listen about how the Cleaner was still out there. Well, guess what, Detective? I am. And now it's time to silence those pretty little lips. You have been fitted with a state-of-the-art female bodysuit that will bind to your skin forever in thirty minutes unless you say the magic word. That word is...ooops, I can't say it can I? Well, let's just say it's a part of the male anatomy that also happens to be an old word for a Detective. You will also notice you have been fitted with a few extra toys so I suppose you will need to get someone else to say it. Good luck, Detective. You have thirty minutes.”

Ron gave out a muffled scream of panic and rolled off the bed, falling hard on a pair of large breasts that were tender from some kind of bondage patties. Getting to his feet clumsily, he scrambled to the door and managed to turn the handle with a latex-stockinged leg. He burst through and knocked his head on the door across the hall. A few moments passed and a large shaven haired grunt of a man opened it.

“Well, hello there,” he grinned, “what can I do for you?” Ron felt his fat lips slobbering on the gag . DICK! He had to say dick! Or at least get this goon to say it. He nodded awkwardly towards the man's groin, but all he got was a confused eyebrow raise. In frustration, he fell to his knees and jutted his chin desperately at the guy's crotch. “COCK!?” The man flashed his teeth. “You want my cock! My schlong! My Johnson! My shaft! Oh maiden, you want my mighty sexchalibur?!”

Detective Ron Cosby groaned in exasperation. This was pointless. He backed away from the hungry eyed man and began to stumble down the hall. Like an angel from the heavens, a familiar face appeared. Someone who would understand. Someone who could help. He fell to his knees once more at her mercy, his chest heaving beneath large fleshy globes, so she could remove his gag and he could utter that magic word.

“Aren't you just the perfect little slut, Detective?” Lara Lake felt a dampness in her own panties watching the terrified realisation in the eyes of her former colleague. “You have something to say? Maybe a little later. First let's see what this nice man you've been leading on wants.” In a flash she attached a chain to the collar around her prisoner's neck and began to tug him on his knees back the way he came.

The Thin Blue Line Vs. The Fat Pink Cock Part 1

 17/25

All the caps from the Mannequeen series are on my index page

Detective Lara Lake tried the apartment door and was surprised to find it unlocked. It wasn't like a fellow cop to be so sloppy. She slipped inside quickly and closed it behind her. The sound of running water filled the cramped living space and steam billowed from beneath a door to her left. Strange, she thought, not expecting her fellow detective, Chase Hargreaves to be in any condition to be showering. A second of doubt lingered. Had the Cleaner really not got the job done? Curiosity took over and she pushed her way into the humid bathroom. Seeing the dildo stuck to the glass shower wall, she instantly understood and took a moment to observe the curvy naked figure inside writhing desperately under the makeshift lubricant of the hot water before picking up the tape recorder lying on the floor and pressing play.

“You should have left it alone Chase,” she called over the thrum of the shower as the strong confident female voice on the tape began. Lara Lake smiled. The Cleaner had really grown into her role over the last three years. Long gone were the days of being just an awkward Mannequeen copycat. She fell silent to appreciate the message that had changed Detective Chase Hargreaves' life forever.

'Hello Detective Hargreaves. I want to play a game. For a too long now, you and your partner, Detective Ron Cosby, have refused to let sleeping dogs lie. You have refused to accept that the pathetic orgasm-riddled little creature currently serving time in state prison is the vigilante known as the Cleaner. You have alleged that the real Cleaner is still out there carrying out her justice as she sees fit and that there is a mole on your own police force helping her. Well, Detective, congratulations. You are 100% correct. How does it feel? Well, perhaps I can help explain. You have been placed in a state-of-the-art female bodysuit that will in two hours lock and bind to your skin forever unless you can unlock it first. The locking mechanism lies deep in one of the suit's three orifices. I just can't seem to remember which one. Silly me. It's a good thing you seem to be so good at poking into holes you shouldn't, right? I am sure you'll figure it out. I will even give you a hand, well, an appendage anyway. Also, I have added some 'urges' to your bodysuit to give you a bit of extra encouragement. Good luck, Detective. You have two hours.”

Lara Lake smirked and pressed stop. Suddenly, a delicate feminine face slammed against the steamy glass swallowing the Cleaner's pink rubber gift right to the hilt. Wild, desperate eyes stared down at her and she winked back.

“Better luck next time,” she grinned as her colleague continued to plunge his new face against the glass. “Sounds like the next attempt might be a bit more fun,” she held up the tape recorder like a champagne glass and got ready to enjoy the show. Detective Chase Hargreaves could ram every hole in his tight little body and that bodysuit would never unlock. The Cleaner would never take that risk. His fate was sealed as tightly at Rocky Law's. She just needed to decide what to do with him once he realised that.

A New Routine

 16/25

The mirrors were merciless. The music may have stopped, the workout had subsided, for now, but the humiliation was relentless. Even though Isaac could control his body again, he was helpless to stare desperately at his reflection. One mirror reflected another reflected another reflection like a taunting echo, endless reminders of his ridiculous new reality.

He allowed his wide-eyed stare to fall to his crotch and immediately wished he hadn't. The spandex left nothing to the imagination as it hugged the curves of his new sex. Slick and smooth and tight, it stretched over his tingling crotch and split his pert asscheeks with the reverse of his thong leotard. A thin film of sweat covered his new body and his, albeit much smaller muscles ached painfully. Across the studio, a buxom instructor was readjusting her platinum blonde ringlets under a bubblegum pink sweatband that matched her similarly thonged leotard. She was cute. She was sexy, but, most importantly of all, she was a powerful witch. Watching her stretch her supple limbs and pixie grin, Isaac felt something new. Regret.

This spandex clad turn was far from the gym induction for which Isaac had hoped. He ought to have been in the weight room pumping some iron, only his mouth happened to be as big as his biceps. As he had been filling out his registration, the timid young girl behind the desk had asked if he was interested in signing up for any additional classes such as pilates, yoga or zumba. Isaac had scoffed and declared such distractions for middle-aged women and trophy bimbo-wives more interested in getting use out of their overpriced gym gear than actually getting in shape – a poor choice of words when the classes' head coach happened to be talking with a client in the waiting area – an especially poor choice of words when said coach had the power to transform Isaac into the exact kind of bimbo trophy wife he so scorned.

The music inevitably restarted and Isaac's new body resumed its popping and shaking. With every bend and stretch, the shiny material seemed to grow tighter and he felt his loins throbbing with the music. The blonde instructor enticed his body into positions he could have only have dreamed of in his own body – twisting him up like a spandex clad pretzel. He panted heavily drawing the stares of the women surrounding him as his legs and butt grew tired and sore and he longed for a chance to lie down and close his eyes to the mirrors taunting him. Finally, the pounding music subsided and the women around him picked up their towels and mats and headed for the door.

"See you next week, girls," the instructor called out. Her eyes fell on Isaac as he tried to follow them out meekly. "Not you," she whispered sternly and his body involuntarily froze. "I believe you are staying for my polefitness class. Now come, you can't do it dressed like that. You'll be too slippery. So, what would you prefer? Hotpants or just panties?"

Bazonkas!

 15/25

I had problems with the colour profile of this one and had to do it in greyscale so I apologise if the dual dialogue isn't the easiest to read.

In better news, I finished writing this season last night so I can start working on the next one, which is about 80% planned out. 

Good evening, you're through to UltraReal Bodysuits Customer Care. This is Bonnie speaking on Felicity's phone. How can I help today?

Bazonkas!!

A...what now?

The password...Bazonkas!

I see..well, sir, I don't know who you are but I am hanging up now.

NO! Please help me! I need to get out of this bodysuit.

Okay, of course. I can do that. Can I take your name please, sir?

Yes..errr, it is Detective Alan Graham.

Okay, let's see here...oh, I am sorry sir, but we don't currently have any bodysuits loaned out to anyone with that name.

No, of course you don't. I am undercover. My name isn't on any of the paperwork for security purposes. I have a password and this number for if I need to be let out in an emergency. No one else knows I am here except my handler, and she has gone missing.

Here, as in where? I don't know anything about this.

The mob. I've infiltrated a sex-trafficking ring as a gangster's secretary but the whole operation is falling apart and I have heard rumours I am going to be sold...wait?! Didn't you say you were covering someone's phone?

Oh, yes. I'm just here on work experience. Felicity has been training me. She's just gone to get the coffee...

That must be it...please, when Felicity gets back, you need to tell her 'Bazonkas'!

Sure! Anything I can do to help the po...wait a sec...I see what is going on here. You must think I was born yesterday...

No, no, no please...you have to help me. Just shout Bazonkas to Felicity and she will know what to do...

Right...and I'm the Easter Bunny. No way am I making a fool of myself for your amusement. Undercover with the mob...really...you must think I am a total bimbo...

No! But I will be if you don't help me. Please...

I am hanging up now sir.

Please help me!

Good luck with your Bazonkas!

Squad Numbers

 14/25

Joe had a little black book full of girls' numbers. Okay, it's not what you're thinking. Unless, you are thinking, 'who the hell keeps phone numbers in a book in 20 freakin' 20?!' However, if you are thinking 'Joe got game', you would be wrong. The only game Joe 'got' is girls' soccer, which he happens to coach. Hence, the book of phone numbers. In fact, it was Joe's lack of game with girls that inspired him to volunteer as assistant coach to the girls' team at his high school. In his grand scheme, if he could get the girls putting the ball in the goal, he good get some scoring of his own. After all, he was a more that accomplished player on the boys' team. Things didn't get off to a good start with the team falling to a seven goal defeat in their first match and all of the muscle massages and surprise dressing room team talks in the world couldn't inspire the team or indeed land him a date. Rather the girls saw him for the nuisance he was and when they complained to Coach Griffiths his duties were curtailed to those of an administrative nature – calling the players to arrange car pools and the like. Hence the little black book.

Joe continued to attend games but was limited to watching from the touchline. He fantasised about the girls' long graceful legs and clung to the glimpses of sports bras from his many post-match visits to the changing rooms before the girls could rapidly cover up and shove him back out. He longed for them to embrace another contact sport, one that he could play too, one without kit where tackling from behind was not just allowed but encouraged...

He began to add notes next to the girls' names and numbers. Sara – great with both feet, probably her mouth too. Chloe – good vocal leader, probably a screamer. Jen – fearless, almost certainly willing to try anal. It was while he was making these notes that he caught the attention of his teammates from his own team and it didn't take long before guys were forking over cash for the digits of their favourite female counterpart. Joe became popular with the soccer team after all – just not the one he intended.

Saturday morning arrived once more and Joe was in a vibrant mood. He had scored 30 bucks lending his little black book to a teammate and he was nice and early to the day's match so he could psych up the female players before they had chance to finish putting on kit. He entered the changing room and was surprised to find just one occupant. Chloe stood in the middle of the room holding his little black book. He gulped. Two more girls appeared behind him and grasped him strongly by the arms. They wrestled him to the ground and began to tear away his clothes. Within five minutes they had stuffed him into some spare clothes they had brought along; a short denim skirt, a girl's leather jacket, satin panties, heels and stockings. The other two girls sat on his chest while Chloe applied makeup liberally and glued a wig to his head.

“So, good with my mouth am I?” Sara spat at him. The girls had tied him to a goal frame and he could do nothing but stand there. “I bet I'm not the only one.” She produced a small metal object and forced it into his mouth.

“That's nothing compared to what you said about me,” Jen whispered in his ear and with Sara watching on with an enormous grin, she pulled up his skirt and slapped him hard on his pantied ass. With his skirt still hiked up, she reached around his face, pulled the buttplug from between his glossy lips and rammed it up his ass.

“I'm not sure he likes it but he's definitely a screamer,” Chloe observed. She laughed and kissed Joe on the cheek as he whimpered. “One thing you definitely won't like is that we are playing away today. The boys have this pitch. In fact...” she glanced over at the parking lot, “here they come now!”

Double Dipping (a Liza story)

 13/25

Half way. As always, the full Aiko set is on my index page.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. However, if you pass with flying colours first time round, double down on that biatch! That's what Liza had always thought anyway. So when the second parcel of Aiko's candy arrived, she already knew exactly what she was going to do with it. Much to her brother's dismay, she only put aside a small pack of the heart shaped treats to manage his cravings, though what he didn't know was that Liza had begun to experiment with melting the candy down and re-setting it, cutting it with regular sugar and flavoured sherbet. She would be slipping him weaker and weaker doses of the potent sweets until she was sure he would be climbing into her dresses and slapping on her makeup for nothing more than a placebo.

The vast majority of Liza's new order was reserved for her second target – Glenn, her ex. He wasn't the worst guy in the world as far as ex-boyfriends go – more boring than anything malicious. He had wanted to take things slow – to hold hands and watch the clouds in the sky when what Liza really wanted was for him to try to get in her panties. Well, now he was in her panties...and her skirt...and her tube top...and her stockings, platform shoes and about ten pounds of cosmetics.

She had got him with some trap chewing gum and then once he was nicely trussed up in some breast forms she had found online, she switched to some of her homemade candyfloss, which he had begun to gobble with such desperation that he didn't notice the surprise on Liza's face on spotting the tattoos etched on the skin of her supposed goody-two-shoes ex beau. If you had let me see these when I wanted to, you wouldn't be in this pretty little mess, she thought to herself.

Two hours later, Glenn was shuffling home the best he could on the massive platform shoes his feet were crammed into. He felt weirdly grateful for the fluffy ball of candyfloss in his fist as he could use it to hide behind as people passed. If only he could stop eating it... He knew he shouldn't, he knew it was what was driving the craving that has been leveraged against him to get him into this ridiculous outfit but he just couldn't stop himself. It was the only thing suppressing the itch than ran from beneath the wig Liza had glued to his scalp, down his spine under the bra-strap holding his breast forms in and down the backs of this stockinged legs all the way to his painted toe nails. And for what? Acting like a gentleman? He certainly didn't look like a gentleman. He didn't exactly look like a 'lady' either but that was neither here nor there...

Liza watched from a distance snapping photographs for her new blog. Her brother's photoshoot had attracted some online attention but she needed more. She needed enough of a buzz that Aiko couldn't help but notice her. The next order from Akio's webstore would need to be much bigger if see was going to get the followers she wanted. Speaking of followers...Glenn was starting to attract the gazes of some of the neighborhood boys. Good, she thought, if they like what they see, they should have no objection to joining him.

Not What It Seems Part 4

 12/25

I was butter – every part of my body felt as if it had been melted and reshaped and my brain oozed and sloshed behind my eyeballs. My mind was liquid bliss and as long as I didn't let it set, I could ignore my less ideal reality indefinitely. The girl had doubled in size enveloped in that black latex catsuit and I was hers to mould as she saw fit. Every inch of my feminised body was exposed to her pain and her pleasure – a naughty/nice sundae of whips, chains and toys. I had struggled in place, encapsulated in my red rubber cocoon as she donned a strapon dildo, and yet the second she slid it into me, my fear and doubt had evaporated. I had been too ecstasy ridden to comprehend at the time, but the suit must have converted the sensory signals running to my brain because what I felt cannot be described in terms my male self could comprehend. I only dread to think where that shaft was really going once it broke through the eager lips between my legs.

Once the first orgasm had been ripped from my body, the girl adjusted the chain connected to my hood and bent me over an old pommel horse before splitting me in half once more with her gleaming black lance. In those two hours, I learned what it meant to be multi-orgasmic, how an anal orgasm differed from a vaginal one and what it was like to moan and scream with pleasure when your body no longer had strength to hold itself upright. By the time the girl lay me down on the floor for the final time and peeled the catsuit away from my glistening curves, I couldn't even remember my own name.

“We wasted so much time with all that dressing up, Simon,” the girl was cooing and brushing my freshly washed hair. I had been bathed once more and was sitting on a kind of office chair in some delicate white lingerie. “If only your student loan had cleared sooner, we could have skipped right to that level of fun.” She continued to brush and I tried to blink away the fuzz in my brain. As my afterglow thrummed and faded, the need to break from my prison returned. As incredible as the pleasure had been, there was no escaping its alien nature. On some cerebral level I had enjoyed being this girl's plaything while it lasted, but it was not who I was and the longer I spent in this slender existence, the more the choking desperation to be released grew. My eyes wandered and spotted the tablet on the desk five feet in front of me – my key. The girl had not bothered freezing me again and I braced myself in anticipation.

“You know I could lock you into this wonderful body if I wanted to?” The girl sighed behind me as if reading my mind. “Would that really be so bad?”

“Yes,” I stammered.

“Okay,” she sighed again, “but first let me show you something.” She put a hand over my eyes and spun the office chair 180 degrees. “I had my doubts about you, you know?” she caressed my neck. “When he first suggested you and said he knew you would try on the bodysuit, I was more than a little sceptical.” He? My breathing deepened. “Still, fair is fair and a deal is a deal. I don't think I got such a bad trade, do you?” She pulled her hand from over my eyes and I saw that I was facing a huge old factory window that looked down over the university buildings below. One story down, a laboratory light was on and a lone figure was adjusting some scientific apparatus.

“I don't understand,” my soft voice trembled in terror.

“You don't need to Darling,” the girl walked over to the window with the tablet in her hands and looked down at the student desperately trying to catch up on his research after many months of disruption. The girl tapped the tablet triumphantly and I felt a hot flash cover me as the bodysuit bound to my skin. “Simon understood you just fine, and that's good enough for me.”

Not What It Seems Part 3

 11/25

The voice gave me directions to a shady part of town where old factories had been converted into flats for students and drug addicts. It was close to the university so I knew it well, but I found myself very aware it wasn't somewhere someone looking as I did now would be best advised to wander by themselves. A nervous shiver rippled through my body as the voice guided me through streets and alleyways and I clenched by knees together and clutched by purse to my chest defensively as I tottered on the strappy heels. Finally, I arrived at a warehouse conversion and the voice directed me to get an old fashioned elevator to the top floor. A single doorway occupied the landing. I knocked timidly.

“Ah, there you are!” The door swung open to reveal a tiny pale girl in an oversized black hoody holding a tablet. I wasn't sure what I was expecting but it wasn't this. I suppose I thought whatever woman had managed to tame Simon, and I guess by proxy, me, would be more, I don't know ...fierce...imposing? But, no, she looked, frankly, sweet. “Look at you,” she tutted, “you've got all messy!” My hands raised instinctively to the condiment caked satin and the girl tapped rapidly at the tablet in her grasp. My body went as rigid as a mannequin. “No, no...allow me!” She placed her tablet on a desk and produced some sewing scissors from the drawer. My heart raced momentarily but it needn't have bothered as she gently cut the straps of my dress and allowed the shimmering cloth to tumble down my delicate feminine form. Then she unfroze me once more and beckoned me into the bathroom where a steaming bubble bath was waiting.

As all this happened, I told myself I was playing the long game and that if I did as she said for long enough, she would release me and I could forget all of this ever happened. The truth is, I had no choice. With the tablet at her fingers, I was powerless and deep down I knew this. I followed. I bathed. I complied. And once the mustard, ketchup and sticky bodysuit 'juice' had been washed away, she froze me again and softly towelled me dry, carefully inspecting every jiggling inch of my prison. She smiled with satisfaction and led me back into the main room with the tablet tight in one hand and talc in the other.

“I hope you don't mind, but I would like to do this myself!” Her voice was soft and innocent but my body was seized all the same. She laid me down naked on the cold floor and carefully cocooned me in a red latex catsuit. The coolness of the material really hit home the realism of the bodysuit. The rubber swallowed what felt like my fingers, my legs...my pussy. She pulled on matching red heeled boots and a black latex hood and it was only when the hood was secured to a hook on the ceiling and my wrists secured to my ankles that I was permitted to move again...or at least attempt to.

“Let's have a little practice,” she smiled as I waddled in place, the latex crackling with every movement. She giggled and made a few gestures on the tablet. The surging ecstasy was back between my legs and my knees buckled though the chain attached to the hood held me in place. I gurgled on the rubber gag in my mouth and fumbled for my crotch but as soon as I got close, the sensation ended abruptly. “Patience my dear Simon,” she giggled. “You won't be needing this for where I'm going to take you,” she gestured to the tablet.

She left and returned ten minutes later, her diminutive form enveloped in a black version of my latex. In her delicate grip hung a bulky metal toolbox overflowing with wands, plugs, gags, hooks and all sorts of phallic looking toys. Placing the box in front of me, she came close enough that I could hear her breath in my ear.

“Don't worry Simon,” she pulled out my gag and kissed me on the lips, “if it gets too much, you can use our safeword!”

Not What It Seems Part 2

 10/25

“Play time Simon!” The sultry tones radiated in my brain and I fought back the impulse to scream that I was not in fact Simon and this was all a big mistake. This...voice or whatever it was seemed to hold the key to my release and maybe alerting it that I was an intruder was not the best way to get it. Instead, I scampered on my new slender legs to the discarded box on the other side of the room. A list of features seemed to be listed on the side; remote visual/audio connection, remote lock/release. So, that was what was happening – the voice was what? Simon's mistress calling the shots on my body from God knew where? Did this mean she could see/hear everything I could?

“Keep going...” the voice coaxed as if reading my mind. My eyes flicked back down to the box and the next feature on the list. Remote stimulation. “Bingo!” the voice cried. A sudden warmth began to grow in the now smooth area between my legs. It was like nothing I had ever felt before and I gasped for breath. “Easy Tiger,” the voice giggled, “its under your pillow.” With one hand clutching my groin desperately, I groped beneath the pillows atop Simon's bed and pulled out a powerful looking vibrating wand. I didn't need telling twice and I fell backwards onto the mattress with my skirt already around my knees. If the voice had offered further instruction, I didn't hear it over my own screams of pleasure.

Afterwards, the voice demanded that I change out of the stock clothing that had come with the bodysuit and change into some “going-out wear”. I was in the afterglow of my first female orgasm and the garments were sticky with what I could only assume was some product of the suit. It wasn't hard to find something as Simon's closet was packed full of clothes from all the packages he had been receiving. The voice picked out a flimsy salmon satin dress and some strappy heels and I thought that I better comply if I ever wanted to see my own skin again. Silently, I wished that I had my phone with me. I was sure that I could text Simon without looking at the screen, but then again, given the state of him last time I saw him, I doubted he would have any solutions to my dilemma than I did. As if my hesitation was sensed, I felt a sharp pinch on my butt and I yelped into action as the voice told me to leave the flat. Apparently, cumming my brains out was my fun and now it was her turn.

This bit gets hard to explain. I'm not sure what I was expecting but it wasn't what followed. The first thing the voice told me to do was ask for directions. Now, I'm not one of these dudes that's too proud to ask for help so I didn't get it at first but it took me about five seconds to realise that it was because I had never asked for directions as a sexy women. What I got weren't lefts and rights but leering stares at my chest and winks after slowly looking me up and down. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life. To make matters worse, the voice would pick out the slimiest looking guys and make me ask them how to get to the nearest sex store or strip club. After being told for the third time where I could find a 'special pole to dance on', the voice began to slacken my jaw right in the middle of the word “where” so that I was helpless but to stand there with my mouth in a wide O and drool running over my glossy pink lips. Somehow, worse was to come. The voice brought back the euphoria between my legs and told me it would stay there until the hotdog vendor gave me a free lunch. I grunted and moaned whilst practically begging for that squat little man's sausage and when he finally acquiesced, the voice insisted I fellate the hotdog in front of him. I obeyed mindlessly but instead of my sexual urges dampening, they exploded and I collapsed in a howling earth-shattering orgasm right there in the street with globs of mustard and ketchup running down my chin and the vendor's hand down his pants/

“There, there Simon,” the voice crooned. “Wasn't that nice?” I sat on the curb, a panting mess in front of a crown armed with camera phones, my brain too riddled with dopamine to care. “Now, Simon. I have some directions for you. I think it's time we had some fun together rather than apart, don't you?”

Not What It Seems Part 1

 9/25

So begins the centrepiece of this collection of caps. Thank you once again for all your lovely comments and support.

I think the first red flag that something wasn't quite right with Simon was the perfume. I mean, don't get me wrong, in the seven years we had been sharing a flat, women's perfume was hardly unetheral. We were both dapper young men, as unburdened by shyness as shackles of monogamy and as time passed many a female scent could be found radiating from crumpled shirts and well grooved sofa cushions. From the fun and fruity fragrances of our freshman beginnings to the more sophisticated spicy tones of post-grad conquests, we were more than used to the aromas of the fairer sex. But that was exactly the point, women's perfume usually indicates the presence of a woman, and Simon hadn't brought anyone home in weeks.

It wasn't odd for Simon to have a dry spell – it happens to the best of us, but it wasn't just the lack of female companionship, he seemed rather a bit...off. He would come back late and scuttle straight into his room, then leave first thing the next day without saying a word. I might have thought he was seeing a girl but he looked so dishevelled and twitchy. I don't mean like he grew a big Santa Claus beard or anything – he just looked pale, thin and tired. Then the packages started turning up.

Now, lots of parcels arriving isn't weird in itself, we abused Amazon Prime with the best of them, but Simon suddenly started getting stuff on a whole new level – weird ones too, not just the usual book or dvd shaped envelopes but loads of little ones and what were clearly bundled clothing. I didn't read too much into it. Simon is a grown man. If he wants to give his credit card a mauling, that's his prerogative. At least I didn't until I opened one of his packages my mistake. It happens sometimes, but this time was different. Inside, was a long blonde wig. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened his other parcels – a babydoll nightgown, lip gloss and high-heel shoes in a size that would fit an adult male. I didn't know what to do so I just shoved everything back in the boxes and hit them at the back of my closet. Ironic now that I think about it. However, Simon didn't seem to notice any missing parcels and the deliveries kept coming. The more boxes that arrived, the less I saw of Simon. He was by now spending all his time locked in his room and sneaking out when I wasn't around. I decided I had to intervene. One evening when I knew he was in, I made a loud fuss of leaving for the night and waited outside our front door. Sure enough, ten minutes later, Simon came sauntering out, only nothing like what I was expecting. He was dressed to the nines in women's clothing and makeup like some updated version of Brigitte Bardot. He saw me and froze.

“It's not what you think!” He stammered and tore away into the night, leaving me open-mouthed.

A few days later the crate arrived. By this point I was beyond confused. My best-friend for almost half my life was transforming before my eyes and I was at a total loss as to what was going on. I didn't care if Simon knew I was opening his packages any more and I levered the wooden lid from the container. Inside was a box sporting the image of a beautiful women and the words UltraReal bodysuits deluxe model 2020. I don't know why I decided to try on the bodysuit. Maybe it was an attempt to understand my friend's plight or maybe I just had an itch I didn't know I needed scratching, but I pulled off my clothes and tugged the super tight synthetic material over my skin. It took about ten minutes to get completely on but once it was in place, there was an intense sensation of being vacuum packed over my entire body. I looked into the nearest mirror and immediately regretted trying the suit. The face that stared back, while gorgeous, was not my own and the skin that covered mine was too realistic for my comfort. I had to get it off! I fumbled for the keypad at the base of my spine that had closed the suit, but nothing happened. I tried again. Same thing.

“Hello Simon,” a soft female voice purred in my head. “I see our new toy arrived. Play time!”