Don't Mess With Witches!!

 2/25

I don’t know who needs to hear this! But…I beg you, don’t fuck with witches?! Not even a little. Not even a tiny little bit. Let me cut to the chase! My name is Barry. Do I look like a Barry to you? Do these big ‘ole titties look like Barry’s titties? Because a month ago I looked like a Barry. A month ago I looked like regular old broke ass Barry trying to find somewhere cheap to live so I could find a job and spend the rest of my life paying off the tuition I racked up to get the job in the first place. Except, now I am racked up with these…

You know how I got these? Desperation! See, to get the place to live to get the job to get the lifetime of indentured servitude, I need some liquidity – more debt. I know right… Except, I don’t have a job yet, so no-one is going to lend me any money for a deposit. That is, until my boy Kyle told me about a friend of a friend who knew this old lady who lends money. Oh, by the way, fuck you, Kyle!!

So, anyway, I went to see the lady – sweet old thing, and yes, she immediately agreed to lend me the green no questions asked. It was too good to be true, so I asked what was the catch and she pulled out this little figurine made of soft clay. I remember being a bit creeped out because it looked a little like me and was even dressed a bit like me, but the euphoria took over and besides I would pay her back in two weeks when I got my first paycheck.

Well, unfortunately for me, I fluffed interview after interview and turned up at the sweet little old lady’s door empty handed two weeks later, she just smiled warmly and placed the me-like figure on her coffee table. Producing a new piece of clay, she tore it in two and rolled two perfect little balls and pushed them up under the hoodie the figure was wearing – that happened to perfectly match the top I had pulled on that morning.

I stood there with my mouth wide open as two fleshy mounds grew on my chest in real time – two large bouncing and very real female breasts. I stayed away from her house after that – probably ill-advised but have any of my actions been even remotely wise? Every day that followed, every day that I didn’t pay my debt, I woke up with something new – long silky hair, soft feminine features, a curvy womanly body – no doubt that lady was sculpting that creepy miniature version of me. Today, it seems like she must have borrowed from the wardrobe of Cabaret Barbie because suddenly I am dressed like a stripper.

My options are changing and I worry what my job choices are now if I am to actually pull together this money to pay her back. I ordered this book online, ‘Voodoo for Dummies’ (see, I am even mentioned in the title) to try to find a way to reverse the process, but I am an amateur going up against a pro. All it has done is open my eyes to the arsenal of possibilities that sweet old bitch could still resort to – womanly thoughts, womanly desires, womanly pleasures… I already have the womanly body so is that what’s next? I refuse to even read the chapter on possession… Witches, man, I am telling you…stay the fuck away…!

The Intervention

 1/25

I already have a flashback cap planned out for this standalone

We’ve all got one of those friends – the kind that need saving. I don’t just mean once either – it’s again and again, and each time, despite how you think you have finally got through, you know they'll be needing another rescue sometime soon. Mine was Phillippa, and even as I sat in the small box room on the end of her bed waxing lyrical about how she would get past this and find something better, I didn’t quite believe my own words. Part of me knew this would be just the latest episode in a long line of fuck ups.

This time she had fallen in with a local gang. I suspected drugs were involved but I knew she was turning tricks for them, and even with her history, this shit seemed a little deeper than usual. She looked genuinely scared that I was here and kept glancing nervously to the large chest at the end of the bed – the only other furniture in the grotty one room apartment. Finally, I gave up and asked what was inside.

“It’s what they make me wear. For the clients…” She stammered. “It’s not clothing.” She explained seeing my confusion, “it’s like a kind of bodysuit. I put it on and I become their whore. It makes me feel things. It makes me want to do things. It’s how they make sure I service the clients properly.” Phillippa’s face glowed red with humiliation and a tear rolled down one cheek.

Suddenly, the intercom beeped and I saw panic enter Phillippa’s eyes. “It’s them!” She hissed. “You need to hide!” I surveyed the room around me – bare except for the bed and the chest. My friend threw open the lid and I saw what looked like the body of a young women wearing a night gown filling the inside space. “You need to put it on!” She shrieked. “If they find you in here, they will kill us both!” No time for a second thought, I stripped off my clothes and Phillippa stuffed them into a pillowcase. She then helped me into the bodysuit and folded me into the chest – finally closing the lid and consigning me to darkness.

Not seconds later, angry male voices filled the room outside my box – a muffled scream, more shouting, a crash of something hitting the wall, more shouting, and then finally the slam of a door. When I was sure the coast was clear, I pushed open the top of the test.

As I had pulled on the bodysuit, I had been operating on pure adrenaline. I hadn’t had time to look at it, but now in the empty room, I ran slender feminine hands over skin that felt as real as my own.. I caught sight of myself in the mirrored ceiling and a beautiful young woman in a negligee gazed back. No hint of my male self could be seen, and more importantly, no hint of a way to remove the suit.

Realising that if I wanted to remove it, I needed to find my friend, I stumbled out of the apartment and into the night. It was a sketchy neighbourhood and I saw men leering at me from street corners as cars whizzed past. I had walked about half a mile when I started to feel strange. A heat smouldered in my abdomen before spreading into my groin with a tingling warmth. As I tried to focus, Phillippa’s words pounded in my head.” It makes me feel things. It makes me want to do things.”

Season 7 Prologue - Under the Influence Part 6.5

 0/25

Something to wet the....appetite...

I have added links to the rest of the Under the Influence caps to my index page

Lady Radius sneered into the webcam making sure not to block the view of her subject behind her. The trussed up feminised man gave a perfectly timed whimper through his napkin gag and the domina watched with satisfaction as donations and offerings came flooding in on the monitor. She was playing a wedding night scene with one of her sissy slaves and she made sure to give her subscribers a good view of her skin-tight latex tuxedo and top hat whilst maintaining her aura of absolute domination.

“What do you pathetic shits want to see now?” She cracked a folded leather whip into her palm and gestured over her shoulder to where her ‘bride’ sat in clear discomfort squeezed into an agonisingly tight corset and tied to a footstool. The figure leaned forward as much as its bonds would allow to avoid putting full weight on the bejewelled buttplug tucked beneath the thong underwear section of the corset.

A flurry of requests filled the chat – “strap-on”, “face-fuck”, “tickle torture” – all good ideas but she ignored any that didn’t come with a financial gift. She slapped the whip once more to keep her slave trembling while she waited for a paying request. At last, a loud orgasmic moan came from her monitor indicating someone had made a donation and $10 appeared next to one of the usernames in the chat.

Lady Radius paused. There were no perverse instructions next to the payment – just a link to an OnlyFemmes profile. Curious, she clicked through and began to read. Some Femboy model appeared to have put a $10k bounty on himself for whoever made him their slave. The domme almost forgot herself and slipped into an excited smile as she surveyed the pictures of the soft little blonde trap. She would make him her masterpiece.

“Sorry to cut our wedding night short,” she turned off the webcam and addressed the quivering sissy in her living room. “But there’s a game afoot!” She tucked her whip into a latex cummerbund. “I will be back for you later…maybe…”

Zoligomyst Presents - Season 7 (A Sissy's Work is Never Done)

 You may have noticed I posted a countdown a few weeks back - maybe not.

Regardless, I am pleased to tell you that I have just put the finishing touches on my latest collection of 25 captions/stories.

Once the timer hits zero, the fun will begin with 25 weeks of Sissy Sunday. I really hope you enjoy them.

Having posted just 14 stories in the last four years, my writing is a little rusty but I am really pleased with the ideas and storylines I have put together. There will be old friends and new, and I truly feel that, unlike with other seasons I posted, there are zero filler caps and everything is good femme fun.

Being the diehard introvert, I generally hate self promotion, but I don't think I should be able to disappear for so long without at least some explanation. Essentially, I have spent the last two and half years building a computer system, and, being the workaholic that I am, I have also spent this time neglecting friends, family, my health and the things that bring me joy - including creating these silly stories with ludicrous recurring characters.

Well, that's about to change. Season 7 is finished and coming (lol!) and you will notice that I am spacing the captions out weekly. This is to ensure I have plenty of time to get Season 8 ready to launch soon after. It is actually fully planned out - I just don't want to rush the writing and I can longer churn out 8 captions a night as I used to 12 years ago...

See you soon!

zoli