A Date with Destiny Part 2

 

“Hey, I could have sworn I reserved a table... But, a girl who sits at the bar is a girl after my own heart!” A shiver shot up Julian's spine. In twenty minutes of sitting on the stool, his long nylon clad legs folded one over the other, he had kept his head down pretending to read the menu. No-one had spoken to him...no-one had even looked at him, as far as he knew... And now his date was here. Staring at him. Talking to him. Julian felt the little black dress squeeze him, His makeup suddenly weighed a hundred pounds. He gulped softly and his glossy pink bottom lip dropped open. “I am Marcus!” The man grinned. He was slim and expensively dressed and held out a hand for Julian to shake. However, when he reached out to accept the greeting, the man smoothly slid him into a tight hug before kissing Julian on the cheek. “Let me get you a drink!” His date demanded, one hand still resting on Julian's bare back.

“Erm... maybe some wine,” Julian replied softly and shrugged Marcus off. If the man noticed, he didn't show it and his beaming smile remained in place. “Red...please...” He watched the man snap his fingers at the barmaid and produce an American Express card in the other hand. It was clear he wanted Julian to see it and he got a flash of deja-vu. It was exactly the kind of trick Julian himself would have used to impress a woman in a bar...back when he wasn't yet a woman.

“But, of course,” Marcus winked and ordered an expensive bottle with two glasses. After instructing a waiter to bring it to a table in the restaurant window, he held out Julian's chair for him sit and once again draped a hand across his exposed shoulders for just a little too long. “I usually hate Valentine's Day, you know? I think its corny crap. But this one... I don't know... I have a good feeling about it... I have a good feeling about you.” Julian's skins crawled but he felt himself blush all the same. Was this guy really so smitten with him? Or had he just played the game so many times it was like a reflex, regardless of what the girl looked like. Marcus placed his iPhone and a Porsche keyfob down on the table and proceeded to ask him question after question about himself...or rather about Julia, interjecting with factoids here and there that were clearly designed to impress. Julian attempted to act demurely and stick to half-truths – he was living with his sister, he really needed a job but was not sure what he was looking for, he was single...why did he say that...? Marcus, it turned out, was also single, and the CEO and founder of a tech startup called Destiny Engineering. Julian was surprised to find that the more Marcus spoke, the more the slick facade he had put up seemed to slip away. He stopped trying to impress and stared at Julian intently as he spoke about needing a job to pay for his share of Elena's rent. Was this guy really falling for him? He struggled to believe he was actually passing as Julia, let alone melting the game of a rich guy in a bar. “Hey, you should come work for me!” Marcus blurted out suddenly. “Don't worry about an interview, or a resume, or any of that crap. You can work for me personally...be my PA.”

“Work for you?” Julian repeated dumbly. His heart was thudding again, and now he was sweating – perspiration trickling down his back and into the satin of his panties. His head sloshed with the wine and he felt an odd mix of triumph and terror. Elena had made it very clear. It was get a job, or go to jail. But, work for this guy? Who against all the odds seemed to fancy him... What if he tried to pull a move on him? But what choice did he have? “Sure...,” Julian stammered, “when do I start?”

A Date with Destiny Part 1

“Are you really certain all this is necessary?” Julian regretted the words the moment they left his lips. Not just because he already knew the answer, but because of the gentle feminine inflection that shaped them. His soft tone had become warm and natural. The initial soreness from the injections to his vocal chords had faded and all that remained was the singsong chirp of a young woman. Julian hated it with a passion.

“Asked and answered, dear brother,” Elena replied shaking her head. “That's the kind of thing you lawyer types say, isn't it? At least it was before you were disgraced and disbarred.” She took a step back to appraise his outfit. She had insisted he be the one to complete his transformation today. That had included choosing at outfit, dressing himself, and of course all the primping that went with it. She had watched on like a proud mother hen as he had shaved and waxed and spent ninety minutes doing his own makeup. Sure he whined and dragged his heels the whole way, but that only added to her enjoyment, and now that he was almost ready, she could fully appreciate the ways in which the hormone supplements helped him fill out the dress, and how now his hair had fully grown out, he could achieve the look of a glamorous blonde without the need of a wig.

“I mean, why can't I just hide out here? As myself?” God, he hated how alien his voice sounded. He tried to add some coarseness but it just ended up coming out smoky and sexy. “No-one is going to look for me here!” He gestured to himself and realised for the first time how short his dress was. Blushing, he took the hem in his fists and tried to tug it down – only succeeding in forming a prissy pout.

“And then what?” Elena yawned. “You sponge off me forever? You realise you owe me right? Without me you would be in jail. You should be in jail. And you know what else? Your stupid law firm that you embezzled funds from – has my last name on it too. I am training to be a legal aide and you just made me unemployable. Maybe I should hand you in... Remove all doubt I was complicit somehow!”

“Sis...” Julian cooed, suddenly playing his role with a lot more enthusiasm. He smoothed his dress with his palms and flicked his hair behind one shoulder. It crushed him to do so but not as much as the prospect of staring down 46 counts of fraud. “But how can I possibly pay you back looking like this? No-one is going to believe I am a woman. I know you are getting a kick out of the punchline, but you've still turned me into a joke!”

“That's where you are wrong, dear brother,” Elena smiled. “You may not believe this now, but I have turned you into something extraordinary. Today, after all, is Valentine's Day and I have lined you up with a hot date. I am going to show you just how beautiful you are now, and if you can impress a horny guy in a bar, an interview panel isn't going to stand a chance...”

 

Hot House Part 3

 22/25

As the previous years' winner, Chris was secretly invited to be a surprise new housemate who would enter the Hot House six weeks into the new season. Of course, when he agreed and penned the contract to once again hand over his now lucrative social media accounts to the show runners in order to once again enter the house, he did so months before Emi led the now infamous sissy revolution. Within hours of the boys waking up with their cocks in electrified chastity cages, Chris's agent was calling the show attempting to get his inclusion reversed. But what could he do? A deal was a deal and if he wanted to keep his socials, he would need to fulfil his contract.

That's how Chris found himself in the house's welcome pod – an area that resembled a decompression chamber in a submarine. Chris had entered the pod from one side and the door had slid shut behind him. The next time the pod opened, he would be the newest guest on the Hot House.

Being on the outside for the first six-weeks, he knew several things that the other housemates did not. He knew that for the first two weeks the show had been on its knees. Dull guys and girls did not make for compelling television and the viewers were turning off in droves. It was only when Emi put Jared in a maid's uniform she had for some reason brought with her into the house that their was a spike in viewership. And so when Emi came to the interview room that evening and asked for the chastity cages, the producers were falling over themselves to provide. What the viewers also didn't know was that from that moment, the producers were giving Emi whatever Emi requested in the name of driving up ratings. They had already smuggled in numerous sex toys that the girls were just biding their time to put to use – and the house food was now being pumped with hormones to further feminise the unsuspecting boys. Jared had had the right idea when he elected to leave the house after 3 weeks of sissydom. That left one spare chastity cage, and as the door to the house started to slide open he prayed it wouldn't be used on him. Surely a former winner had earned more respect.

A week had passed and Chris could only shudder at his naivety of thinking he might be spared. Satin hugged his body and extensions tugged at his hair and most tellingly the charge of his cage thrummed in his lacy panties alongside a matching buttplug – the most recent introduction from Emi, Hot House's resident dom. The girls has swarmed him the second the door opened – strong hands holding him down as his male clothing was torn to shreds. The other boys had just watched on meekly – if they were sympathetic to his powerlessness they didn't show it. None of the boys spoke now. They were completely broken. They just tottered around the house on their high heels hoping that one of the girls wouldn't grab them to try out a new look or give them a random spanking. They were just waiting and hoping that their followers would fall below the threshold to allow their escape. Chris couldn't bring himself to tell them that their subscribers had soared 500% since Emi's revolution.

Whatever Happened to Martin? (Work Release)

 This will be my last Flashback Friday for a few weeks until i am caught on my commission backlog. It is for Work Release

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

Oh, God. I don't believe it. I'm through. I actually did it... All these years of playing the good little employee have actually paid off. It will all be worth it.

Slow down, Speedie, how can I help you today?

Yes, well, my name is Martin, and you probably don't remember me but I am calling from Bedfellows Escorts and I would like to report a gross misuse of your bodysuits.

I am sorry sir, but I can only speak with the named person on that corporate account and that is...

Sam Sparrows! I know! That evil bitch has been keeping us as her whores for years!

Excuse me?

She hired a bunch of your suits to put the guys at our company through supposed sensitivity training, but it was all a ruse!

A ruse?

Yes, there was no training. Not in sensitivity anyway. She turned us into the company's newest escorts. And the bodysuits...oh God...they made us want it!

Ah, yes, the Ladies of the Night range! They are some of our finest...

Don't you think I know? The extra libido alone has made me do things that will never wash off. But no more. Over the past couple of years I have been sucking up to Sam Sparrows and as of yesterday I am her new personal assistant...with full access to the company accounts and records.

I really am sorry sir, but I can only speak with Ms. Sparrows herself.

Would it help if I had the account number? I'm at the bitch's desk right now.

Well, yes...but...

It's 67983538X

Okay...I am pulling it up now...oh wow!

Yes, 'oh wow'. I am sure now you can see the scale of what that perverted bitch has been doing. There are hundreds of us. All humiliating ourselves for her profit. Even now that I am behind a desk again, she still treats me like a slut. You have to release us from the suits and call the police right now!

No, I mean 'oh wow' as in this account is worth 26 million a year. That's one of our biggest. My stock options... This would decimate them...

What?!

Sir, I think this connection is breaking up.

But, I can hear you just fine.

No, it's....def....break...up...bad...tion

Ms? Ms? Felicity, wasn't it? Are you still there? Please help us!!

I, Maidbot Part 4

 

Immobilisation gives one a lot of time to think, and boy, did Robbie think. In the dark of the back of the truck surrounded by the other defective AutoMaids, as he was wheeled into the warehouse and inventoried by some dweeb with a mullet, and as he was plugged into a laptop via the same port he loaded in all his fantasy scripts two days earlier in his garage. In his infinite stillness, he worried about what would happen to his consciousness if his new maid body was sent for scrap, he pondered whether Bot-Robbie would make a better husband than he had, or if he too would reach his tolerance of Marie and come up with some hair brained scheme to replace her. Was there any of the real-Robbie person still in the real-Robbie body? He considered what he would do if he was placed with another customer and expected to clean house. Could they load software that would make him do that? But most of all, he thought about sex. His body was still but his robotic loins were restless. He needed relief from the inhuman cravings that were consuming his paralysed form. He didn't care if he stayed an AutoMaid forever – he just needed a release.

“This one is totally fucked!!” The technician at the laptop shook his head to no-one in particular. “Operating system is completely gone and there is so much rogue code in there I don't even know where to start unpicking it.”

“Hmmm...” A colleague joined him and pondered what was on the screen. “Looks like a lot of sex scripts and kink programming. My guess is there was a mix up at the factory. We got a sex-doll and some poor sap with a hard-on for droid-women got a bot more interested in turning up his bedsheets than taking a tumble in them. Let's ship this one back to the factory. They'll know where it needs to go...”

And that's how, two weeks later, Robbie found himself being sold for a cut price as a refurbished sex-doll. It didn't matter how much he tried to explain the mix-up, his new owner didn't even speak English. Robbie didn't even know what country he was in – he just knew that he had spent a long time immobilised inside a crate. His new owner, a grubby fat man, was not phased by his new toy's protests. For the deal he got, he was more than happy to use the immobiliser to good effect whenever it got annoying. Having been resold as an “AutoCompanion”, Robbie has introduced to a wardrobe that extended far beyond the French Maid outfit he had barely got used to. He was dressed in a selection of fetish and fantasy outfits including as a cheerleader and a female gimp and positioned as a risqué piece of furniture during the day, but at night the man preferred to strip him down to a pair of crotchless panties and heels and position him on the bed ready to be fucked. It was only then would Robbie be unfrozen. Primed and ready to be screwed silly with his ass propped up on a pillow, he knew now was his chance – to run, to escape, to somehow get home and expose Bot-Robbie as the imposter he was. But, oh...fuck!! He needed that release...

I, Maidbot Part 3

Being terrified and hornier that he had ever been in his life was a bizarre experience. The AutoMaid company sent a truck to collect him immediately after Marie screamed down the phone for ten minutes at a helpless customer service agent while Bot-Robbie soothingly rubbed her shoulders and shook his head in exaggerated dismay. Robbie knew he should run – there was no way being carted back to the AutoMaid factory could lead to anything good – but before he could, he saw Bot-Robbie handing Marie the immobilizer that had been with the kit in the garage and suddenly he was frozen in place.

His consciousness remained, hence the terror/sex-cravings cocktail, yet he could not movea single piston to run, protest his predicament or simply relieve the warm itch that had spread across his entire body. He just stood there frozen as Bot-Robbie brushed Marie's hair gently. The AutoMaid truck arrived along with the indignity of having one of their correctly functioning maid droids help package up his prone form for shipping while Bot-Robbie diligently supplied the driver with all the paperwork and accessories from the garage. The delivery maid tied his arms behind his back firmly as the driver explained it was to stop them flailing around during shipping, and this only drove Robbie more wild. The French maid before him was acting out one of the fantasies he had purchased the AutoMaid for and this one hadn't even been reprogrammed. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and when they returned to staring straight ahead, the AutoMaid was glaring at him – her arms folded. Did she know? Could she somehow sense her colleague in front of her had been infiltrated.

Robbie thought he saw the hint of a smile. But, that was impossible wasn't it? And then the driver and maid were working together strapping him to a trolley and wheeling him from the house while Bot-Robbie held open doors for them.

“What will happen to it?” Marie asked thoughtfully, tentatively stroking Robbie's synthetic skin. Her simple touch sent lightning bolts through his body and he screamed silently. It seems a shame to just scrap it!”

“It depends...” The driver sighed. “The eggheads at the factory will run diagnostics on it and figure out what is wrong with it. Then it will either be dismantled for spare parts or resold as a refurbished unit. This one looks physically fine, so most likely they will refresh its compliance software and find it a new home. I am sorry it didn't work out for you.” He tipped his hat and started to push the tied Robbie towards the ramp into the back of the truck.

“Wait!” It was Bot-Robbie, one arm raised uttering the first words since they had switched consciousnesses. Robbie's heart soared as it strode purposefully towards the truck. “Don't forget this!” It produced a feather duster that had been left on the living room floor and tucked it into Robbie's apron. Then it stepped back and gave a quick salute. “Bon voyage!”     

 

I, Maidbot Part 2

 

Robbie had to think quickly on his feet – feet that were now perched on a pair of six-inch heels. Whilst wearing his own skin, he had promised Marie he would return the AutoMaid to the store, so now that his consciousness had somehow been transferred into the sexy robot, he needed to give her reason not to make good on that promise on his behalf – at least until he found some way of getting his mind in his own body. That meant that he had to fulfil the intended usefulness of the product he had purchased. Robbie had never cooked and cleaned before but now he was doing so like his life depended on it – because it probably did.

So, while Marie barked instructions at him like he was an imbecile, he plundered through his tasks. With every awkward movement, the satin of his uniform and the soft silk of his stocking swished against the artificial sensors that acted like nerve endings beneath his ultra-realistic but synthetic skin and an odd sensation began to grow inside him. He had already cursed himself for deleting the maid's abilities to perform chores as he fumbled awkwardly with the mop, but now he was being reminded of what he replaced them with? Was he becoming aroused? Was that even possible? His mind was flooded with a million different ideas for achieving climax – for helping others climax – hell, he was staring at his wife while she shouted at him for using the wrong fabric cleaner on the sofa and all he could think of was the perfect way to make her cum her brains out. Why couldn't he have had that knowledge five years ago? If he had, it would never have come to this... As much as he wanted to try anyway, he knew there was no way Marie would go for kinky lesbian sex with a robotic French maid who had just permanently stained her couch.

To make things worse, Robbie's body was back up and running too and had left the garage, presumably with the AutoMaid's version of a consciousness pulling the levers. Bot-Robbie didn't talk yet he operated himself with graceful precision, performing tasks such as making Marie a drink at exactly the right moment or placing a hand on her shoulder as she was becoming overwhelmed with rage at their pathetic new maid. Hours later, Robbie heard the unmistakeable squeak of mattress springs followed by cries of ecstasy from upstairs as Bot-Robbie ripped sounds out of his wife real-Robbie had never managed in years of marriage. He followed the exaltations to the bedroom to find Marie on her back with one of her shoes still on as Bot-Robbie jackhammered away at her like a man possessed – as in a way he was.

Robbie's arousal peaked despite the betrayal of seeing his wife cuckold him with his own sexbot cosplaying with his own body. He slipped a delicate feminine hand up under his apron as he continued to watch, seeking out the robotic pussy he had promised himself – albeit not like this. Finding it, he closed his eyes.

“Good fucking gracious!!” He heard Marie scream in fright. “How did that thing get in here?! Okay, that's enough. I am calling the company myself. It's going back right now!”

I, Maidbot Part 1

 

Robbie was used to disappointing his wife, though he seldom did it on purpose – such was the case when he brought home the AutoMaid 3000. It's true that the ultra-realistic female robot was a state-of-the-art piece of kit whose designers promised would revolutionise household chores once and for all, and a fully functional AutoMaid would have done just that for Robbie and Marie's home. At least it would have had Robbie not taken it round to one of his tech friends on the way home from the store to have its operating system wiped out.

Robbie had disappointed Marie one too many times and the marital bed had become dormant. He had considered cheating, but he just didn't have that much game. So, upon seeing a commercial for the super hot AutoMaid 3000 for the first time, he instantly turned to the internet to do some research. Being that it was originally created as a generic multi-purpose robot, it had capabilities far beyond housekeeping and even had fully functioning and realistic breasts and sex-organs. Apparently, the creators had at one point seen the droid as a potential way to sanitise the sex industry, or at least provide companionship to a generation of lonely men.

That's where Robbie's friend came in. By removing the housemaid operating system, he freed up the robot's mind to be loaded with any program he desired. There were entire online communities devoted to sharing apps that taught the AutoMaid to learn all sorts of perverted skills. There was even a plug-in what could sync with the owner and learn all their desires and preferences in a matter of minutes to become the perfect lover. All it needed was an extra bit of black market tech – something that Robbie spared no expense on.

Marie's appraisal of the AutoMaid 3000 was swift and derisive. It couldn't cook. It couldn't clean. It couldn't even load the dishwasher. Robbie was more than happy to take it to the garage and organise a return in the morning. Once out of sight of his wife, he got to work loading all the seedy scripts via a bluetooth connection with his phone. As program after program went into corrupting the maid's brain, he grew excited. He gazed over his new purchase. It really was indistinguishable from a real, and very beautiful, woman. Finally, satisfied he had loaded all the abilities and features he wanted into his new sex-bot, Robbie prepared the plug-in to sync the maid with his preferences. He attached the headset to himself and plugged the other end into the maid before realising with frustration that there wasn't an outlet in the garage. With another stroke of genius, he wired the power source to the garage-door battery and prepared for the sync to start. There was a flash as long white sparks -shot from the battery and then everything went black.

Sometime later, a groggy Robbie was stumbling back to the house. His entire body felt stiff and weird like he had never used it before. He entered through the back door to find his wife standing there. “So you do know where the kitchen is then?” She spoke as if addressed a child. Robbie raised his hands to his head. Why did she sound so loud? He cringed at the intensity in her voice and turned away defensively to where a mirror hung above the dining table. The AutoMaid 3000 stared back – an expression of fear and confusion etched across her face.

Hot House Part 2

 21/25

They came at night, storming the boys' dormitory of Hot House like commandos in the dark, and by the time the five male contestants knew what had happened, it was already too late. Any of the show's millions of viewers who tuned in to watch the early morning programming were treated to confusion slowly and groggily morphing into sheer terror as groans of WTF were quickly replaced by shrieks cascading from bed to bed. Each boy awoke to find themselves completely naked under their covers and upon pealing back their duvets, they stared on in horror at the tiny metal devices that had been attached to their genitals. Padlocked cages squeezed their throbbing cocks, preventing their morning wood while long flat wires wrapped around the rest of their genitalia – tightly secured with a padlock at the backs of their scrotums. One by one, the boys screamed and tugged at the mini-prisons – and one by one they realised the true helplessness of their predicament as small but painful electric shocks shots from the devices into their groins.

Hot House changed dramatically from that morning on – both as a house and as a show. The four remaining girls quickly revealed themselves as the culprits and as the new dominant presence in the house. The boys' pleas fell on deaf ears and the girls moved rapidly to assert their new order. All male clothing had been removed from the house in the same night and each boy was thrown a pair of frilled satin panties as pathetic modesty. It only got worse as the girls bathed and groomed them, removing all their body hair and applying treatments and lotions. Shocks were dealt out liberally to maintain strict compliance and by the end of the second day, each boy was a broken simpering shadow of their former selves – willing to do anything to avoid another jolt in the testicles.

The challenges would change too and it was on day 5 of the new way of things that Robbie and Jay found themselves engaged unwillingly in a staring contest – each of the boys clad in humiliating latex lingerie with a chain attached to a choker around each of their throats holding them in place. Neither could bring themselves to meet the other's eye for it would bear a stark reminder of their own degradation.

“You know this is all Emi, right?” Robbie hissed. “None of those other girls would say boo to a ghost before she got a taste for blood when Jared lost that challenge. I bet she's some kind of freak on OnlyFemmes or something.”

“I think...” Jay stammered, “I think at least this will be over soon. Our followers must be leaving in droves... No-one would want to follow someone who does...this...” He finally raised his gaze to meet Robbie's painted face. “Right!?”

Whatever Happened to Ron? (In Your Dreams)

 The original caption for this Flashback Friday is In Your Dreams

Ron browsed the news website in silence. As for most people these days, there was little in the headlines to make him smile. It was the entertainment stories that interested him. He sighed. His ex was on the front page again – as she had been consistently since leaving him eleven years ago when all her dreams seemed to come true at once and Ron no longer fit into her plans for the future. Her ascent into the public eye had been astronomical – an overnight household name with a modelling contract, sponsorship deals and television cameos, even her dating life post-Ron was splattered across the tabloids – a never-ending string of musicians and sports stars.

Ron clicked into the newest story about her – the latest of a string of recent scandals that had damaged the reputation of the star who seemingly could do know wrong. This time x-rated photos of her had apparently leaked online. Both her and her agent had alleged they were deep-fakes of AI generated slop but the news story included quotes from an apparent digital expert who claimed that the photographs were genuine, or at least they hadn't been doctored in any way. The story ended with threats of a coming lawsuit.

“Some people don't change...” Ron grinned wryly and closed the browser. He spun on his office chair to face the dreamcatcher hanging above his bed. “And some people do...!”

It had taken Ron three weeks to get his body back after the first time he transformed into his ex. So heartbroken was he by her that every time he closed his eyes, she was there, and so every time he opened his eyes again, he was her, right down to her double-Ds and the birthmark just above her pussy. When he had eventually been able to dream of being himself again, he had awoken to his old body and relief had flooded his chest...at least until the rage and betrayal came rushing back.

An online lucid dreaming course had helped him learn to control the transformations, and while he had used the dreamcatcher to achieve a few personal goals, his ex never left his bitter heart...not really anyway. How could she? Every day she was on his television, in the news, on the tip of the public tongue. That's when he realised he could redirect the conversation...

Ron turned on the white noise loop and climbed onto the bed below the dreamcatcher. Closing his eyes, he pictured his ex wrapped in fishnets...a body-stocking, her pert nipples swelling with arousal from between the string. She was wearing heeled ankle boots and tiny panties that left nothing to the imagination. No...that was wrong, Ron thought as his mind drifted into slumber. They hid her birthmark. He smiled as the dreamcatcher started to work his magic. He would have to remove them for the video he was going to make. He couldn't have the public doubting its authenticity...

Life Stream Part 4

 

Avoiding being seduced as a glamorous woman was one thing, but Jonah was still a slave to the body and whims of a babe from a perfume ad. He needed to find a way out. He had managed to keep the rich men largely at arms length all tight but he had been able to read their intentions just fine. He had seen in their eyes what they wanted to do to him – the way they stole glances at his body when they thought he wasn't looking. They were like hungry sharks – ready to whisk him back to a thousand dollar a night hotel room and pound him like a piece of meat that needed tenderising. He shuddered in revulsion in the morning twilight.

The experience had taught him that there were worse outcomes than his girlfriend tormenting him with the TV remote and in a way he guessed he had deserved her teasing. He had destroyed her tape... Pulling the fur jacket tight around his shoulders, Jonah started to walk through town in the direction of home. The buildings around him grew shabbier, the shadows longer, the stares colder, and before he knew it, he was in one of the town's less desirable districts – certainly not somewhere for a glammed up billboard babe dripping with expensive jewellery to find herself. He clutched the purse firmly, feeling the phone inside, and an idea suddenly came to him. He knew exactly how to break the curse. He was a genius.

Like every guy his age he knew with too much time on his hands, Jonah had attempted in the recent past to start his own podcast. It failed, of course, the world just wasn't ready for his movie rankings and sports tips, but the videos were still on YouTube and Twitch. Clacking long nails against the touchscreen, he pulled one up and saw himself – huge headphones atop his head and a cigar in one hand. His body transformed instantly. He had won. He even got to enjoy the cigar in the morning sun as he strolled towards home.

After about an hour, a searing pain had built in the arches of his feet. An entire night of walking in heels had taken its toll and transforming back into his own body had offered little respite. Still, he was free now, and if he had to sit on the curbside to rest, so be it. Now, with a moment to reflect on the past day, he realised how humiliated he felt by the whole thing. He had spent the past twelve hours in panties, being groped...sitting down to pee. The need to reaffirm his masculinity somehow grew inside him. But how? He just had his phone and a nearly spent cigar. Of course, he smirked to himself pulling out his phone and switching to incognito mode. His testosterone spiked as the first video began, and all he could think was thank God he had broken the curse.

At least he thought he had. The woman in the video had been stretching an obscene excuse for a dress around a set of impossible curves as she prepared to satisfy five men with cartoonish urgency, And so, now did Jonah... His breath hitched in his chest as he put one hand on the inside of his leg and began to draw it up his thigh. He had never felt so horny in his entire life. The woman in the video was saying how much she needed her holes filling and he felt every bit of it. Pushing himself up off the curb, he stumbled off in search of someone to scratch his itch...of anyone to scratch his itch...

Life Stream Part 3

 

Jonah didn't get far before the stares started. He wasn't sure if people were recognising Claudette from television or if the sight of a drop-dead gorgeous blonde sprinting down the street in six-inch heels was enough to garner the public's attention. Nevertheless, he found himself enjoying the gazes on him – especially those from guys. One man rolled down the window of his expensive sports-car to wolf-whistle at him and Jonah instantly felt giddy with pride, and, was that...arousal? Realising, this sexual attraction to the sight of a rich older man came from the character he occupied, shame surged in him, but it was a shame that was caged deep within his buxom body. Try as he might, Jonah just couldn't overpower the base urges and characteristics written into the bimbo housewife.

His head was still fuzzy with wine but Jonah still had enough wits to realise he needed a plan. He had a leopard print purse over one shoulder and it contained a cellphone, but this clearly belonged to Claudette as it was covered in hot pink fur and was full of numbers for characters from the show. Groaning with frustration, he started to walk towards town. Mercifully, he found that he could walk effortlessly in the towering heels, gliding down the footpath with a grace that turned yet more heads. At last, the high-rise buildings of the city's center rose above him. Businesses and restaurants flashed their signage in neon in the darkening sky. Once he reached the main square, these were replaced with hi-tech billboards and once more Claudette's instincts took over, and he found himself raising his head to admire the offerings of the luxury brands offering their products. Jonah realised his mistake immediately.

It was a perfume brand – its new fragrance advertised on a thirty foot television screen by a glamorous starlet at a staged red carpet event. Her perfect curves were wrapped in shimmering gold that draped down to her ankles, and she was holding a snow white fur cape around herself. And now, so was Jonah...

The advert starred a young woman who insisted on only the best – the finest, more exquisite things in life. And that's how Jonah spent the night cruising the city's more expensive night-clubs. Not that he had to pay for any of them, of course. Everywhere he went, he found that he could bat his eyelashes or flick his silky golden hair and men in suits would be falling over themselves to open doors for him, or to lift the rope to allow entry to bars that had seconds earlier proclaimed to be full. Colorful drinks were pushed at him and quizzical hands explored his lower back and butt, guiding him onto dancefloors, against tall dark strangers and ultimately into the back of a limo – and his body duly obliged. It told him it liked being treated like a trophy – like an expensive prop that could be fondled and worshipped by men with bulging wallets. Yet, Jonah was thankful that while he felt powerless to the seduction of the wealth and power of the men who courted him, he never felt desire for them. They were as much shiny props to him as he was to them, and so when at last the limo pulled up outside the Hotel Grande at 6am the following morning, he was relieved to be able to offer a dignified wave as the driver let him out, and glide off into the sunrise.

Life Stream Part 2

 

It took Fiona all of ten seconds to get over her shock of seeing her boyfriend transformed into the body of the comic book demon, Raven, and recall her fury at him for having destroyed her treasured copy of Ghost in the Shell with the mysterious not-a-VCR he had found in the attic. Seeing Jonah with bulging breasts squeezed into the shiny leotard was satisfying but not as satisfying as it would be if she could break the cool composed demeanour he seemed to have adopted from Raven along with her body. If he had somehow become a human mirror, both inside and out, of whatever character was on their television, there were surely more vulnerable avatars she could use to avenge her destroyed anime.

Snatching up the Webflix remote, she switched over to a pro-wrestling show. As before, Jonah instantly transformed into the person on the screen – this time it was a fearsome looking female grappler with tattoos and wrestling gear that resembled a bondage outfit. Clearly, the amazon's power and rage also rippled through Jonah and he instantly demanded the remote in an exaggerated aggressive manner as if it were a title belt. Seeing the towering figure striding across the room towards her, Fiona fumbled to select another show. A diminutive drag queen in a shimmering gown tripped over a ridiculous pair of eight-inch pumps at her feet.

“Oh, Darling!” The figure exclaimed dramatically. “Why don't you give me that thing before someone breaks a nail...in someone else's throat.” Jonah blinked and felt heavy fake lashes swish down to his cheeks. He didn't know why he just said that – he just did. It wasn't his voice or even his words. He felt the emotion...the anger...the fear, but when he released it, that's how it came out through the drag queen's catty filter. Just as with the woman wrestler body – he knew what he wanted...the remote, but the body had its own 'way'...its own language and he was nearly helpless to control it.

Fiona used his fall as a opportunity to choose another show. This time it was an old sitcom Jonah recognised from a few years back – 'Playing House'. The bimbo housewife character was on the screen, the one they killed off after the first season with a giant wedding cake – Claudette – and so, that was who Jonah found himself as now. He was encased in her signature style, a tight leathery pair of high-cut leggings and fuck-me heels. He had drooled over her countless times in those outfits, and now he was her. Whimsical sexual thoughts filled his mind along with a fugue that could only come from midday red wine. He breathed deeply and heaving breasts rose and fell on his chest. Even Fiona was spellbound by them and for a moment they just stared at each other. He pushed himself up onto the kitchen counter to get his weight off the uncomfortable heels with a squeak of leather on polished wood. On the television, his counterpart was ditzily preparing dinner whilst spilling out of her top to the pleasure of the studio audience. The blonde on screen took another slug of wine and the haze in Jonah's head grew. 'I am a slave to that thing', he realised. 'I need to get away from it before Fiona goes too far!' Sliding back down onto the pumps, he balanced himself, took one final look at his girlfriend, and broke for the front door...

Life Stream Part 1

 

“What in the actual hell, Jonah!?” Fiona gaped open-mouthed from her boyfriend to the smoking mess on their living room floor. A plastic and metal box sat wired to their television – a green chemical mist streaming from an opening on the one side. “Wait! Is that my original Ghost in the Shell tape?” She cried noticing a familiar yet empty VHS box next to the device. “Jonah, I swear to God! That tape better not be in whatever that things is. I can't get another copy of that!”

“Relax, Fi...” Jonah shook his head dismissively. “It's fine...just a bit of smoke. I found this thing in the attic and was just checking if it still worked. I'm the one who got electrocuted hooking it up. Your tape is safe!” A cluster of orange flames shot from the opening in the device. “Well... would you look at that...” He gazed sheepishly at his furious girlfriend.

Once the smouldering machine had been safely disposed of, the couple launched into a furious argument – Fiona adamant that Jonah had destroyed an irreplaceable artefact, and her boyfriend determined to protest it was an innocent mistake.

“Look, Fi! I don't see why it's such a big deal. It was just one tape and nobody watches VHS any more anyway. WebFlix is full of that Anime stuff you like!” He scooped up the remote from the sofa and used it to select the first animated show he saw on the menu to prove his point. Even as the opening credits began to roll, Jonah's body was overwhelmed by an odd sensation. The ceiling above him seemed to get higher and his clothing shrunk into him like a deflating balloon – the material morphing into a shiny alien fabric that squeezed his middle uncomfortably. His eyes went wide as huge breasts stretched the material and yet a calming monologue played in his head. 'Contain it. Do not unravel. This shame will pass.' Around him, the room appeared to dim...not just the room...the world! Even the birds outside seemed to be chirping in a minor key. Fiona stared at him, open-mouthed. “This is sub-optimal,” he muttered wrapping the cape that just materialised onn his back around him. “That machine is a herald of suffering.” He sighed thinking of what he had thought was a VHS player.

“Jonah?” Fiona exclaimed in a blend of shock and wonder. “Is that still you in there? You look just like Raven... You're acting just like Raven...” She looked him up and down, starting at his thigh-high boots right up to his newly purple hair. “You're also kind of hot!”

“You're very observant,” Jonah felt the words flow from him like a reflex. His voice was cold and monotone but distinctly feminine. His heart was pounding in panic but something was driving him to repress it. “This complicates things,” he nodded down to his new form, and then to the garbage can that not contained the device. “That's not a VCR,” he said bluntly, “it's a transformation device. It may play tapes, but that is just a secondary function.”

Hot House Part 1

 20/25

Jared stopped scrubbing the floor momentarily to peer over his shoulder. At least five cameras gazed down at his position on the floor of the Hot House kitchen, and he blushed red from behind pounds of caked on makeup at the thought of the millions of pairs of eyes watching on gleefully from the other side of the lenses. Humiliated, he tugged feebly at the hem of his maid's uniform in a futile attempt to cover his pantyhosed ass and returned to his chore – hoping that by focussing on this part of his forfeit would distract from the other.

Hot House was the latest in a seemingly never-ending stream of hit reality tv shows. It was the tried and tested strangers turned housemates formula with a twist. Five male and five female social media influencers were recruited to take residence in the Hot House – a mansion cut off from the outside world and fitted with hundreds of cameras so that fans could drink in every waking and sleeping hour of the contestants' lives. The show followed the standard fare of challenges with rewards and forfeits dished out to the winning and losing housemates. Where Hot House differed from the reality tv template was the way in which the contestants were eliminated. There was no voting or nominations. Instead, upon entering the house, the influencers submitted their social media accounts to the show runners who in turn used them to post content from the house's goings on. If any of the influencers lost more than 50% of their followers on any of their platforms, they were instantly eliminated and evicted from the house. Viewers voted for their favourite housemates using likes and follows until only one remained.

Hot House was coming up to its second week and nine of the ten housemates remained. Only Sally a 32 year old cooking influencer had been evicted in a dull opening fortnight that had not lived up to the show's name. Things would take a turn when a boys vs girls game involving balloon animals ended with the guys on the losing side and the girls got to choose one of them for a forfeit. Jared had rolled his eyes as they selected him seemingly at random and the three cliquey younger girls, all seemingly interchangeable fashion/beauty Instagram types decided that he should clean the kitchen. Since Sally's departure, noone had really taken the mantle of keeping things tidy and it was clear they just wanted it done rather than to punish Jared. That was, however, only until Emi, an older, darker and frankly mysterious fourth remaining female housemate took the girls aside to explain what she had in mind for the unfortunate Jared's punishment.

Jared sweated into the satin of his uniform. Who the hell did Emi think she was? At least on his knees he didn't have to stand in those awful heels. Things could also be worse, he thought ironically. But little did he know just how much worse things could possibly be...

Whatever Happened to Jared? (Price of Admission)

 The original caption was a three parter and starts here 

Festival season seemed to start earlier every year. The frost hadn't even melted on the ground and already Lewis was calling demanding Jared dig out his box of heels so they could start buying tickets and choosing looks for their upcoming events. Ten years had passed since they had come out to each other about their mutual crossdressing habits – Lewis's reveal being of his actual lifestyle whereas Jared was duped into revealing his non-existent French-tipped escapades by his sister Tori.

However, true friendship trumps all and even though Jared still found squeezing into figure hugging dresses and donning a wig more than a little embarrassing even after all these years, he had never had the heart to tell Lewis. And so, he had kept up the facade – they went high-heel shopping together, swapped makeup tips, and zipped up each others bodycon dresses like the best friends they were – albeit male ones. Jared was truly happy to see the joy it brought Lewis and he really did enjoy the festivals and events they went to together as young attractive women. Sure, he had to learn to deal with the stares they got and how to fasten his own bra but the happiness of his best friend was worth it and he knew he could never tell him what really happened that first time before Coachella. Tori would never say anything either and as they got older, she grew to respect her brother's commitment to the cause. She even took him aside one Christmas to apologise and tell him how much she respected what he was doing for Lewis.

“You know you can smile without smudging your lippy,” Lewis chuckled, holding up his phone to snap a picture of them in the hotel bathroom mirror. They were putting the final touches on their outfits for the first day of Coachella and Lewis was snapping a few pictures for his Instagram. “Oh my, this thing is tight!” He complained as he leant in closer to Jared and the pink dress he was wearing squeezed his body. Pulling the hem down before it could ride up over his panties, he turned to Jared, who was wrapped in an equally tight black dress, and started playing with the long ringlets of his friends wig. “Can we swap? I like yours better and you always look great in any style.” Jared snatched the strand of hair away with a stern look before breaking into a good-natured smile.

“Don't be so nervous!” Jared soothed. “You look perfect – as always!” He squinted at his reflection, rather pleased with the job he had done of his eyeliner. It had sat in a drawer for six months and yet he had wielded it like an expert swordsman at the first time of asking. He had even helped the much more practised Lewis with his.

“Bitch, please!” Lewis exclaimed and both boys collapsed into giggles amongst the clouds of perfume.

“Do you worry we're getting too old for this?” Jared asked and watched a disappointed expression form on his best friend's face. “Coachella, I mean! The lineup gets lamer every year. I was thinking we could try Burning Man. I've seen the sexiest pair of matching Vegas showgirl outfits... Hotter than the freaking desert!”

A Pink n Prissy Pact Part 4

 

The buttplug was cold. Brent regretted not warming it up as soon as it popped in between his cheeks. But warm it how? He wasn't going to put it in his mouth... Besides the temperature was the least of the indignity the device offered. He was so full he felt like he might burst open from the inside. It was too late now anyway and if he didn't hurry, it was going to be buzzing around inside him, driving him giddy with pain, pleasure and humiliation. The corset was another poor choice. The Pink n Prissy Collective had sent him home with a suitcase of degrading costumes but choosing the one that actively squeezed his middle around the throbbing toy was a mistake. It pressed his caged cock tight to him too, and unlike the plug he hadn't been allowed to remove it for temporary relief so his once manhood felt like it was being relentlessly crushed.

He had to hurry. The girls would be expecting him and waiting with thumbs over phone screens ready to punish him if he was late. He had chosen the glittering corset and bikini bottoms with the fur lining because it was all one piece but pulling on the gloves and stockings and then attaching them to the garter belt had taken time – not to mention bending over to strap on the towering platform heels had been excruciating as his ass hugged its invader ever more tightly. Every moment made him want to crawl up inside himself and never come out, and today was just the first day of his new life. At last, he was satisfied that his appearance was appropriately pathetic that the Pink n Prissy Collective wouldn't punish him by activating his devices remotely using Emi's app, and he lined up his phone with the giant wall mirror in the living room.

“Once a boy...” his voice quivered as the recording started, “...now a Miss.” He couldn't believe he was actually doing this. “Once of gloom...but now of bliss.” He wanted to stop but knew he had no choice. “Once free will...but now a sissy. Now and forever...Pink n Prissy.” He swallowed hard and pressed send.

“It's here! It's here!” Cassie hollered holding her phone aloft. “Brent's first remote pledge is here!” She held her screen in front of her and the rest of the girls joined her in the kitchen of the Pink n Prissy house to watch the recording.

“No fair!” Charlotte exclaimed. “He's at home. Give him a zap and tell him to do the next one in public. Tell him to go to the mall. I want onlookers!”

“Hey, Terri. Can I ask you something?” Grace asked timidly pulling the Collective's tech geek aside as the rest of the girls continued to yell demands to further Brent's humiliation. “When you looked up Emi that time on your tablet. You know the community on OnlyFemmes... There were so many accounts there...”

“There were!” It was Josie, the group's leader who answered. “There are many of us out there who share our particular interest. Some of them go way further than we do... Scarily so... But, you know, each of us has our own method...our own little trick for getting boys like Brent into panties. And, guess what Grace? So will you!” Grace looked up to see that the rest of the Pink n Prissy Collective were now crowded around her. “We promise on all things pink and prissy that you will get your mojo back. We will help you find your little trick! If it's the last thing we do...”

A Pink n Prissy Pact Part 3

 

Emi was good to her word and within a week she had dropped off Brent at the Pink n Prissy Collective house wrapped in a big bow. Literally. Collecting him at the front door from a muscle-bound courier in a tuxedo, the girls were almost surprised not to have to sign for their gift-wrapped package. Once inside, Brett stood in the entrance hall in abject terror wearing a dress not dissimilar in shape to the one they had seen on Matty the week before at Emi's except this one was shimmering satin and had matching mittens that encased Brett's hands. His legs were encased in delicate white silk stockings that fed into high-heeled ballet pumps and his face was painted with exaggerated doll like makeup beneath a long blonde wig that smelled more than a little of resin. Emi had certainly not pulled any punches in feminising the boy.

“That's not the only bow!” Cassie exclaimed gleefully as she lifted the petrified victim's dress to reveal a delicate satin ribbon tied around a mercilessly small cage clasping Brent's genitals. “Hey, look! A gift tag!” She pulled a note that had been attached loosely to the ribbon and turned it over in her hands. “Lot's of Love – Emi x” She read aloud for the other members of the Pink n Prissy Collective. “P.S. He's fitted with all my usual toys but no remote. Just scan the QR to get the app and go wild. Thought you might want to release this one into the wild!”

“Emi has her own app!?” Josie, the Collective's leader whistled. “Terri, why don't we have an app?” She turned to the group's resident tech genius.

“This is going to be the best revenge ever!” Charlotte strode forward, grabbed Brent's hand and began pulling him into the house while Cassie was busy installing Emi's app on her phone. “Hey, Grace, help me welcome our guest.” She nodded to the timid girl swamped in a massive black hoodie. “We have the mother of all pledges to prepare for!” She led the sissyfied boy into the living area and pushed him to his knees. Pulling a brush from under a sofa cushion, she began working it though his hair.

“So, Brett...I bet you thought you had seen the last of us!” Cassie entered the room, her head in her phone. “You thought your sister would protect you forever? Well, last time we saw Kirsten she was wrapped in latex and squealing like a prize pig against the business end of a vibrator!” She looked up from her screen and locked eyes with their gift, whose lip was quivering and looked close to tears. “Now, let's give this thing a test drive, shall we?” She opened a new window on her phone and slowly dragged a finger up the screen. Brett's pink lips dropped open and his eyes closed. A crackle sounded from beneath his dress and a low cry escaped his lips.

“Once a boy...” It was an hour later and Brent was beginning his pledge. Sixty minutes of torture at the hands of five girls armed with Emi's app had put a wrecking ball through any resistance he had still had and he was willing to say or do anything to end it or just even earn a respite. “Now a miss...”  

A Pink n Prissy Pact Part 2

 

“Welcome to my humble abode!” Emi announced proudly, waving her arms theatrically to a lavish apartment that was not remotely humble. The entire Pink n Prissy Collective including Grace, who was still swamped by another oversized hoodie, were squeezed into a single leather sofa and they gazed around in wonder at the vaulted ceilings, life-sized marble statues and moulded walls embossed with unashamed bondage straps and fixings. “It is always a pleasure to welcome fellow artisans of the craft.” She smiled broadly but the girls were no longer looking her way. Instead, their attention had been captured by a meek feminine creature in a flowing black lace dress perched nervously on the corner of a plush seat.

“As you can see, sometimes I bring my work home with me,” Emi chuckled softly. “I do manage almost all of my sissies remotely, but it is good to bring them in from time to time for...recalibration...” She crossed the room and stroked the long brown hair of the frightened figure gently with a latex gloved hand. “This one is Matty. He signed up for my services via OnlyFemmes about a month ago. A volunteer, believe it or not. Lord knows I prefer a bounty, but a shark's gotta eat...and I am a man-eater.” She flashed her teeth. “Grace!” She switched her attention suddenly and the timid girl in the hoodie almost jumped out of her skin. “How are you enjoying Kirsten? You must be a pro at taming her by now? Say, you wanna give dear Matty here a test drive?” Emi strode over to an impossibly large television on six-inch heeled boots and swooped up one of the remotes. The figure that had been identified as Matty visibly wilted at the site of it and he pulled back in his seat, holding his arms behind him and bringing his knees together in a clear posture of retreat. “Give it a go!” Emi tossed the remote into Grace's lap.

“Okay...” Grace stammered looking down at the device. It had just two buttons – one with a tiny but clear image of a cock-cage, the other with a picture of what seemed to be a bejewelled buttplug. Not wanting to upset the terrifying mistress, Grace softly pushed the first button. On cue, Matty gave a high-pitched squeal and lurched in his seat, dragging his towering heels across the wooden floor. Grace stopped immediately and the sissy sat there panting, his stockinged legs pushed firmly together. The second button had a noticeably similar but different effect. Grace pressed this one longer, keen to endear herself to Emi, and Matty's initial jolt of shock appeared to quickly subside into something else. His painted face became foggy and sweat appeared on his brow. Realising she was enjoying her power over the boy, Grace held her thumb down and Matty's short breaths started to hitch irregularly. The rest of the Collective watched on in delight and she slowly but surely brought the sissified boy to orgasm albeit one smothered by his cage. A surreal silence filled the room.

“So, you will get Kirsten's brother for us – Brent?! Josie finally asked.

“Not like this,” Emi shook her head. “I am going out of town next week for some reality TV thing. I am sure you will hear all about that very soon... But don't worry, I will deliver Brent to you with all the toys you need to control him. As my fellow artisans of our noble craft, I trust you to enact your own brand of justice.” She winked and continued to stroke Matty's hair as he softly groaned.

A Pink n Prissy Pact Part 1

 This is a new 4 part story to build on my Pink n Prissy Collective. The rest of this series is on my index page

“I think this one is nearly ready for the pledge!” Charlotte announced folding her arms. The subject of her proclamation was Hunter, who hours earlier had been stuffed into a latex French maid costume and shoved in a closet in the shared area of the Pink n Prissy House. The boy had just been delivering pizza ads and the Collective's tech wizard, Terri had spotted him through the doorbell camera. Never ones to pass up a chance to feminise an unsuspecting boy, the group of girls had grabbed him and pulled him inside. Josie, the Pink n Prissy Collective's leader, as well as their muscle, had held him down while her comrades frantically tore Hunter's clothing away before waxing and painting him into an overwhelmed glossy mess. Hours later, he was their latest trophy, stewing in his new panties, waiting to be inducted into the Pink n Prissy hall of fame.

“Do you think he is broken enough, yet?” Cassie called over. She was the group's innocent faced assassin. As sweet as she looked she had an arsenal of toys for breaking down boys and was also a master, or should we say mistress, manipulator. “I know he's been in there hours, and that rubber dress does look super uncomfortable, but I have ways to make him squeal!” She stared the boy in the face and licked her lips like a kitten.

“No, Cassie. I don't think we need your buttplug right now...” Charlotte shook her head and then grinned broadly at her blushing friend. “Besides, this isn't just Hunter's pledge. This is for Grace too.” She nodded to the fifth member of the Pink n Prissy Collective, who was bundled up in a massive oversized hoodie and looking almost as vulnerable as the boy in the closet. “This is the first one since we got Grace back from that bitch, Kirsten. This is her first steps to recovery!”

“You know what doesn't seem fair?” Cassie sighed. “Emi took care of Kirsten for us – she is now some kind of OnlyFemmes plaything...and even Stephanie is whoring it up every weekend in biker bars. But that dweeb, Brent, Kirsten's brother is the one that started this whole thing...the reason Kirsten did what she did to Grace, and he has got away with it pretty much scott-free. We don't even know where is he? He got away with it and there's nothing we can do...”

“Maybe there is...” Terri smiled, pulling out her tab. She opened an app and angled the screen so that Grace could see it was OnlyFemmes. “This is a community page. It is where we communicate with like minded individuals.” Grace could see she was scrolling through a list of usernames in alphabetical order – Aiko<3, Alice@Law, Anna_ownsJ&R, Artist(Inactive), AzaleaBN, Bunnimacher(Inactive), CassiePnP, CharlottePnP, CLAIREbrody, drlilith... Finally she reached EmiTheShark and opened a DM. “If anyone can find Brent, it is Emi. I would just hate to be in his heels when she does... Now we have pledge to be getting on with...”

“Come on, you!” Commanded Charlotte leading Hunter from the closet by his chin and giving him a firm swat across his latex covered butt with her free hand. She pushed the broken boy to his knees as the other girls crowded around, camera-phones in hand. “Repeat after me, 'Once a boy...'”

The Bare Minimum

 19/25

Jeanie ached with every minute of the 14-hour shift she had and was still enduring. As with anywhere else, the Ministry of Manipulated Wishes had faced a challenging last few years and budget cuts and redundancies had resulted in longer hours and fewer benefits for the witches that remained. Jeanie found herself cursing her ever-increasing quota and her tyrannical line manager far more often that the unsuspecting public whose wishes she was supposed to be twisting into unintended disasters.

Everyone thought the perfect wish came from precision – that long wordy descriptive requests were the key to avoiding the pitfalls that came with leaving your desires at the mercy of a mischievous witch. They were wrong. The key was in fact simplicity. A clear succinct wish was not easy to manipulate – something Jeanie found out the hard way often as scores of ‘customers’ simply wished for her to suck their dick. She was not paid for these wishes – unless you counted a mouthful of unwanted cum, which she didn’t.

It was on a night like this that she ran into Archie. The young man also looked exhausted having pulled a long night shift at the docks lugging barrels of fish into a walk-in freezer. When Jeanie met him he was frustrated and stank like the bottom of a boat.

“So, how does this work again?” He folded his arms, clearly unimpressed by the pixie-like woman offering him whatever his heart desired.

“Okay, so what you have to do is rub my clit three times and…” She grinned as his mouth dropped open. “No, fuckwit, you just tell me what you want, I wave my wand, your wish, my command, yadda-yadda-yadda…happy days.”

“Hmmm…” He nodded sceptically, but then his face softened into a thoughtful expression. “Alright…I wish I could leave all this behind,” he waved his arms at the docks and Jeanie felt a tickle of excitement in her loins. “I want a life of leisure…of luxury…and I don’t want to work long hours for it…just the bare minimum.” The witch before him grinned broadly and everything disappeared.

Archie was lying in the warm afternoon sun – relaxation flooding his body. He adjusted his position and something damp grazed across his shoulder. It was his hair, his long blonde hair. Glancing down, he quickly realised a number of other things. He saw a pair of enormous breasts squeezed into a tiny bikini top, and below that a smooth hourglass-like tummy splayed out into a pair of thick womanly hips. The bikini bottoms clinging to them traced inwards to where his cock had once been. He screamed silently.

“Hey, gorgeous!” A male voice alerted Archie to the presence of a figure to his right and he lowered his sunglasses instinctively. A man with salt and pepper hair stood wearing a speedo. “I keep you in this life of leisure and luxury…” he sauntered over and pushed the long lock of blonde hair back behind Archie’s slender shoulder. With his other hand he thumbed the waistband of his speedo down to reveal a throbbing erection. Archie shuddered as the man’s first hand moved to the back of his head. “I give you all of this…how about you give me the bare minimum in return…

Whatever Happened to Raphael? (Shipshape)

 This is a continuation of my LoanRanger series, which is available on my index page. This particular caption is a flashback of Shipshape, which you can read here

The car idled in the carpark behind the hotel, its seclusion shielding the two figures inside from the paparazzi flashes battering the street st the front, where the promotional gala for LoanRanger glittered with neon signs.

Raphael shifted in his seat, the latex dress squeaking as it clung obscenely to every surgically sculpted curve. The neckline plunged low, displaying the implants Alice had insisted upon. His legs, shaved smooth and glossed with lotion, gleamed. The investor, seated opposite him, watched with an expression that hovered between amusement and appraisal. To Raphael, it was like being on the yacht all over again.

“You wear it well,” the investor said at last. His voice was low, indulgent, the tone of a man already in possession.

Raphael forced a smile, lashes fluttering as Alice had taught him. “I wear what I’m told.” Raphael’s heart thumped. He hated it. The dress, the body, the humiliating role of ornament. But he had learned one thing in these months of forced femininity: survival depended on performance. So he leaned forward, breasts pressing against the latex, voice pitched sweet and high. “I like…being valuable,” he whispered.

The investor’s smile widened. “Good answer.” He leaned closer, conspiratorial now. “Tell me, Raphael. Do you want to stay valuable? Or do you want to spend the rest of your life as LoanRangee’s plaything—paraded, mocked, disposable?”

Raphael’s nails dug into the seat. He thought of Alice smirking as she’d unveiled him on the yacht, a cold hand guiding his waist like property. He thought of his body—no longer his. “I want…more,” he admitted.

The investor reached into his briefcase and produced a slim folder. He slid it across the seat. “Then give me what I need, and I’ll give you what you want. A future. Freedom from Alice's leash. Protection.”

Raphael hesitated before opening the folder. Inside were photographs: offshore accounts, internal memos, emails with Alice’s signature, ledgers showing the hidden trail of transformations. Evidence. Enough to sink LoanRanger and everyone steering it. “You already have this,” Raphael whispered.

“Pieces,” the investor corrected. “What I need is the whole picture. . The contracts. The clauses. You have access. And you have motivation. Bring them to me, and your new body will be an asset, not a punishment.”

Raphael’s throat tightened. He could almost see it: no more humiliating orders, no more being paraded as a joke. Instead, a penthouse, a wardrobe of his choosing, adoration without ridicule. His new body—his curse—turned into currency. He closed the folder, his manicured hands trembling. He looked at the investor, then at his reflection in rearview mirror: blonde hair, painted lips, breasts gleaming under latex. Not a man. Not even himself. Slowly, he nodded. “I’ll get you what you want.”

The investor raised his glass in a toast. “Good girl.”

The Lodger Part 7

 

Brittany stood in her room acutely aware that something wasn't quite right. The room itself with its shadows and creams wasn't the problem – she had even tailored her outfit to match it specially for Ms. Paulsen's return. Looking spectacular as always, Brittany had paired a dark skater dress with silky cream pantyhose, cutting no corners when it came to her makeup – her skin glowed and her hair glimmered. And yet something was very wrong...

Caleb was the same as always. Giddily thinking he was a girl in his pink paradise of a bedroom. Last Brittany had seen, he had been rolling around like an excited puppy on the bubblegum coloured shag rug – his perfect bleach blonde curls and cotton-candy tutu spread around him in a picture of feminine bliss. So why did Brittany feel so,,,off?

The tea clearly hadn't worked on Caleb. She had served him up an extra strong pot as soon as Ms. Paulsen had left – even giving him the bags that she was supposed to drink – and though he had fallen asleep with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face, when he awoke wearing the most masculine thing Brittany could find in the house – a bland unisex pair of brown button up pyjamas – he had just giggled at the sight of his new tits poking out from the top fastening and was back looking like a Barbie doll in 10 minutes.

Brittany had continued to give Caleb her serving of the Camomile tea along with his own. If nothing else, it kept that idiot asleep most of the time and out of her hair. She didn't bother trying the stunt with the pyjamas again and with every enforced nap, he seemed to wake as even more of a simpering airhead that the time before. One afternoon, Brittany caught him sitting in front of the dresser that had once been hers, giggling at himself mindlessly in the mirror and bouncing his boobs.

Brittany was not sure what was wrong, but she no longer looked at Caleb's boobs with the same envy she had a few days ago. Caleb was a boy – he shouldn't have breasts and the fact Ms. Paulsen had given them him was wrong. She just wasn't sure why. The pink room didn't even strike her fancy any more. Once it had held a power over her she couldn't explain, and now? It was just a room. It was stupid pink Caleb's stupid pink room.

Ms. Paulsen would be home later today along with her freshly graduated daughter, Sophie. I sure hope they know what's up with me, Brittany thought as she curtseyed half-heartedly in her skater dress for the mirror. She frowned as it hung loosely over her flat chest. Caleb wasn't a girl...and maybe she wasn't too... She just hoped Ms. Paulsen would know what to do...