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!”

Method Acting Part 1

 This is a four part commission done for DeviantArt

“I don't get it,” Oscar frowned, “I thought transgender actors were supposed to play transgender roles now. It's the latest industry bullshit...representation...” He practically spat the word. Had it really come to this? Was his career really so deep in the shitter? Since the sexual harassment scandal, it had been hard enough finding a new agent. So hard in fact, that he had to settle for the impossibly grey Agnes Crowe, who seemed ancient enough to remember silent film, and now, here was the old bitch telling him to put on a dress to revive his waning acting career. He rolled his eyes at her. “Okay, next! What else is there?”

“There is no 'next'.” Agnes stammered. “That is it. It is incredibly difficult trying to secure you offers given your...reputation...given everything that came out in the press – not to mention the ongoing lawsuits. The only other correspondence you have is from Bianca – she wants you to come clean.”

“Fuck her!” Oscar snorted. “I only have so many pounds of flesh to give...” Bianca had been his original accuser. Back when he was still a big-shot star, she alleged that he had made her sleep with him to secure a role that she never even got. When she came clean to the media about it, he had publicly ruined her – making sure that the entire industry saw her as nothing more than a gold-digging whore. When the allegations from the other women came out years later, Oscar's reputation was indeed in tatters but it was still far too late for Bianca. The world had kept turning and the movie business had left her behind.

“Noted...” Agnes pressed her lips together and looked at her feet. “Well, the reason the studio is willing to cast their net a little wider for the role is that they need an accomplished pianist. They could use a double for the key scenes, but they'd rather not and they remember your part in 'An Affair in Dmajor'. I really think you should consider it. Your legal fees are growing by the day and you don't currently have any other income.”

Oscar replayed the conversation in his head as he stood in front of a firing range of cameras and lights. Four months had passed since he signed the contract and from day one, the producers had insisted on a cocktail of hormones to get him into the 'shape' the role demanded. He hadn't read the script before signing because he never really thought had much of a choice but he now wished he had if for no other reason than to prepare him for what was to come. The lingerie scene tested his hormone treatments to the limit and as he leaned back against the piano waiting for the director to call 'action', he may may as well have been naked. The makeup chair, growing out his hair, all the walking up and down backstage in heels, could only do so much. Once the cameras started rolling, it was all him...for as many takes as it took to get his career back on track.

Subliminal Part 1

 10/25

“So, what's this then?” Max coughed loudly from his place at the head of the conference table in the boardroom of his high-end fashion empire. Women squawked excitedly as they gathered around an image projected on the screen at the other end of the room. There were obvious benefits to stuffing one's company board with attractive young women, but at times it really was like herding cats. “Ladies!”he finally barked, “explain!”

“The panel...” Anita his CFO turned to face him at last, her eyes bulging with wonder. “The test audience. The one we ran last week for the new ad... You know...” her voice dropped to a whisper as if there might be spies in the room, “...the subliminal one.” She turned back to the projector screen and Max followed her gaze. It was a shot of a young red-headed woman walking in the snow whilst dripping in Max Vektor merchandise – not just the dress and knitted roll-neck from their latest line but also a bag, a watch, boots – all high-end and very expensive. The penny dropped. It had worked. “Boss...” Anita turned back to him. “This is Kevin.”

“Kevin!?” Max almost spat out his morning coffee. “You mean this is a guy? And the ad did this to him?”

“Well, technically he did this to himself,” Anita replied. “But, yes, after watching the ad. His wife sent this picture in last night. Apparently he is completely addicted to our products now. He is completely obsessed with trying to look like the models from the commercial. She is threatening to sue.”

“But...” Max tried to stifle a smirk, “I thought the test audience were all women. Didn't Marketing only show it to our usual demographic of customers?” His smirk quickly disappeared as he began to ponder the potential legal consequences.

“They were,” said Anita. “I mean they did. But Kevin, he's the video tech who ran the test screening.”

“I see...” relief washed over Max and his grin returned. “So, he works for us... Well then, it should be pretty easy to keep this out of the press. We just need to give Kevin's wife some shares in the company and make sure that ad never sees the light of day!”

“Aren't you forgetting something, Boss? Anita responded urgently. “We previewed the ad in our last board meeting two days ago.” She glanced back at her colleagues frantically gathered around the screen. “We all watched it! You watched it!”

Whatever Happened to Frank? (Doll House Arrest)

 We last saw Frank here as part of a three part story

Frank stood in front of one of the apartments many mirrors and looked back into the kitchen area. Lola has posted a newspaper cutting on the fridge. He stepped back into the room and snatched it from under the magnet. His nails were still tacky from the coat of rose-pink polish Lola had insisted on. He flexed his fingers carefully so as not to smudge them, though the article before him made his stomach churn.

FUGITIVE BANK ROBBER PRESUMED DEAD

His mugshot stared back from the page: hard eyes, rough jaw, a man who didn’t smile for cameras. According to the story, the police believed he’d drowned in the river during a botched escape. Case closed. Investigation terminated. Dead. He was dead. He looked at another mirror. A stranger stared back. Her cheekbones were sharp, her lips plump and glossy, her hair pinned up elegantly. The white miniskirt she wore clung to her curves, curves Lola had paid surgeons handsomely to sculpt. Not a fugitive. Not a man. A doll.

“Isn’t it romantic?” Lola’s voice floated in from the doorway. She breezed in carrying a breakfast tray, humming, her bubblegum-pink robe swishing around her ankles. “Our anniversary gift! The state has declared you officially deceased. It’s like a second wedding certificate.” She set the tray down and kissed him on the temple, leaving a faint lipstick print. “No more police. No more hiding. No more of that dreadful mugshot.” She snatched the paper and flung it into the trash. “Now you can live as who you really are. My perfect, beautiful doll.”

Frank stared at his reflection again, heart hammering. He cursed how many mirrors she had put up. Her ceaseless reminders. “Lola, I can’t keep doing this.”

Her smile stiffened. “Can’t?” She leaned over him, her perfume thick and sugary, her nails resting lightly on his throat. “Darling, you are doing this. You’ve been doing it for a year. And I’ve never been prouder.”

He tried again, weakly. “Maybe it’s time I… left. Started fresh.”

Her nails tightened, just a fraction. “And go where? As who?” She laughed, high and sharp. “You're dead. Everyone knows it. You want to stroll into a bank looking like this and shout, ‘Remember me?’ You’d last five minutes.” Lola softened, stroking his cheek with mock tenderness. “Besides, I’ve booked something wonderful for us. A little touch-up on that voice of yours. Permanent this time. Once it’s done, nobody will ever doubt you again.” She kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear, “When they hear you speak, Frank will be gone forever. But, sugarplum, forever looks so good on you, so why don't you smile?”

The stranger in the mirror with the soft eyes and painted lips stared at him. A stranger who had his heartbeat, his thoughts, his prison sentence. He tried to imagine the man in the mugshot, the man in the article. But the harder he tried, the blurrier that face became. Finally, he did as he was told. In the mirror, the doll smiled back.

Liza's Final Lesson Part 4 (an Aiko Story)

 

Theo's body thrummed and tingled as if electricity was coursing through his veins. He felt the sunshine beating down on his legs. No...that wasn't right, he realised. They were wrapped in something. Something tight and soft and covered in delicate patterns. He liked patterns. He liked painting them on things...with his spray cans. The image of a spray can popped into his head and he suddenly felt a jolt of panic but didn't understand why.

He sucked hard on his lower lip. It tasted like strawberries. He sucked so hard that drool dripped down his chin and fell in a huge droplet to the ground, which he now realised was moving. No, that was wrong. It was him that was moving. He gazed down and watched with fascination as the feet with the rhinestones and tiny little bows moved him forward – first one then the other – left then right. But how?

He looked up again and saw the lollipop clasped in his outstretched gloved hand. He wasn't sure why but he needed that lollipop. It would fix him. It was why he was walking...to get the lollipop. Yet, no matter how far he walked, it was always at arm's length from him. He cried out in frustration...a soft feminine scree and then a more guttural caw.

Theo needed that lollipop. He was desperate for that lollipop. He was hungry, he was thirsty...he was horny for that lollipop! His skin bristled again and he became hyper-aware of all the different fabrics covering his body – the nylon of the tights on his legs, the soft cotton of his dress, the shiny satin of the slightly too small panties that hugged his butt. He was still horny for the lollipop but now he was sweating too. Someone had just turned the sun up.

Theo kept walking and memories washed in and out of his mind. He remembered his boner – his stiff cock stretching that silky material while the girls looked on open-mouthed. The one called Aiko had been annoyed and poked him with the brush and he had felt shame – even though it felt good, but the other one, the American one had laughed. Not in the way a girl laughs at a tiny dick – it was the joy that comes with full head-back enjoyment. It was the same joy he saw in her face when she put the diaper on him. He'd had a boner then too, but no-one could see – and he'd got another one when Aiko had been brushing his hair. It wasn't his fault. It was that damned lollipop. If he could just get it, everything would be okay.

Theo felt someone stepping up beside him, holding his empty hand. It was the American girl. She reached out and held his arm, folding it at the elbow so that his hand moved towards his face. So that's how it worked?! He opened his mouth to greet the welcome arrival. Everything was okay now. His erection would be gone in no time, and all would be well...

Liza's Final Lesson Part 3 (an Aiko Story)

 

“Aiko, can I ask you something?” said Liza after they had finally arrived at her Japanese friend's house. Their quarry was slumped on the floor, still drooling over painted lips. As soon as they had arrived, Aiko had urgently swapped Theo out of the diaper and flimsy pyjama set into simple set of satin panties, a basic white dress lined with material similar to a wedding veil and frilly ankle socks. She was now sorting through her vast wardrobe for the perfect outfit to complete his transformation. “Earlier,” Liza continued, “you said you used to feminise any boy, not just those who deserved it. Can I ask what changed?” She administered another dose of spray candy to the prone Theo.

“Oh Lizy...” Aiko popped her head out from behind a closet door. “Remember what I once told you. The sissies are not our prisoners, they are our guests. We should give them what they 'paid' for. I am not saying never take a boy because you want him. I am saying we can't be cruel. We must not be tyrants. We must be loving guiding hands.” She gently caressed the side of Theo's face and began to brush his hair in preparation of his final form.

“But, what about the clothes I put him in at mine?” Liza protested. “The satin pyjamas, the stockings...I have seen your blog. You have dressed boys in similar before. But when I do it, it is 'slutty'?” She administered more spray candy to Theo.

“You didn't mention the diaper...” Aiko raised an eyebrow, then finally sighed. “You're right...” she started to lay-out a dress onto her bed. “I did use to do things differently. But I changed... Things happened to my sissies... Things happened to my friend Nish..” She suddenly shot out an arm to prevent Liza giving Theo another dose of spray candy and looked her friend in the face sternly. “You give him too much!? You can't do that!? My candy is so powerful. It unravels them – unlocks the primal urges beneath. But not everything inside is sweetness and light! He could hurt you!” Aiko held Liza's gaze for a long pause. “Look!” Aiko helped a completely compliant Theo to his feet – his thousand yard stare boring through the bedroom wall. The veiled dress cascaded over his body but a throbbing erection tented his satin panties mercilessly. Aiko prodded at it with her hairbrush and the boy's upper-lip twitched.

“Holy crap!” Liza exclaimed. “I did that? Well...I mean, the candy did that?”

“With the candy we buy their control,” Aiko's face softened slightly. “But once we have it, we must keep it. We must be responsible...” The two girls stood in silence and for a few minutes and watched the boy's boner slowly fold back into its prissy home. “Good, now let's get Theo ready to join Danny at the cupcake store, shall we?”

Liza's Final Lesson Part 2 (an Aiko Story)

 

Aiko and Liza caught up with Theo later that day. Danny was securely under Mrs. Doyle's supervision and the girls had been approaching Liza's home when they saw the older boy painting an offensive slogan on a park bench. Liza had approached him stealthily from behind and shot two quick hits of the spray candy into his open mouth before he could even register her presence, He had turned to face the girls, his eyes burning intensely framed by a long blond skater-boy hairstyle. Aiko gripped Liza's hand confidently as they stood frozen beneath the looming boy. A smile spread across her face as she watched the fury in Theo's eyes melt before them into something softer...something malleable.

“I don't get it, Lizy,” Aiko exclaimed, “why would you even own nasty clothes like that?” They had dragged Theo back to Liza's house as it was closest and the mad rush to get him out of his boy clothes had begun. Unfortunately, Liza didn't have access to the same extensive kawaii wardrobe that Aiko had in her home and so Theo was kneeling in front of them in a combination of a satin bedtime set that was as much stripper as it was sissy, white stockings and six-inch platform heels. “And a diaper?!” Aiko cried. “What the fudge, Liza!?”

“I just have them okay...” Liza averted her eyes and blushed deep red. “He's too tall for the rest of my outfits so this is all there was... And the diaper...I don't know. Does it matter?” She seemed cross at her friend's interrogation and turned to give Theo a top-up of the spray candy. Any resistance the boy had was long gone and he still hadn't put his arms down from when Liza had raised them above his head to adjust the shiny material of his top. They were just suspended there above his natural long blonde hair that Aiko had brushed and styled while Liza managed his outfit. His eyes stard blankly at them, almost zombie like, and for a moment Liza felt thankful she had put a diaper on him. He didn't seem to be able to function at all. She gave him one last spray of the candy and wiped a smudge of lip-gloss from his chin.

“We should get him to mine!” Aiko frowned disapprovingly. “This won't do at all... I don't know why you have these ugly things Liza, but our sissies should be delicate and feminine...not...not...slutty!” She raised an embarrassed hand to her mouth.

“Drop it, okay!” Liza snapped. “Fine, we will take him to your house. I think Theo could do with some fresh air anyway.” She scowled at the boy and pulled his hands down from above his head. The boy just stared at her blankly – a bead of drool trickling down his painted lower lip. “I think we will both need to hold him up. He's not looking too steady and those heels are no joke...believe me! Or...so I imagine...”

Liza's Final Lesson Part 1 (an Aiko Story)

 All of my Aiko stories are in order on my index page

“Did you know, my dear Lizy...?” Aiko rested her hand under her chin with a nostalgic sigh, “when I first started collecting my little sissies...when I first discovered the power of that precious candy, I used it on every boy I could get my hands on. I painted my home town pink. People were terrified that if they even breathed the same air as me, I would be leading them home in satin panties.” She gave her friend a coy smile. “Most often they were right!” Aiko looked Liza directly the eye. “It took me time to learn that the sweetest treats were those naughty boys who truly deserved to be taught a lesson.” She turned her head to the petticoated creature descending her front steps at a snail's pace. “For example Danny here.”

“With great power, comes great femininity!” Liza nodded sagely. “After that nasty graffiti he sprayed on Mrs. Doyle's cupcake shop, he definitely deserved some redecorating of his own!” The two girls stopped talking to watch the boy finally make it to the bottom. His head was bowed, either in shame or to concentrate on placing the platform Mary Janes down the steps without turning one of his stocking covered ankles.

“Speaking of spray paint,” Aiko chirped cheerfully, “that cheeky little invention of yours is quite genius. Every girl should have one, just in case!” She gestured to the cylinder in Liza's hand. It was a can of specially engineered spraying candy that Liza had wielded like a pepper spray into their victim's mouth even as he was still painting the shop window blue. Shortly after, it was Aiko and Liza who had been doing the painting – Danny's lips and cheeks and nails – both finger and toe – as the boy's resistance crumbled in order to get another dose of the girls' liquid candy

“But what about his partner in crime?” Liza exclaimed. “Theo!” She repeated the name that Danny had quickly surrendered as the girls fastening one of Aiko's pretty patterned dresses extra tight around him. “I think he was the ring-leader. He seemed older. He deserves this too – maybe even more!” Danny raised his head and met their gaze for the first time as if in agreement. He quickly averted his eyes to studying the bag held in one hand – seemingly remembering his predicament.

“Patience, Lizy!” Aiko tutted. “A sissy in the hand is worth two in the bush. Besides, we don't want little Danny here thinking we don't care about him, do we? Theo will get his very sweet just desserts in good time – but first we need to walk Danny back down to Mrs. Doyle's to clean that poor window he got all dirty. Come on, let's get going now – the heels are so he can reach the high bits but I want to walk him the long way there to get him used to them. I am hoping there will be time left for him to help out Mrs. Doyle in the store – but I'm not greedy...not like I used to be... Once upon a time I would have put my candy in the cupcake batter and had every boy in town begging to be put in panties...”

Even the Biggest Fish Fears a Shark

9/25

The Pink n Prissy Collective and all their captions (and storyline reboots...) are on my index page.

Grace sat swaddled in the oversized hoodie alone in her room in the house shared by the members of the Pink n Prissy Collective. It had been six months since her friends had rescued her but time as the monstrous Kirsten’s personal plaything still haunted her. Hiding her body behind baggy clothes, she hid inside a shadow of her former self. There was a soft knock on her door and Josie, Charlotte, Terri and Cassie, the rest of the Pink n Prissy Collective, appeared in its frame. Terri, the group’s tech guru, was holding a laptop.

“We’ve got a surprise for you!” Charlotte skipped into the room and the four girls planted themselves on Grace’s bed. The computer screen was open to an app called Mugshot and Charlotte spotted Grace’s confusion. “It’s a new face-to-face video chat app. It launched while you were…away. It has lots of features that I am sure you will get used to over time.” She nodded to Terri who was in the process of setting up a call with a user named Emi_theShark.

“Don’t worry, she’s not scary,” Cassie soothed, “well, I guess she is…just not to us. To us she is sweet! She’s kind of like our idol!” The videocall connected and the laptop screen was filled by the face of an attractive yet powerful looking woman with long bangs framing a pair of startling eyes. Grace noticed with surprise that a shiny latex top rose all the way over her throat.

“Hey, you guys!” Emi greeted them cheerfully. “And I suppose this is Grace?” She sipped a glass of champagne and smiled warmly. “Is she ready for my gift?” Emi appeared to adjust her screen so that the girls could see a wider angle of her room and Grace gasped. Emi was sat at a large extendable dining table with a hole that someone had added between two of the slats. A fully encased black latex head was trapped by the hole – the only visible parts of its occupant a pair of pink painted lips and a set of piercing eyes.

“Kirsten…” Grace whispered in disbelief. “But how?!”

“There’s always a bigger fish, kid!” Emi grinned. “And then there are sharks!” She shared a link across the chat and Terri opened what looked like an OnlyFemmes profile belonging to Emi. The page showed numerous video feeds of different figures in various arrangements of bondage and Terri clicked the newest post at the top. The screen now displayed a wide angle view of Kirsten’s predicament and the girls could see that the rest of her body below the table was also clad in seamless black latex and strapped in place with leather and metal clasps. “I have set you up as my newest subscriber, so let me show you how this works,” Emi explained. “Our ‘big fish’ here is equipped with a selection of my toys that can be activated by the subscribers’ keyboard. ‘N’ is of course nipples. Give it a try!” Grace tentatively pressed the keyboard and watched as her former tormentor gave an uncharacteristic squeal.

“’A’ is Cassie’s favourite,” Terri chided her friend who was known to have a buttplug in her bedside drawer, and pushed the corresponding key. This time Kirsten gave a yelp and jumped up, banging her shoulders on the underside of the table.

“Finally, most of my guests are male,” Emi continued, “so ‘C’ is usually to activate the toy attached to their cock. “But, unintentionally, I think it still works!” Grace pressed the ‘C’ key and within a few seconds, Kirsten’s eyes started to roll back into her latex clad head. When she removed her finger, the eyes returned with a clear film of shame at the degradation she was enduring. “I agree,” Emi nodded, “use that one sparingly.”

“Grace, we are so glad to have you back!” Josie the leader of the Pink n Prissy Collective took her hand. “I know we can’t take back what Kirsten did to you, but I sure hope this helps get your confidence back. There are a lot of boys out there – and we need your help to feminise them all!”

Whatever Happened to Rodney? (Slight Oversight)

 Original caption is here 

The young man exiting the interview room looked nothing short of professional. A dark grey suit paired nicely with a black tie and an expensive haircut – Rodney longed for the days when he could put himself together in such a way. The man glanced at his fellow job applicant approvingly and began to shuffle papers into a briefcase in a manner that oozed confidence and competency. Rodney sighed. It was going to have to be one of 'those' interviews. Blushing slightly, he unfastened the top two buttons of his striped blouse.

When Rodney had originally pulled on the bodysuit all those years ago, it was intended to be a treat, a one-off to get his urges out of his system – or so he had thought. Little had he known at the time that due to his own carelessness, it would be a transformation that would never be reversed. He did find the bodysuit's missing key eventually, It was folded into the second page of the product's welcome pack, but by then it far too late and Rodney's fate, and the bodysuit, were well and truly sealed. Needless to say, he did get the urges out of his system very quickly indeed

The bodysuit had come with some additional extras – character modifiers intended to give the wearer an experience akin to a beautiful yet somewhat airheaded woman. These changes had made Rodney's adaptation to his new existence even more difficult. Ideas seemed more complicated, words felt longer and he would often find himself staring off into space, his lips parted and his eyes vacant. He hated himself for it, but more and more he found himself having to rely on his sexuality to get what he needed. He perfected the art of flirting, flashing a but of skin when it would benefit him and, once the platform grew in notoriety, even selling the odd picture on OnlyFemmes.

Rodney survived through embracing his unwanted femininity but he still longed to create a life for himself that stood independently of a strategically chewed lip, or a perfectly timed pushup bra – a life that belonged to him and not the now permanent bodysuit.

Applying for the the Personal Assistant job had been a chore. The advert had been paragraphs of long words he had to put into a search engine – taking his time to ensure he got the spelling right – but the birth of AI had helped a lot with the process and he found himself squealing with joy when the email came through offering an interview. Still determined not to resort back to the tried and tested exploitation of his appearance, he dressed conservatively in a smart blouse and dark slacks, his eyeglasses perched professionally on his nose.

The young man finished packing his briefcase and smiled politely. He waved a silent fairwell and left the waiting area already on a phone call confidently telling someone how he had nailed the interview. Rodney hesitated before unfastening two more buttons on his blouse.

The Changing Seas Part 4

By the time AquaLure’s Deep Within campaign launched, the world had officially lost its mind over Eva. There were perfume ads, workout routines, even a cookbook called Eating Like a Mermaid. Miranda DeValle basked in it all like a CEO who believed she’d personally discovered Atlantis. The “grand reveal” was set for a live broadcast from the same beach where it all began. There’d be fireworks, holograms, drones—the works. Miranda promised “a message of truth from our muse herself.”

Backstage, Miranda checked her reflection one last time and hissed into her headset, “Is she mic’d up? I want sincerity but not too sincere.”

Evan stood a few feet away, wrapped in a towel, hair damp from the ocean. He tweaked his delicate features into a sweet smile. “Oh, don’t worry, Miranda. I’ll keep it real.”

When the lights came up, Miranda strutted onto the glass runway that jutted over the surf. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she beamed, “AquaLure’s spirit of purity, rebirth, and authenticity… Eva!” Eva stepped forward, calm and radiant. Cameras zoomed in, phones lifted, hashtags multiplied like algae blooms. “Eva,” Miranda said, voice syrupy, “tell the world what AquaLure means to you.”

Evan took the microphone, expression unreadable. The crowd hushed. “What does AquaLure mean to me?” he said slowly. “It means illusion. It means lighting tricks, camera angles, and silicone fins.” A ripple of confusion passed through the audience. Miranda’s smile froze. Evan held up a familiar object: the battered prototype fin, still patched with glue and sand from the storm. “This,” he said, “is your ‘mystical mermaid.’I designed it. I made it. I built her. And she was never real. Just a well engineered mascot!” The crowd gasped. Drones hovered uncertainly, unsure if they were filming a scandal or performance art. Miranda lunged for the mic, and Evan slipped away from her grasp and continued, louder now, voice clear and ringing. “But I was real. I got swept out to sea trying to save this thing. When I came back, everyone decided to believe the fantasy instead of the truth. Maybe that says more about marketing than magic.” Then he smiled, soft and genuine. “But here’s the funny part—I think the sea decided to keep me anyway.” With that, she dropped the fin, turned, and walked calmly into the water.

The crowd erupted—half outrage, half awe. Cameras flashed. Miranda stood soaked in spotlight and silence, her empire unraveling one viral clip at a time. Evan waded in until the waves reached his waist. There was a shimmer, a flicker of silver light, and then he was gone.

By morning, #AquaLureHoax was trending. Investors bailed. Miranda was last seen trying to spin the disaster as “a performance about truth in advertising.” Nobody bought it.

And the world kept spinning – the tides kept turning and within weeks the public had moved onto the next thing. Eva the Mermaid was forgotten – for the most part anyway. Local fishermen gossiped about an ethereal figure, little more than a silhouette really, sat on the rocks below the cliffs – always after a storm – a women's laughter carried on the breeze. Now and then, one of them would find a perfect seashell washed ashore – always etched with the same single line. “The sea is real enough for me.

 

The Changing Seas Part 3

 

Evan should have been dead, or at least missing, but by the time he dragged himself back to land, he was trending. #RealMermaid, #OceanAuthentic, and #AquaLureLives had flooded social media. The clips were everywhere: shaky phone footage of his half-human, half-tail form on the beach, saltwater glittering under sunlight. In every thumbnail, he looked like the perfect viral product shot.

Miranda greeted him at the beach with an army of marketing executives before he had even found dry clothes. “Darling, what a miracle!” she gushed. “You’ve transcended branding. You are the brand.” And that’s how Evan found himself back on an AquaLure set—this time not as the designer but as the object. Within a week, “Eva the Mermaid” was fronting a global campaign. There were billboards, interviews, photoshoots. He hadn’t agreed to any of it—but he also hadn’t said no, mostly because every time he tried to explain he used to be a man, people nodded sympathetically and said, “That’s so brave of you to share your journey.”

The first commercial shoot was at a private beach. Drones buzzed, makeup artists fussed, and Miranda circled like a shark in designer heels. “Darling, you glow,” she beamed. “The ocean has claimed you! You are AquaLure.”

Evan just stood there frozen in the surf wearing a magnificent sequinned dress that had been engineered to break away as he entered the water and his tail revealed itself. It was too much – the drones continued the hum as if inside his head, the excited chattering that surrounded him, dozens of expectant eyes, all on him... He raised his hands to his temples to clamp his growing headache. Everywhere he looked, there were versions of himself—billboards, mock-ups, even a foam cutout of his silhouette with a “SCAN FOR 10% OFF” QR code where his face should be...where her face should be. Miranda and AquaLure had seen him as nothing more than a tool to get what they wanted for years, and now that everything had changed, nothing had changed at all...

“I need a break!” He declared to an open-mouthed Miranda and glided away before she could point out they hadn't even started. He sat on a rock and wondered if it was the same one he'd sat on that fateful night he'd been washed out to sea. The sun reflected on the perfect skin of his arms as he tried to steady his breathing. The past few weeks had been a blur, but actually being 'Eva' had been the least of it. Being a mermaid was one thing, but being 'their' mermaid was another thing entirely. He had always been 'theirs', been Miranda's, but now she acted like she owned him.

Behind him he heard Miranda excitedly giving an interview. “She represents the power of nature and femininity,” Miranda purred. “Of course, she’s entirely real.”

'Entirely real,' Evan thought bitterly. No mention of how I created her...and then became her... It was then that Evan decided to show everyone just how real mermaids really were.

The Changing Seas Part 2

 

Evan woke to the sound of gulls arguing. His mouth tasted like seawater. The sky above him was a blinding sheet of white, and for one surreal moment, he thought he was in the office—until a crab scuttled over his wrist and pinched him. He sat up fast. The world tilted. The sand beneath him shimmered with salt crystals, and his legs—his legs felt wrong. Heavy. Fused. Cold.

He looked down. “Oh no. Oh no no no.” Where his khakis should’ve been was a long, iridescent tail. Not a costume. Not neoprene. Scales—real ones—glittered blue and green in the sunlight, flexing as if amused by his horror. He slapped it. It twitched back. “Ow!” He flopped backward, laughing and swearing at once. “Okay. Dream. Weird post-traumatic branding dream.”

He tried to crawl, dragging himself across the sand, leaving a shimmering trail like a giant sardine slug. The movement made the tail flash brighter, and far down the beach someone shouted, “Oh my GOD! It’s her!” A group of tourists sprinted closer, phones raised.“It’s the AquaLure mermaid!” one squealed. “They’re filming the new ad!”

“I’m not—” Evan started, then stopped. His voice was… different. Higher. Soft and musical, like it had been auto-tuned by Poseidon. He froze. Blinked. Patted his face. Smooth skin. Delicate jaw. Cheekbones sharp enough to slice sushi. Long hair, wet and gold, stuck to his shoulders. He looked down again. He—no, she—was topless, large perfect breasts buoyant on his chest. “Oh come on,” he groaned, his voice a melodic sigh as he leaned his head back and stared directly into the heavens..

The tourists were still filming. “Wave to the camera!” one yelled. Evan tried to cover himself with his hands and tail at once, which only made him look more like a calendar poster. Someone shouted, “She’s shy! So authentic!”

Panicking, he twisted toward the water— and with a sudden shimmer, his tail split, the scales rippling away like dissolving glitter. Legs. Real human legs. “What the—” He stood, immediately tripped, and landed face-first in the sand.

The crowd gasped, then applauded. “Method acting!” someone cheered.

Evan scrambled upright and bolted for the dunes, not stopping until the beach noise faded and only the crash of waves remained. He sank down beside a rock pool, trembling. His reflection stared back: luminous eyes, sunlit hair, an impossible face he’d seen on billboards for years. “The AquaLure mermaid,” he whispered. “I made you.” The reflection smiled back faintly, as though the sea itself was in on the joke. A low hum echoed through the water, a whispering sound that might have been waves—or laughter. Evan stared at the horizon, half-terrified, half-thrilled, and muttered, “Miranda’s gonna love this.”

The Changing Seas Part 1

 The was a series commissioned on DeviantArt

Evan never meant to become the “Mermaid Guy.” He’d gone to art school to design shoes. Somehow, ten years later, he was Senior Visual Concept Engineer at AquaLure, the global water brand that believed hydration required mythological undertones. Every bottle, billboard, and TV spot was graced with the same ethereal figure: a mermaid, half-shadowed, tail glinting like bottled starlight. “She embodies purity, mystery, and desire,” declared AquaLure’s CEO, Miranda DeValle, every Monday morning. “She is our soul.”

Evan usually muttered, “She’s mostly neoprene and glue.” He was the one who’d built her tail—an engineering marvel of silicone scales and fishing wire. The “mermaid silhouette” wasn’t a real person, just Evan zipped into his creation and lit from behind. The secret was in the curve: he’d sculpted it after studying how light refracted through plastic water bottles. The result? Instant mystique. And instant career trap. Now every meeting was about “channelling mermaid essence.” He’d been asked to “make the tail sexier” three times that week alone.

On Thursday, Miranda burst into the workshop waving a storyboard. “We’re shooting the new ‘Call of the Deep’ campaign tomorrow. Real waves, real beach, no filters. I want emotion. I want transcendence. I want commitment,” Miranda snapped at Evan. “Bring the prototype fin.”

So the next day, under blackening clouds, Evan stood ankle-deep in churning surf, holding a clipboard that was rapidly becoming papier-mâché and lounged on a rock while drones buzzed overhead.

“Can we get more sparkle on the tail?” Miranda yelled from the beach tent.

“It’s raining sideways!”

“That’s realism!”

The storm hit fast. The wind howled. The ocean surged up like a beast that had had enough of marketing metaphors. Evan shrieked as a wave slapped the rock he was on and he lunged forward, trying to grab a hand-hold before he and the expensive fin were washed away. The next moment, a swirl of grey-green foam and salt punched him in the chest and yanked him from the beach.

He glimpsed Miranda’s horrified face, the tail glimmering in midair, the drones spinning out of control. For one absurd instant, as he tumbled into the boiling sea, he thought: At least the lighting’s cinematic. Salt filled his mouth. Sound vanished. His clipboard twirled past like a surrendering flag.

The last thing he saw was a flash of turquoise beneath the waves—something smooth, sinuous, almost welcoming.

Then the ocean closed over him, and the campaign’s tagline drifted through his fading thoughts like a cruel joke: “AquaLure: Let the sea take you.”

My Girlfriend's Roommate

 8/25

“You told your parents I’m gay?!” Billy gaped incredulously at his girlfriend across the couch. “Are you kidding me?!” He and Amanda had been together a little more than six months and he had just moved permanently into her studio apartment.

“It’s the only way they would let you live here,” Amanda protested. “They still pay the rent, you know? A gay roommate is the perfect way to stop them asking questions. Besides, they are being nice,” She nodded to the half-open envelope in Billy’s hand. “They got you a gift.”

“Did you see what they got me?” He held up a Birthday card with a voucher poking out. “It is a Drag Queen pampering and photoshoot experience day. Looks expensive! I am not sure if I should be offended on behalf of my apparent gay alter-ego, or flattered they want to spend this kind of money on me. It’s almost a shame it is going to be wasted.”

“Oh, you’re doing the shoot!” Amanda frowned. “How else am I going to keep up that you are my roommate if they don’t see pictures? Come on, Billy…” she batted her eyelashes, “I will make it worth it!”

It was three weeks later and Billy had spent the last two hours in a makeup chair being transformed by a larger-than-life character named Josephine - staring into a huge mirror framed with old fashioned lightbulbs and postcards from someone called Isabella as the face that glared back was reshaped and sculpted with countless products. When Josephine was finished, he didn’t even recognise himself from beneath the soft pink lips, frosty eye makeup and curly blonde wig.

He tried to act relaxed as Josephine squeezed him into an enormous dress that looked like a wedding cake and fastened the corset at the back so excruciatingly tight that he could no longer bend enough to see his stilettoed feet. His whole body tingled from the fresh removal of its hair and his face was heavy and stiff, yet he determinedly attempted to adopt a carefree camp demeanour as the artist who had turned him from a scruffy boy in his early twenties into something akin to a Disney princess readied her camera. Billy stuck his hands on his hips and adopted what he thought was a bratty pout.

“Oh, relax, Sweetheart!” Josephine rolled her eyes. “Your acting skills are wasted on me… I know you aren’t gay!” Billy tried to breathe out but the corset continued to clamp his chest. “The Jacksons know you aren’t gay too!”

“Then why…” He blinked as she snapped a photo.

“Why the shoot?” Josephine shot another. “They do this with all Amanda’s boyfriends. I assume it is ammunition for if you ever do anything to hurt her – that or some kind of test. It’s fine by me . Repeat customers keep me in business.” She smiled – confusion looked so sweet on him when he was trussed up like a cupcake. “Okay, so this is his how this will go… They will see the photos and remark how wonderful you look – how vivacious…alive…etc…etc. And so, you will get another voucher at Christmas, or when you get a new job, or just because they are feeling ‘generous’. Trust me, we will be seeing a lot of each other if you want to continue seeing a lot of Amanda. Speaking of which, we still have a few hours of today left. Let’s try out some more looks. I have some shoes that will match your eyes perfectly…”