Whatever Happened to Jared and Rory? (Sissy vs Sissy vs Sissy)

 The full story including the original Sissy vs Sissy is on my index page

The water was warm. And there were bubbles...lots of bubbles – enough to cover their naked bottoms. These were about the only positives of bath day – truly the smallest of small mercies. Jared and Rory sat in the tub facing each other – each a living feminised reminder of the other's predicament.

Anna had removed their underwear bottoms but left their bras on, Rory in black and Jared in white, as they were effectively redundant but for furthering their humiliation, and had taken great pleasure in leading them to Aunt Clarissa's bathroom on their hands and knees via matching dog leashes she had fixed round their necks. The size of the bath meant that both boys were forced to kneel in the water so she made the best of this by making them lean all the way back while she scrubbed at them with a large sponge. Relief had flooded their faces when she had revealed they could remove the buttplugs for their wash but the tiny cock cages remained on and Anna had smirked wickedly at seeing the boys' imprisoned dicks strain against their restraints as she took her time rinsing their bodies. By now they had spent a maddening amount of time in chastity and her touch was clearly too much for them to handle. She tried to imagine their shame and frustration at having their bodies betray them for the very person responsible for their degradation and grinned even wider.

“Maybe we need to start milking you...” Anna said thoughtfully as she adjusted the cat ears atop Rory's head and almost burst into laughter at the sudden hopeful expression in his eyes. “Or maybe you should milk each other...” The expression turned to anger and then quickly to shame. Anna parted the bubbles and cupped Rory's groin as if it were a wounded kitten. “We can't keep our precious sissies with blue balls can we?” She raised one eyebrow and leaned close to the horrified sissy's face, keeping her hand wrapped around his genitals and smirking as she felt their futile bulge. Without warning, Rory gave a sudden shudder and shot out a leg, catching Jared on the hip. “Well, that wasn't very nice!”

“I'm sorry!” Rory stammered. “I didn't mean to – it was an accident!”

“Nevertheless...” Anna shook her head and stood back from the bathtub. “I think it is important you make amends!” She giggled at the sorrowful gaze Rory offered his friend, knowing it wasn't for what he had done but for what was to come. “I think you should show how sorry you are with a big apologetic kiss!” Rory stared at her hesitantly. “And if you don't, well, I am sure Aunt Clarissa will teach you some tenderness this evening.” Anna grinned triumphantly as her two obedient toys slowly lent in with their lips parted.  

Rules of Disengagement Part 3

 

And so Michael and Sara were reunited, alas with a brand new dynamic to their relationship. As unable to satisfy her as he had been as a man, he was more than equipped to do so as her sissy. Sara was not a natural dominant even though she knew the sight of Michael's humiliation made her tremble in ways he had never managed before, and so Steph was more than willing to train her sister how to embarrass, debase and degrade the man in her life. She no longer lived with them, but she was always on hand to lend her advice, her firm hand across Michael's backside or even her used panties for his afternoon snack.

And what choice did Michael have? The circumstances of his housing situation hadn't changed and he was glad to have Steph out of his home – at least most of the time. Sara didn't detest him as Steph did. She even loved him again in a weird way. But things were not as they once were by any stretch of the imagination. The dress had become his uniform and Steph had supplied a collection of equally humiliating alternatives. Michael never did find out what became of his actual clothes. He was able to move out of the basement and back into the bedroom but even that wasn't the blessing it might have been. As Sara got better at being dominant, it just meant that his submission was more complete, his fiancee able to play her games with him all night as well as during the day.

It was on such a day that Steph visited her sister to give a graduation of sorts to her apprentice. Michael was in his familiar cotton dress, his butt throbbing from an impromptu after breakfast spanking Sara had decided to dish out and his hair itching underneath his wig. Soon it would be long enough that he wouldn't need the wig and Sara had promised to use her big wooden brush on it instead of just his backside.

“He is yours! He must learn to recognise your taste!” Steph was explaining to Sara. Both woman stood before Michael in watching pencil skirts that had been unzipped at the back to expose their pert arses. Both had removed their panties and Michael's cheeks were bulging like a hamster to hold them in his mouth. “Merely sniffing will not do – it will not be enough. If he is to be your sissy, he must inhale you fully. He must breathe you deep into his lungs.” Steph ordered Michael to lie on the floor, explaining that the sofa was too good for him, and told Sara to stand over him. She did so before slowly lowering herself onto Michael's face. Once her bare ass was firmly straddling him, she released herself and let out a long loud fart. He wanted to cough and spit out the panties but she remained mounted atop him, holding him in place. Another fart followed, and another and another and Michael thought he might suffocate. He felt hands pulling at the waistband of his panties and realised in his darkness that they must be Steph's. His cock was pulled free and hope rose in his chest briefly until he heard a soft click as something tight and hard was fastened around his genitals. “Now he is truly yours!” Steph whispered triumphantly as Sara sat back to press her ass down as she ripped a final and longest fart right up Michael's nose.  

Rules of Disengagement Part 2

 

In the weeks that followed, Michael did not leave his basement. It was a prison – its locks the shame of his new costume. Steph brought him food twice a day and a change of panties every morning – always something humiliatingly satin or silky or ruffled. He didn't see Sara once during this time and he began to wonder where she thought he was. Had Steph fed her sister some kind of story? And what had become of his clothes? He imagined his gaoler selling them, or worse, burning them. On the eleventh evening of his sentence, Steph descended the steps to his basement with a red wine dilation in her pupils and a wicked grin on her lips.

“Get on your knees you stupid dope!” She spat and watched him struggle. The heels of the Mary-Janes made it awkward to get down and the best Michael could manage was a crouch with his gloved hands on his stockinged knees. Steph rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You can't even do that, can you? It is no wonder my sister doesn't want to marry you. At least she saw sense eventually...” Michael gave Steph a meek sidelong look from his crouched position. She stood with her hands on her hips, her dark hair tied into a tight bun over an even tighter scowl, and a figure-hugging pencil skirt wrapped around her long legs. Without warning, she too crouched, and without giving Michael even a glimpse of what was beneath, she reached up under her skirt and worked her underwear down her legs. She lifted first one patent leather heel and then the other to remove the black satin thong and then kicked it over to Michael.

“Ah...” Michael sighed with resignation and began to lift his cotton dress to remove his own larger frilled panties to complete the trade.

“No, you idiot!” Steph shook her head with exasperation. “They aren't to wear. They are your reward for being a good little sissy. I want you to sniff them. Breathe in your mistress!” Michael hesitated, his cheeks glowing bright pink before finally he retrieved them and brought the used panties to his nose. He sniffed exaggeratedly. “Good!” Steph sneered. “Now put them in your mouth!”

Michael obliged. They tasted sweaty and stale and he was forced to breathe through his nose. Once more, shame consumed him as he gazed back at Steph, who was smiling back triumphantly. A minute passed and then she strode across the room to where he was still crouched. Turning on her heels, she bent forward and clasped the zipper at the back of her pencil skirt, pulling it up to reveal her bare backside. Before he could react, she grasped the back of his wig laden head and thrust his face between her ass-cheeks, ripping a long squeaky fart that he was helpless to inhale due to the thong stuffed into his mouth.

“Michael!” He heard the surprised voice of Sara from the direction of the basement stairs. He could see nothing but Steph's crack but he knew she had seen everything. “Why didn't you tell me this was what you were into? Things would have been so much easier!”

Rules of Disengagement Part 1

 This is a three part commission I did for DeviantArt

To say Michael's life was entangled with Sara's was an understatement. In the four years they had dated, they had not only got engaged but Michael had given up his rented condo to move in with his fiancee, and they even shared a bank account. So when their steamy relationship eventually blew cold, it was not as simple as moving out and starting over. Michael had nowhere to go.

Sara no longer loved her ex but she wasn't cruel. She allowed Michael to keep living in her basement until he found his own place, but there were conditions. Her sister Steph would be moving in immediately to take over Michael's share of the rent when he eventually left and to act as something of an umpire between the feuding former lovers, albeit one that was obviously biased in favour of one over the other. Steph's name quickly replaced his on the lease, and Michael found himself subletting from two women who held his shelter entirely at their mercy.

Steph made no secret of the fact she hated Michael. This was not a new thing. Right from the inception of his relationship with Sara, she had despised the way he looked down his nose at her as a divorcee. It was as if she was a broken toy, unwanted, a cast-off, and the moment she moved in with Sara, she made haste to settle the score for this and the way he had treated her sister. A week into her residency, she descended the steps to Michael's basement with a garbage bag in her hand.

“Right, listen up you worthless dork.” she scowled, tossing the bag at Michael's feet. “Sara might be a bleeding heart, but I sure as shit am not. You have two choices. You can either gather up all your crap, put it in that bag and leave right now, or you can stay, but what is in that bag there becomes your new identity for as long as you are still in this house.” She watched as Michael picked it up and spilled out its contents. Out fell a blonde wig, a cotton dress, patterned pantyhose, layered panties and a pair of platform Mary-Janes, and open fell Michael's mouth. Steph watched him try to process what she had just said then added. “If you don't choose one of these, I tell Sara you tried to grope me and she throws your ass out anyway!”

Michael didn't really have two choices. Having nowhere else to go and no access to his own money, his only option was to become Steph's plaything and she knew it. Over the next few hours she took her time transforming him, first ordering him to pull on the pantyhose and the underwear followed my the dress and shoes. Steph reserved the honour of placing the wig on his head for herself, thereby completing his new look. Michael caught his reflection in his floor to ceiling mirror and humiliation immediately washed over him. He looked ridiculous.

“Good,” Steph nodded, “now put your old clothes in the bag. This is what you will wear from now on. We'll start your training tomorrow!” With no choice but to comply, Michael began to gather his shirts and put them in the trash bag.

Chick Roulette

 14/25

Louis didn’t even bother putting his dick back in his pants as the scrolling symbol on the screen signalled Mugshot was finding another random member to connect with. The trick was keeping whatever unsuspecting chick it partnered him with online long enough to get a few strokes off. If he was very lucky, they would be the kind of wild slut who already had their tits out. Whoever was the other side of his screen when he finally shot his load, won the jackpot.

Louis was using the roulette function of the popular video chat platform ‘Mugshot’. Users were paired up randomly in a kind of digital speed dating until either party elected to move to the next person. To Louis’s disdain, this was almost always quicker than his exhibitionist tendencies wanted.

The scrolling circle disappeared and a username appeared in the top right of the screen – Delilah101. A gorgeous blonde girl appeared before him and Louis began to jerk off furiously.

“Well, hello there, SlutSlayer69,” she winked flirtatiously. “Aren’t you an eager beaver?” She placed one long pink fingernail between her teeth and Louis braced himself to glaze his keyboard. But, moments before lift-off, the recipient of his lust gestured her hand from right to left, the Mugshot prompt to move to the next connection. However, Delilah didn’t disappear from the screen. Instead, the scroll wheel appeared over the image in the bottom left – the insert that showed Louis’s webcam. When an image returned, it no longer showed him grasping his erect cock, but rather a blonde bimbo bursting with silicone encased in a fishnet bodysuit. “That’s better!” Delilah winked, and then she too disappeared.

“Whoa!! Nice rack!!” The hill-billy on the screen exclaimed and Louis’s mouth dropped open in surprise. The swollen pout of the babe in the corner of the screen also widened and he realised he was no longer gripping his stiff cock. He glanced down at his now flat crotch covered by a flimsy pair of red panties. A belly button piercing winked at him from just above them. Using a shaking manicured hand, he waved to dismiss the red-neck, only for him to be replaced to by an equally leery neck-beard with three chins. Shame washed through him and his hands shot up to cover the quivering jugs on his chest.

When he swiped again, he found himself doing so over and over as each drooling horny guy was replaced by an equally gross alternative. The few female pairings he got snorted and swiped themselves to send him to a new partner. Panic surged within him. He had to find Delilah again. Just when things started to feel hopeless, a DM popped up from the toolbar. “If you want your little friend back, I suggest you give some of these punters what they came for!”.

Louis grunted in self-disgust but when the next man appeared on his screen, he obediently grabbed both of his breasts and massaged them clumsily. And when directed to do so, he slipped one of his long fingernails into his panties and began to softly stroke himself. Any arousal he felt completely dissipated on seeing the guy shoot his load, but he was quickly replaced by another guy and another set of humiliating instructions. Over the next two hours, Louis performed stripteases, simulated blowjobs on a cucumber, rubbed oil on himself and even spread his ass-cheeks wide apart as guy after guy came over the human embodiment of a wet-dream Delilah had turned him into.

“I guess you’ve earned this!” At last Delilah101 returned to his screen. She swiped once more and both the main screen and the webcam insert showed the scrolling logo. Even before the image returned, Louis felt the comforting sensation of his penis in his fist.

“Holy shit! A hot shemale!!” His new partner gasped as Louis stared at his throbbing dick poking out from a hole in the fishnet bodysuit.

What the Hell Happened to Hugo? (Not an Exact Séance)

 Original caption is here 

“So?” Hugo took another step along the cracked tiled corridor before stumbling awkwardly once again in the leather six-inch heels. “Do you think it could be somewhere around here?” He asked. “Any of this look familiar?”

“How should I know?” The voice in his head scowled. “It's your stupid house – is it too much to ask that you walk around it without falling over and making me look like an invalid?” Hugo winced at the scathing female hiss in spite of its incorporeality. “And, by the way,” it continued, “this might be your stupid house, but that is still my body...in spite of everything. I would appreciate it if you didn't dress me as a complete slut every time you take me out!”

“Huh?” Hugo dropped the woman's delicate chin in confusion and stared down at the vinyl dress he had spent twenty minutes squeezing his adopted body into that morning. It's sheen was as alien to him as the soft female skin with the strange drawings on it that he also now wore. “Madam,”he prompted, “I do apologise, but I have been dead 300 years. I have never seen anything like this shiny material before in my life or death. I just assumed it was a modern luxury, not as it seems, a symbol of promiscuity. May I ask, why do you own it if it brings you such shame?”

“I am not ashamed of it!” The voice snapped with venom. “It is for...special occasions – certainly not for 500-year-old dead dudes to play dress-up in their favourite haunted house.” Her tone was shrill – sounding out all of the eight years she had been trapped as a passenger in her own body after a Halloween séance had gone awry. “Look, let's focus, shall we? When I summoned you, I read from an old piece of parchment. There was another stanza on that document and I dropped it somewhere in your stupid house. Finding that parchment could be the key to me getting my body back and you returning to the after...hey! Would you kindly stop playing with my tits!?”

“I apologise, Madam,” Hugo stammered. “But they really are majestic. In my day, sculptors would have travelled from far and wide to capture them in clay. You would have been quite the attraction.”

“I am not an attraction!” The voice pouted. “And while we are on the subject, could you please stop with the masturbating? I might not be able to feel it, but it is still humiliating. It is still my freaking body.”

“Madam, again I apologise.” Hugo protested. “I now realise that doing it in the market was an error. I truly did not intend to alert those guards. Would now be a more appropriate time? I do think it might help stimulate our memories.” Fighting to hide his excitement, Hugo pushed his slender fingers under the top of his latex panties and closed his eyes.  

Space Booty Part 3

“Okay, so let's go over the plan?” Captain John Broad looked conspiratorially at Kara his First Mate. They were stood in the corridor outside the captain's quarters that was now being claimed by the pirates as their own. “I go in there, distract them with my...charms...maybe dance a little, get naked...and then what? Snatch one of their phasers? Slit their throats? Grab the keys to their vessel and run for it? Or will you and Ally burst in when they least expect it?”

“May I suggest reverse space cowgirl?” Kara grinned as what was once her captain stared back blankly. “I mean, it's great for getting nice and deep and the reduced gravity will mean those big strong pirate men will have no problems bouncing you up and down like a beach ball on Pluto. If you think you were horny in the cargo hold, trust me, you are in for a treat. Although, I suppose I am not sure where that new pussy actually leads to...but I can make an educated guess...”

“You mean...?” John looked back at her in horror – a pair of bunny ears flopped pathetically atop his tangled hair. Kara and Ally had spent the last half an hour preparing him for their plan – one which the captain had assumed had involved their escape. They had dressed him from a menagerie of outfits in a crate that had accompanied the bodysuits in the hold, and intentionally selected the most demeaning, humiliating one they could find – a skimpy latex bra and thong set complete with a translucent excuse for a skirt. The captain turned to face her, his eyes hard and his breasts floating around in their flimsy cups in the reduced gravity. “You ungrateful bitch...after everything I have done for you... Well, if you think I am just going to go in there and debase myself, you...”

“Oh?” Kara raised an eyebrow as she produced a tiny device from her pocket. She smirked as the captain's sentence trailed off into a long orgasmic scream. The bodysuit was state-of-the-art and its perks were near instant. Just one click of the key-fob and there was sweat on his brow, a tremble in his lips and a buckle in his knees. She clicked it once more for good measure and the voluptuous creature in the bunny ears had to steady herself on the ship's wall while grunting like a pig. “I take it your resistance is already broken,” the First Mate nodded. “Good thing too – the pirates are sparing us and our ship and taking you instead. We've assured them that you can satisfy their every need, and if you can't, they've got plenty of these things.” She pressed the device again and the captain's body bucked wildly – his hands clamoured desperately for the crotch of the bodysuit but they shook so much with ecstasy he couldn't part the slit in the crotchless panties. “You told me I had to sleep with the captain to get ahead,” Kara shook her head, “and that's what I did... But now it looks like it is your turn...only you have two captains to please. And if I were you, I really would try to please them. If you don't, you will probably find yourself sold to some space brothel in the outer colonies. So...” Kara opened the door to the captain's quarters with one hand and clicked the device once more. John doubled over with a loud moan as his First Mate spanked him hard across his bare ass and pushed him inside. “Go get 'em, Tiger!”

 

Space Booty Part 2

 

Captain John Broad stood trembling in the dark for what seemed like hours while pirates plundered his ship. His feet throbbed atop the towered silver boots and in spite of the synthetic skin covering every inch of his body, he felt naked in the latex mini-dress. It was as if it was his own skin on show, his breasts pressed down by the vinyl material. He even felt weaker as if the bodysuit had somehow cast upon him the strength of the delicate space whore to match his appearance. He dared not move but curiosity gnawed at him. Did this thing have a pussy? These things were sex-toys, right? Presumably they were fully functional... Unable to resist any longer, he slipped a delicate hand under the hem of the dress.

The moment his fingers touched the smoothness between his legs, a shot of electricity rippled through his body. It was like licking a nuclear battery...with his dick! His eyes rolls back in his head and the nipples of his new breasts instantly went as hard as icecaps. What the actual hell?! Even as the sensation started to fade, he found himself reaching once more for his synthetic clitoris and a volcano erupted inside him. All sense left his mind and he pulled the skintight outfit over his head to get uninhibited access to his borrowed sex organ. “Ohhh fuck me!!” He moaned loudly.

The doors to the cargo hold shot open to reveal the First Mate and the Navigator flanked by four enormous men painted with glowing tattoos holding phasers. They surveyed the contents of the hold with unimpressed faces. “Sex dolls?!” One of them snorted. “Is everything on this ship worthless? You don't even have a captain we can ransom over to the space authority... Good thing you two aren't bad looking or this would be a complete waste of time.” He brushed the cheek of Ally the Navigator affectionately with one of his huge hands.

“Wait!” Pleaded the First Mate with desperation in her voice. “They aren't just sex dolls. They are highly sophisticated companion robots for long journeys into deep space. They are 100% compliant and can take care of all your needs. Watch this!” She grabbed a latex negligee from an open box and threw in front of where the captain stood naked, prone and terrified. “Number 24689, clothe yourself!” She commanded with cold authority as if talking to a machine. Captain Broad tried to comply with rigid obedience but the outfit was tight and inflexible. Finally, after minutes of stretching and pulling it was on his sore body and he sat cross-legged on a stool just inside the room. The rubbing of the struggle had once more incited the fire inside his loins and a soft groan escaped his lips.

“I see...” The lead pirate chuckled with clear interest, watching the panting Captain struggle to keep his hands from between his legs whilst perched on his seat. “And are they all like this?”

“They are,” nodded the Kara sagely, “but this one is fully calibrated and more than capable of satisfying all of your wildest dreams!”

Space Booty Part 1

 This is a three part commission for DeviantArt

The irony of the phallic shape of the space rocket SS Invader was not something lost on the ship's Captain John Broad. A merchant vessel by design, it traversed the galaxy carrying the captain, his small crew of two and their contraband cargo of bootleg toys. Captain Broad was the only male passenger of the small space faring ship as being overpowered by a mutinous crew was not something he wanted to contend with and in deep space.

“All quiet on the Western front?” He barked at Ally the Navigator as he passed her in one of the ships corridors, pausing to leer at her chest. Decreased gravity did wondrous things to breasts. The girl was slender and top heavy and he knew she was bright beyond her rank – not that it would help her career much if she continued to refuse to sleep with him. “I trust we are on course to reach Port Malice on schedule with no delays? It's not exactly Times Square out there in this part of the solar system.”

“Actually,” the Navigator checked an electronic screen on her wrist, “it seems we have hit something of a distraction. There is a small craft out there with their SOS beacon lit up. They're asking to board and bartering for fuel to get them to the next way station.”

“Captain!” Kara, his red faced first mate thundered into the corridor. She was pretty but dull witted and owed her rank to the fact that unlike Ally the Navigator, she had agreed to screw him. “It was a trap! We're being boarded! Pirates!”

“Pirates?” Captain Broad's face went white. He had heard plenty of stories of ranking officers being forced out of airlocks into deep space. “They can't find me! You need to hide me!” The two women seemed to freeze before him. “That's an order!” He yelled. Kara reacting quickest, grabbing his hand and leading him in the direction of the cargo hold away from the rocket's airlock. When they reached the hold door, his subordinate entered a code and the door open with a hiss. Countless humanoid figures stood before them. “Sex-dolls?!” The Captain cried with disbelief. “What am supposed to do with them?”

“They aren't sex-dolls,” the First Mate explained. “They are bodysuits. They are quite popular with the kinkier lifeforms in the galaxy. But more importantly, you can hide inside one while we figure out an escape route for you.” John hesitated for only a second before starting to strip off his clothes. The bodysuit fit him like a glove, sucking at his skin with almost vacuum like force to the extent the synthetic material felt like part of his body. Finally, he stood up and threw the long hair of the bodysuit behind his shoulders, struggling to balance in the high-heeled silver thigh-high boots. A latex mini-dress clung to his freshly borrowed curves and he had to brace himself with both hands on the hold walls to contain the overwhelming new sensations washing threw his body as a result of the device that now enveloped him. “Hold tight!” Kara's eyes were almost popped out of her head as she looked him up and down. “We will get you out of this! Just stay here and keep quiet! You don't want pirates to find you looking like that!”

Content and Contentment

 13/25

Matty glared at his tablet screen with disgust. One of the OnlyFemmes chicks he subscribed to was a guy!? What the hell?! Is was called OnlyFEMMES for a reason?! Not only that, she…he had put some kind of bounty up asking for people to sissify him. Matty took one last look at the most recent post and wanted to throw up. Sissify…that?! Why not hire someone to paint the sun yellow too…

He quickly unsubscribed and thought about all the times he had jerked off to that profile as bile curdled in his stomach. He needed to act fast to top up his masculinity and now he had an empty spot in his roster of digital side-chicks.

Quickly, he pulled up the chart of most popular creators and pulled up the highest ranking one he wasn’t already following. A profile for a girl simply known as “Emi” filled the screen and the image of an elegant latex clad beauty with severe bangs splashed across the top. All other pictures on the profile were greyed out until you subscribed so Matty was unable to tell precisely what kind of content she produced, but already he was enthralled by her swanlike grace and powerful slender figure. He pressed subscribe and was presented with two options - $8 “Be a voyeur”, $10 “Emi will make you Content”. It was a no-brainer, he thought selecting the second option. As his membership status changed to Pending, he turned his tablet off wondering just how content the content Emi made him would make him.

Matty didn’t have to wait long to find out. He awoke in the early hours of the following morning to find himself completely naked and his bedsheets pulled back. A latex gloved hand fondled his exposed cock, squeezing gently to bring him around. “What the f…” he groaned groggily, his eyes following the rubber arm gleaming in the moonlight up to a sternly framed yet gorgeous face. “You…” he was cut off as the hand suddenly tightened its grip turning his words into a yelp. Its partner appeared from the darkness and snapped something metal around Matty’s genitals.

Things moved quickly after that. Matty immediately recognised the intruder as the woman he had admired from his tablet screen the previous day and his body tried to respond in kind, yet his budding erection was thwarted by the confines of its cage. Emi had set up a camera tripod and opened a small black trunk. His heart hammered as he realised what “Emi will make you content” had really meant. When he opened his mouth to protest, Emi calmly pulled out a small keyfob and pressed it. White hot electricity shot out of the device between his legs, instantly silencing him.

Matty was powerless as Emi removed items from the trunk and forced him to put them on. Anything less than complete obedience was countered with pain. First came a pair of white satin panties that hugged his stinging testicles like clouds. Next came a French Maid’s outfit that fit him like a glove and an extra high pair of stiletto heels. Emi took her time carefully applying makeup and dressing his hair up with a ribbon, sparking him every time he moved or caused her to make a mistake.

When her work was finally complete, Emi looked around the room. Appearing satisfied, she removed the camera from its tripod and used a suction mount to attach it to the ceiling in the corner of the room. She turned, her trunk held under one latex clad arm, blew Matty a kiss and left.

Exhausted from all the zapping of his tortured genitals, Matty scooted on his backside to rest against the sofa and look up at the camera. He had a nasty feeling what those greyed out images on Emi’s OnlyFemmes page would show paying subscribers. He also wondered if the paying ‘voyeurs’ had any kind of access to the device cradling his crotch. Nausea washed though him as he remembered he had paid for a six-month subscription. Six months of this?! He kicked off the heels in frustration and white heat enveloped his genitals.

What the Hell Happened to...? (Over My Dead Body)

  The original caption is here

She found me after the funeral. I’d been pretending to mourn beside people who would never guess the truth, when I felt her hand — dry, soft, and deliberate — rest on my shoulder. “You wear it well,” she said, her breath faintly sweet, like decayed fruit. I dumbly looked down at my black latex dress – Dana's black latex dress.

I wanted to run, but Dana’s legs betrayed me, rooted to the spot as if they remembered her better than I did. “You did this to me,” I hissed.

The old woman smiled. “I saved you. You were dying without purpose, so I gave you a new home. You should be thanking me.”

I almost laughed, but the sound caught in my throat. “You put me in her. She murdered me.”

Her eyes glittered. “And yet here you stand, breathing through the hands that ended your life. A perfect circle. A second chance. But the circle must close again, when the time comes.”

Before I could ask what she meant, she turned and slipped into the mist like a wisp of ash, leaving the scent of damp earth behind her.

That night I dreamt of my body — or rather, the one that used to be mine — clawing at the inside of its coffin. The sound was muffled, desperate, rhythmic, like fingernails on wet wood. When I woke, the sheets were torn and my hands bled. The soft curves of my new body were wet with perspiration under a pair of Dana's silk pyjamas. How could I possibly go on like this?

I didn’t dare sleep again. I padded into the bathroom where I had removed the mirror, as I had done with every other reflective surface in the apartment. I couldn't bear to catch sight of myself from the corner of my eye. Every time I had, that moment where Dana had bore down on me knife in hand flashed in the back of my skull. However, I did have a sliver of silver that I kept handy for when the curiosity got too much. Such as now.

Dana’s reflection looked back, a face full of makeup that I had not bothered to wash off after the funeral, her features twitching as if she were trying to wake up beneath my skin. I whispered, “Are you still in there?” The glossy red lips in the mirror curled into a smile that wasn’t mine.

Now I understand what the old woman meant. Salvation was never about saving the soul. It was about recycling it.

And I can feel her coming back — clawing her way up to finish what she started – but not from the dirt, from inside of me...

Ace at Bass

 My Gloria Honeypot captions are in no particular order but they now have their own section on my index page

“That's it, Babe, just lean your arse back on the sofa and strum the guitar a bit. That's it! Lovely!” The record company scout barked orders at Finn and the photographer simultaneously – his grating British accent spreading around the penthouse apartment like a rash.

“It's a bass,” wanted to scream. “It's a fucking bass.” Not that there was any love lost with his instrument. He wanted to throw that cursed thing through the 47^th floor apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows even more than he wanted to do the same to the indomitable Mr. Gilbert. Yet, it sat glued to his grasp as it always did – inseparable from its prize.

Looks will get you a long way in the music industry. Even before what followed, Finn was an attractive specimen. His slender build and delicate features captured the attention of women every time he took the stage. It didn't matter that he couldn't play for shit and that the rest of his band only kept him around because his ability to draw in the local ladies was 90% of what got them booked. Two songs of him fumbling awkwardly around with his bass and you could bet your life a pair of panties would be thrown. Now the panties are already on stage, Finn thought bitterly...

The problem started when Finn made the foolish decision to try to improve his musical skills. Like any bad workman, he blamed his tools, and set out in search of a new bass. Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly had seemed like as ideal a place as any – its endless shelves holding a menagerie of treasures to be discovered. The bass guitar had hung from the back wall and Finn had bought it without even a test drive.

He did actually improve at bass. However, the instrument wanted so much more. He couldn't explain why, but he felt compelled to have it with him at all times – or maybe it was the other way around. Yet, the bass was not just satisfied with a dedicated player, it demanded magnificence. Finn didn't remember when he started to wear the makeup, or to wear mini-dresses while he practised. He didn't even remember when he started the hormone treatment. His instrument demanded perfection of its craft and it was sculpting the musician it wanted to play it. By the time he got the breast implants, lip fillers and hair extensions, his bandmates were too caught up with all their new-found male fans to care. So, what if Finn was a woman now. He was hot and that was making them money. They didn't see that their bassist had been enslaved by his cursed instrument.

“We're almost finished here,” Mr. Gilbert waved his hands. “I almost have everything I need to the team and make my recommendation. Almost...” The man started to unbuckle his pants. Finn felt the bass hum in his hands and he knew then it would have him do whatever it took to get to right to the top.  

This Caption Sucks

 This is a commission I did for DeviantArt

There was an almost PTSD nature to the way Paul balled up the silky hair behind his head in re-enactment of twenty minutes earlier when he had given his first ever blowjob. The guy was in the shower now – he could hear the spray from the hotel bathroom and the sound of running water made him suddenly desperate to wash the taste of cum from his mouth. He had swallowed, of course, and that was a shame that would live with him forever even if we was able to escape from the prison of this female body. There was a chance he could forget the feel of the satin thong as it chaffed his bubble butt with his own juices, there was even a chance he could forget the guiding hands on the back of his head and the streams of clumped mascara from his bug-eyes. But he would never forget the shame of feeling another man's seed dribbling down into his stomach.

“They won't all be that gentle, you know?” The gentle feminine sneer came from the corner, and by now, Paul knew better than to ask how June had managed to get into a locked hotel room. For someone who could transform him into the curvy beauty whose body he now occupied, teleportation or astral projection or whatever trick she was using was probably child's play. “Some will use your pretty little mouth like the fleshlight it deserves to be. They will drive their cocks relentlessly into the back of your throat until you gag and crush that cute little button nose into their pubes until it feels like you are breathing their sweat. That's if they want you from the front. Some will be more creative. Has your nose ever been in a man's asshole? If you are a super lucky little bitch, he might eat you out while you drain his balls...not that you deserve it!”

Paul bowed his head, unable to meet her stare. The resolve to resist the urges of his new body formed and then quickly crumbled as he once again tasted the mouthful the man in the shower had given him. If only he could keep his mouth shut. If only he had kept his mouth shut... June was the new office junior at his firm, and on her first day he had asked her out. She had politely declined, so in a spiteful rage, he had spread rumours she was a slut. When June found out, she had shown him exactly what she was – a powerful witch with a cruel temper. With a snap of her fingers, she had transformed Paul into a walking wet-dream – a form he would keep for one week. Unfortunately for Paul, that time reset every time he gave another man a blowjob and June had nastily given him quite the appetite for doing just that.

The shower clicked off and the large man who had shared the bed exited the bathroom. Paul felt a guttural pang of disappointment at seeing the towel wrapped around his waste. The shame was back and he glanced to where June had been to see she was now gone. It didn't matter. He knew she knew and that she was probably enjoying his humiliation all the same. The hunger was already returning, pushing the shame into the back of his mind. This was truly going to be the longest week of Paul's life.

The Capitalist (Bimbo Note)

 12/25

You can find the rest of my Bimbo Note captions on my index page

Azalea loved visiting the racetrack. She didn’t give a damn about horses, but it was full of rich idiots doing careless things with money. It was the perfect place to dress up, push her tits out and take home some lovesick dope with an overstuffed bank account to buy her a new fur coat or some leather boots. Half the time she didn’t even have to let them put their dick in her – a few strokes of the wrist was enough to get these fools to shoot their loads and become smitten. After all, they didn’t bet on horses because they believed in delayed gratification…

Azalea didn’t like to gamble, she liked sure things, but seeing men place their bets was the easiest way to tell who had cash to splash and who didn’t, and so she obliged. It was a sunny Saturday and she was leaning at one of the provided stations filling out a slip. She was betting her usual – the track minimum on the favourite. A well-dressed man with a moustache at the stall next to her appeared to glance over her shoulder and scoff. At first she thought he was looking at her tits, but no one scoffed at her tits, so she surmised that her wager was the source of his derision.

“Alright then stud. What have you got?” She scowled. The man held up his betting slip and Azalea saw that he was planning to bet a thousand bucks on a rank outsider. “Well, good luck with that…” she snorted noting to herself that she didn’t care if he bought her a tiara, no way was she bringing sexual gratification to that weasel face. They both placed their bets with the teller and went to watch the race.

Twenty minutes later and Azalea was waiting for her prey by the betting office. Few punters had opted for the apparent no-hoper ‘Sod’s Chance’ and the moustachioed man was one of only a handful to come and collect winnings. Seeing her, he grinned smugly, holding up his betting slip just as she had hoped he would. She made a mental note of his name written at the top of the slip. She would be making a physical note very shortly.

It didn’t take Azalea long to spot her latest creation. Most women who came to the track were in groups – Prosecco sipping bachelorette parties, who, while often slutty, did not resemble the kind of airhead that the Bimbo Note produced. She saw her target standing alone staring blankly out at the track – big plastic looking jugs bursting out of a figure hugging jacket and a large purse bulging with stacks of bank notes sitting at her feet. Azalea walked over and scooped up the purse before any would-be thief could do the same, and gave the babe a squeeze on the backside.

“Come with me,” she cooed, “enough of those boring horses.” The woman looked at her blandly as she surveyed the people around her. A Rolex peeked from a jacket sleeve. “Here we go!” Azalea guided her over to an expensively dressed man while expertly inching down the zippers on her new bimbo’s jacket and her own catsuit to reveal maximum cleavage. “Hey there!” She bit her lip seductively. “How’d you like to take home a sure thing? You can ride this one all you want…” Azalea snaked an arm around her waist, “…and she doesn’t care where you finish!”

Whatever Happened to Rhys? (Black Friday)

 The original caption is here

Rhys found himself playing with his hair again. The long locks were dry from the sun and had loose ends from the humidity – just as real hair would. This was the longest he had ever worn the bodysuit and he was still finding things to be astounded by. Just the fact he was tottering down a Hawaiian beach in a bikini, turning the heads of surfers as he passed should have been enough – yet the way the sun beat down on the synthetic skin, the way it produced sweat that trickled down the small of his back leaving tiny tickling trails as it went all the way down to the perfect ass that had parted many a Black Friday crush over the years.

This is the least I deserve, he thought as he sipped a rum cocktail from a hollowed out pineapple. This was his just desserts for donning this ridiculous bodysuit every November to retrieve whatever trinket his sister desired this year. He didn't care that he had to enjoy it as a woman. Luxury was luxury.

Ten years ago Rhys had broken his sister's leg in a drunken bike prank gone wrong. Confined to the sofa with her limb in plaster, she had demanded that he put on a ultra-realistic female bodysuit she somehow had and brave the Black Friday crush to purchase a console game she was desperate for in lieu of revealing the true cause of her fractured leg to their parents. To this day, Rhys couldn't even remember what the game had been.

It certainly hadn't helped his memory that his sister had not called it one and done when it came to his new alter ego. Rather she continued to hold the bike incident over him like a dangling guillotine and made it a tradition to gleefully drag out the bodysuit every year for him to put on in place of his dignity. New phones, consoles, even an air-fryer one year, they were well into their twenties by now and due to the challenges of modern life, both still living with their parents. Rhys didn't know what his Mom and Dad would do after all these years if they found out what he had done to their daughter, but for the sake of the roof over his head, he dared not find out.

And then there was this year... His sister had sent him out as usual, this time to buy some super-light weight luggage for a girls' trip she was planning in the new year. He had gone to the checkout, the familiar feeling of shame behind his eyes as the shop assistant scanned the items...and then her face lit up. Rhys had won some kind of promotional prize from the company selling the luggage – a winter sun vacation to Hawaii.

The cocktail tasted extra sweet as Rhys thought of his sister. It was her passport that was tucked into the zip of the luggage that had won him his escape and she would likely find out what he had done when she took her own vacation in the new year. But, hey, what she going to do? He considered, grinning across the surf. Blackmail him?

The Legend of Harlot's Creek Part 4

 

The woman in black stood over them, studying them like they were zoo animals. She tilted her head first to one side, then the other, a wide satisfied smile cracking her beautiful face. Finally, she raised both her arms up and Mikey and Patrick were drawn to their feet before her. They weren't identical creatures – Mikey was curvier and had darker hair, but their outfits, leopard print catsuits that hugged their new feminine bodies, matched perfectly.

“Two!” The woman grinned cruelly “Oh, it works so much better like this. Two mirrors of desire, reflecting one another for eternity.”

“What...” Mikey's caught his tongue before he could say any more. He couldn't bear to listen to the girlish lilt of his new voice. Turning to face his friend, he found himself drinking in the curves of Patrick's body stretching out the spandex outfit. “Oh...” His mouth was dry and he realised that the nipples of his new breasts had become engorged and pressed painfully against the tight material. “Ohhhh...” This time there was no mistaking it – a fully-fledged moan and Mikey watched in terror as his hand involuntary reached between his legs. His mind registered shock as he realised he still had his cock and it now bulged firmly in his slender hand, but his body betrayed him, stoking his throbbing erection as drool dripped from between his soft pink lips.

“There's no use trying to fight it!” As long as you are horny, you are mine. “Men always have been. Only this time there are two of you. Two sexy muses to inspire each other's untold debauchery!”

“Ohhhh...” By now Patrick was also a passenger in the body that wasn't even his save for his stiff dick. The more he tried to fight it, the less he wanted to as desire rushed through him. Desire for the girl that held Mikey like a prison, desire for the raven haired woman - their gaoler, desire for his own voluptuousness. Was it he who dropped into a squat or the alter-ego that was his desire possessing him? Was there even a difference? His delicate face was inches from Mikey's powerful round ass and he imagined burying his nose between those cheeks – he imagined burying his cock between those cheeks, and he knew before the night was over he would do both.

Mikey's mind was drunk on pleasure. He desperately needed to find how to remove the catsuit. The other girl's face was almost exactly where he needed it but that stretchy material was in the way. He imagined crushing her button nose into his ass as he reached ecstasy. He would ride her face and then she would ride his ass and then the sorceress would ride them both – just as she had done the Scarlet Harlot all those centuries ago. As she would continue to do so for eternity. And by night, they wonder the creek, searching for others to bring back here. Searching for more toys for the mistress to play with...

The Legend of Harlot's Creek Part 3

 

“This was a bad idea!” Patrick murmured as he angled his flashlight around the darkness of the mansions ruins. In the early hours of the morning the house was a different beast to the eerie remains they used for their smoke breaks. In the pitch black in was downright sinister. “I mean, I know we're doing this for Caleb, but is it really worth getting killed over? Like, sure he's a hot babe now...scratch that, a hot horny babe who wants to use us as her living sextoys, but there are worse things...right? Maybe there's even an upside? Can we honestly say he was truly happy as Cal...”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Mikey hissed. They were entering hat was either a courtyard or what was once a great hall that had had its roof caved in.”Hey, would you look at that?” He pointed his light at the wall in front of them. An enormous picture frame hung from it – the canvas painted with the life-sized depiction of a darkly beautiful woman with raven hair and severe features dressed all in black. Her cape appeared to billow in the night. “Holy shit!” Mikey cried. “Hey, how does it look so new? It's basically fresh!”

“Funny!” The woman in the picture smirked and cocked her head to one side. “I was just thinking the same about you! Fresh...fresh...fresh...MEAT!” She practically shouted the final word and both boys responded by dropping their flashlights in terror. What followed was a desperate scramble as Mikey and Patrick clamoured to find their extinguished lights. Patrick squealed in horror as he slapped the ground, his hand finally hitting something hard and plastic only for it to be pulled away from his grasp. “Let me help you with that!” The woman's sneer was six inches from his face, the flashlight held just below her chin. With a snap, she redirected it right into his eyes and the world went white.

When their surroundings finally came back into focus, the night was gone and the courtyard was no longer the wrecked bowels of a destroyed house. The walls were white marble and the ground was covered in lush grass. The raven haired woman stood in the centre of it wrapped in a black cape and clutching the flashlight like a toy. She smiled triumphantly.

Patrick realised in his panic he had crawled over his sprawled friend and looked down only to receive an even greater shock. Beneath him was the pert ass of a girl clad in a leopard print catsuit and judging from her grunting, she was as frightened as he was. He tried to push himself up only to find that the same feline pattern wrapped his now much more slender arms.

“Dude, get off me!” The girl cried out in a soft voice. “Hey, what's wrong with my voice?” She rolled over and looked at Patrick leaning over her. “Hey, who the hell are you? Where's Patrick?”

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!”