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...

The Lodger Part 6

 The rest of this series is now on my index page

Brittany came to the bottom of the house's front steps to see Ms. Paulsen off, careful not to lose her footing on the tiles in her silver pumps. She had no recollection of the woman whose house she lodged in ever leaving home without her, but finally the big day had arrived and Ms. Paulsen was going away for a couple of day's for her daughter Sophie's college graduation.

Brittany had spent the entire morning prepping her appearance for the moment Ms. Paulsen drove away. She wanted the final image of home for her landlady as she drove away to be picture perfect – a lasting mental image of beauty to take with her on her trip. And so, Brittany had picked out the most exquisite dress in her extensive wardrobe, a flowery number with a cinched black bodice complete with a large black rose at the breast. She had straightened and pinned her hair and spent hours getting her makeup just so, until, finally, she was satisfied that her beauty would be akin to a wondrous postcard Ms. Paulsen would carry with her in her mind purse – until she returned with no choice but to move Brittany back into the main bedroom.

Caleb hadn't even come to the door, she thought bitterly. How was he the favourite? He wasn't even a girl... So, why did he get the big pink room? Why had Ms. Paulsen got him breasts and not her? Caleb thought he was a girl. He even acted like one.- especially after drinking the Camomile tea. But he wasn't – she knew because she still remembered his arrival. That was the day she had been moved out of the pink room and into the spare one – the day she was no longer Ms. Paulsen's favourite.

Brittany wanted boobs too. They would fill out her dress perfectly and she would look even more amazing as she waved Ms. Paulsen off on her trips. It wasn't fair. Caleb was a boy and he had breasts, and she was a girl and had none. A plan started to form in her mind. If she could show Caleb he was a boy, he would no longer want his breasts. He might not even want to stay around with Ms. Paulsen. All she had to do was prove it to him.

But how? Of course...the tea! The tea made you sleepy. Brittany had drunk enough of it to know that. She would give Caleb a big pot, not just his serving, but hers too, and he would fall asleep. When he woke up he would have boy clothes on...but still boobs... Hmmm... And where would she get boy clothes? This was hard, Brittany thought wearily, wiping her brow and cursing at the sight of bronzer on the back on her hand. Ms. Paulsen's car was disappearing around the corner at the end of the road. She sighed. She was alone with Caleb now. Stepping carefully up the tiled steps, she headed for the kitchen to prepare some Camomile tea.   

The Anarchist (Bimbo Note)

 18/25

This is a continuation of my Bimbo Note story. The rest of the captions are in order on my index page

Dull, dull, dull... Even the drinks are boring, Azalea thought as she slugged on another glass of house wine from her spot next to the cloakroom. The wedding reception should have been in full by now – an orgy of drunken karaoke, slurred speeches and future regrets, yet the scene before her was as sterile as a 90-year-old's dick – polite toasts, rehearsed dances, sincere messages in a guest book, and worst of all, one of those gimmicky photo booths. Not even the gaudy pinks of the room's drapes and velvet carpets could add colour to the event.

She couldn't remember how she came to be invited to the union of the newly minted Mr and Mrs Frost – some cousin of a cousin maybe – but her plan to drag home a drunken wealthy grooms-man or two was fading by the second. She had incorrectly assumed that the inclusion of distant relations such as herself meant a big budget and similarly rich suitors, however, the vibe from the department store suits and sweaty 20-somethings was poor...poor and dull.

Grabbing two more glasses of wine from the tray of a nearby waiter, she surveyed the cloakroom for a coat she could sell to at least make her coming worthwhile. An impossibly grey middle-aged woman caught her eye – she was standing near the guest book and waving frantically for some kind of help. Apparently, the pen provided had ran dry. Couldn't be any dryer than this party, Azalea muttered under her breath, even as an idea started to form in her mind. A fiendish, terrible majestic idea.

Azalea found her own trenchcoat from the rack and pulled the leather tome from the inside pocket along with the pen that always accompanied it. “I have a pen,” she strode over to the woman with it held out like a sabre before letting it slip from her grasp at the crucial moment. As the woman bent to retrieve it, Azalea quickly scooped up the guest book and replaced it with the Bimbo Note open to a clean white page. “Enjoy!” she smiled sweetly and melted back into the crowd of people.

Azalea knocked back another six glasses of wine as she watched the chaos slowly to simmer into outright anarchy. The stiff suits and off-the-rail dresses started to fade into a posse of large breasted young women dressed in stockings and platform heels. Thinking someone had ordered strippers, the more uptight guests headed for the exit, signing the guestbook before they left, further feeding the scene until the dance floor looked like something from the Playboy Mansion rather than a wedding reception.

“Wait for me!” Azalea plucked another wine glass from the tray of an open-mouthed waiter and danced her way over to where three of the former guests were getting increasingly handsy with one another. She kissed one on the mouth before pouring a little wine between two plump glossy lips, letting a little of the red liquid spill onto the massive breasts below. “Let me help you clear that up!” She said, pushing one of the other bimbo's face towards the soaked pair of tits.

Whatever Happened to Saul? (Rescue Package)

 Today's Flashback Friday is a continuation of my LoanRanger story. All the previous captions in this series are on my index page. This particular flashback is for Rescue Package.

As a man, Saul had been a stress magnet. A failing business and a failing marriage would be enough to get any guy a little anxious, but throw in Saul's nervous disposition and you got a cauldron of jitters. As a man, Saul has been a sweat factory – but as a woman, he was something else entirely.

The stage-lights certainly didn't help. In fact, the whole backstage area was a furnace, and by the time Saul finally got to take his weight off his painfully high-heeled feet, perspiration was streaming down the back of his leather corset and into the seat of his rhinestone covered panties. Already, he could feel a damp patch forming on the velvet cover on the chair holding his plump surgery enhanced ass. Suspenders were chaffing his freshly waxed legs and his nylon stockings were itching uncomfortably.

“You always were a nervous wreck at things like this,” Vivienne his ex-wife and new CEO of LoanRanger spotted him panting in his chair. “Good thing we had the sense to set you up with waterproof makeup for tonight. And with your hair all grown out now, at least you don't need to wear a heavy wig.” She nodded sympathetically at Saul's sweaty brow as the buzz of excitement from the crowd the other side of the curtain started to gather volume.

“Small mercies...” Saul replied dryly and breathed out heavily, his large round breast implants pushing against the leather material of his top and producing another epicentre of warmth on his body. “Vivienne...” he sighed and tossed his long blonde hair to one side and nervously pushing the toe of one of his stilettos into the wooden floor, ...”can't I at least take the plug out for this? There are so many people out there, and it is so uncomfortable. I feel so full with it in and I just know I will forget my lines. It makes me feel so distracted...so...”

“Horny...?” Alice, the LoanRanger company attorney and architect of the scheme that had transformed both Saul and his life in exchange for saving him from his creditors, approached the former husband and wife from behind. “I am afraid there is no time,” the lawyer explained gleefully. “I mean, while I am sure you are nice and loose by now, by the time you have squeezed that cute little princess plug out, the Annual Credit and Loans Awards night will be half-way through its second presentation. If its hostess was spending that time expelling a sextoy in front of them...well, that would just be improper, wouldn't it?” She drank in Saul's baleful look and noted the sympathetic wince on the face of Vivienne, her client. “I will tell you what though, Sugartits. If you waddle that pretty plump ass of yours out onto that stage and entertain those people in your sexy little outfit, I will give you a little 'prompt' every time you forget your lines.” She produced a keyfob and gave Saul a little taste of what she meant that almost sent him leaping out of his seat. “If I were you, I would concentrate,” she grinned as the lights dimmed and the curtains began to open ominously. “Screw up too much and you could be putting on a very different kind of show...

The Lost Art of Gift Giving

“Can I make an observation?” Josephine asked as she snapped another photo. Her client was stood between a pair of Christmas Trees wearing a Santa red latex dress with matching stiletto and glossy nylon pantyhose. Usually, her clients ordered her photoshoot experience days as a feminine escape from their mundane masculine existences, but in spite of the layers of cosmetics painting Greg's face into a creature of beauty, he did not look pleased at all. “You don't seem all that happy. Are you not enjoying this? We can try some different outfits if you would prefer?”

“It's that obvious is it?” Greg brushed some blonde locks of his wig from his face and gently rolled his eyes. With makeup contouring on his face and his thick red lips, it looked like little more than a prissy pout. “Look, I don't want to offend, but this really isn't my thing.” He watched the vivacious photographer's face contort with confusion and sighed. “It's my cousins... There are four of us, and we kind of came up with this tradition about 7 or 8 years ago that whatever we received from each other for Christmas had to be used regardless of how we felt about it. We kind of had issues with re-gifting and it was supposed to fix this and teach each of us to be more grateful. That was the intention anyway.” Greg blushed as if remembering his predicament and started to fidget with the petticoat beneath his dress before thinking better of it. “So, after a few years, I kind of started to have some fun with it. I would gift weird embarrassing things, John got a mankini, I got Abigail a whipped-cream enema kit...the one year I got Kacey glow in the dark nipple rings. She didn't realise she had to keep them in for six weeks so they would heal...she had them in for her wedding...”

“So let me guess,” Josephine grinned and started to shoot pictures again. “They teamed up and got you a makeover photoshoot with little old me this year? By the way, what actually is to say you actually have to use the presents? What's to stop you saying no?”

“It is an automatic disinvite from everything, every family event – weddings, birthdays...even the Easter Egg Hunt. It is immediate family pariah status.” Greg settled his hands on his hips. “And actually, the photoshoot was just John's gift. Kacey got me a round of hormone therapy, she insisted I take them for a month before I came to you. She quote unquote wanted me to have curves to show off. And Abigail...well, she got me...” He glanced down nervously at the hem of his vinyl dress and whispered, “...a chastity cage...”

“Ah...” Josephine chuckled, “now I understand why you didn't want me to show you how to tuck after I put your breastplate on. You're already tucked up nice and tight.” She arched one eyebrow over her camera. “That is if the pills have left you much to tuck.” She tried to stifle her laughter as she continued to shoot photos. The cousins had got Greg good but it probably wasn't the moment to mention that John had paid for the premium package and she had used permanent makeup and threaded the wig into his actual hair.  

 

The After Party

 

“That's it, Ladies. Get under their nice and deep. Your gifts are down there somewhere...maybe right at the back!” Mr. Henderson's gameshow-host baritone echoed across the room and over the heads of the prone figures of Freddy and his Mother.

“Hey, Mom!” Freddy hissed, giving a furious side-eye. “Maybe your promotion's under here too...” His Mother didn't return his glare. Her makeup caked face just kept on looking earnestly under her boss's office Christmas tree as if the keys to her future career did indeed lie down there somewhere. Freddy sighed and chewed on his ruby coated lower lip. How had he allowed himself to get roped into his Mom's shameless scheme like this? Was his dignity really worth so little? Behind them, the magnanimous Mr. Henderson was lighting a fireplace and Freddy felt the flames warm his exposed buttcheeks. He wanted to reach back and pull the Christmas jumper back down over his ass but the last thing he needed was to draw any further attention to his rear than necessary. It was bad enough that the panties his Mom had given him to wear were on full display.

“Oh, Sir, you are far too generous!” His Mother announced in a liquorice sweet voice as she laid her hands on a pair of wrapped boxes Really, these gorgeous Christmas jumpers were more than enough!" She leaned in close to Freddy so that her dark hair became intermingled with the blonde highlights of his wig and gave him a stern look that said 'Don t ruin this for me!' Freddy rolled his eves and felt his heavy lashes as he did so remind him he was wearing even more makeup than his mother. The jumpers really were more than enough. His mother had flirted shamelessly with Mr. Henderson throughout the party and when he had insisted they stay for champagne in his office after the rest of the guests had left, he had presented them with a pair of Christmas jumpers - the figure hugging kind that were meant to be worn like dress - a dress that rode up mercilessly when you started crawling around on your hands and knees.

“Oh no...” Freddy gasped as he saw what his mother had produced from the first of the gift boxes. She was holding a pair of pink fur-lined handcuffs from one of her French-tipped fingers. The cogs of greeds were turning behind her eyes as she pondered how much she wanted this promotion. Meanwhile, Mr. Henderson's son had taken his place in the doorway of his father's office and the two men gazed down at the two women on their knees beneath the Christmas tree with matching grins stretched across their faces.

“Don't worry, Jessica. You have a pair too!” Mr. Henderson smiled and put his arm around his son's shoulders. “We are a family company here. If you can make my boy happy, I will be sure to make your mother very happy indeed!” Freddy's pretty mouth dropped open in horror just as his mother thrust the remaining gift box triumphantly into his hands.

Regifted

 

Giles knew something was wrong the moment he opened his eyes. Waking up underneath the Christmas Tree was never a good way to start the day. How much brandy had he drank last night? Groaning, he stumbled to his feet, taking a line of tinsel from the tree with him. His head was spinning and he raised a hand to his temple to find that he was still wearing the stupid Santa hat that girl from the bar had put on his head. He scrunched his eyes in an attempt to remember anything else he didn't need his wife finding out about. Finding nothing but a blurry haze, he attempted to remove the tinsel from around his neck only for it to catch on something. Hair? He fumbled with confusion. Long glossy hair? Following the line of tinsel with his eyes, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of a slender, tight feminine body with a pierced navel and tidy round breasts wrapped in a red silk ribbon. He raised the tinsel up that was by now draped over his shoulders like he was a snake dancer, as if his normal male body was there somewhere – he just needed to find it.

“In case you haven't figured it out yet, it is a bodysuit!” Giles's wife stood in the doorway with her arms folder over her chest. “It is my present to myself. Cause I know now I can't rely on my worthless husband to get me something I want – except maybe stumbling home blackout drunk and smelling of perfume on Christmas Eve. It sure made getting you in that thing a damn sight easier.” She watched Giles open and close his mouth pathetically and strode across the room towards him. “You promised me something good this year. And, fool me, I actually believed you – despite how many times you have disappointed me in the past. I believed you until I found these in the closet anyway!” She held up a plastic display box. “Ho-Ho-Ho Horny vibrating nipple rings,” she read aloud, “self-piercing and equipped with mini-electroshocks to give your love life a spark this Christmas.” Giles's wife sighed. “No, freaking, thank you!?”

“Honey...” Giles started to protest and paused at the sound of the soft feminine lilt that was now his voice. He raised a hand to his swan-like throat and traced a finger to a pair of soft pink lips, which were by now hanging open in horror. He caught his wife's glare before shifting his gaze to his would-be gift. The box was empty. His knees quivering involuntarily.

“Whatever is the matter?” His wife smiled coyly. “Is it this?” She pulled a keyfob from her pocket and seconds later Giles was squealing in pain as sparks shot from his ribbon covered breasts. “I guess at least your shitty gift came with batteries.” She smirked cruelly and gave him another zap. “And to think this is what you wanted for me... To spark my tits until I performed whatever depraved act you wanted from me.” She watched with satisfaction as Giles's new delicate form fell to his knees in front of the tree panting. “Well, we'll see who the Ho Ho Ho really is this afternoon. I invited a couple of my guy friends over for Christmas dinner. I haven't decided yet if I am going to make you watch them screw me, or if I will watch them give you a good stuffing – either way you are finally giving me a gift I actually want...”

Under the Influence Part 9

 

As Brody crawled along the paved streets, so did his skin. Thousands of people had seen Claire's feminine creation by now, but he had always been safely behind a webcam and someone's screen. Now he was exposed for all the world to see. Real life was not like an OnlyFemmes profile. He was not there purely for those willing to pay to enjoy him. He was there for the angry glares, the disapproving stares, the tuts, the head-shakes – all as Lady Radius half-guided, half-dragged his bound body across the town square.

She had started by reaching under his pathetic maid's dress and grabbing him by his shrivelled manhood. The hormones had made him weak but the months of non-stop humiliation and self-degradation had made him weaker and he was no match for the powerful woman. She had pulled the uniform up over his head and pushed him forward onto the bed while he still tried to nurse his throbbing genitals. A few hard swats on the ass from the leather riding crop followed and then the dress was up over his head completely. Lady Radius pushed a knee painfully in his back began to use a long piece of rope to bind his arms behind his back – even adding the humiliating detail of looping it around his soft hormone induced breasts.

Once he was firmly secured, the domina rolled him onto his back and struck him directly between the legs with the riding crop. The black satin panties offered little protection and with his arms beneath him, he was completely powerless to defend himself and simply lay their trembling as the vicious woman pulled firstly a pair of stockings up to his thighs and then some over the knee leather boots. She yanked him off the bed and he quickly realised the heels were far too high for him to walk in, but that was clearly the point as Lady Radius dragged him on his knees across the hotel's dingy carpet.

Once in the street, Brody was thankful for the uncomfortable boots as at least the leather protected his knees as he was hauled relentlessly across the city. He didn't know how long they would continue on like this, but clearly he was being taken somewhere. Lady Radius's home? Her dungeon?! A sick feeling entered his stomach. Would she be taking him on public transport? Like this?! The stares from the street were bad enough – close up would be unbearable. His head dropped in shame and his mistress gave with a swat with the crop to make him keep the pace. Wherever they were going wouldn't be good. He had the feeling this was the most comfortable it was going to get, even with the unsuspected buttplug Lady Radius has rammed in his ass during their trip down the hotel elevator.

The terms of his sister's bounty ad played over and over in his head - NO SAFEWORDS. NO MERCY. NO SAFEWORDS. NO MERCY. NO SAFEWORDS. NO MERCY!!! Lady Radius was truly the victorious domme, yet there was no way he could pay her prize. He chanced a look at her scowling face just as she pressed a heel into his fleshy exposed asscheek. Somehow, he didn't think she would take the news well...

What Else Happened to Stephanie? (Whatever Happened to the Pink n Prissy Collective)

This is a continuation of the Pink n Prissy Collective story which can be found in full on my index page. This particular caption is a flashback of this one with the unfortunate Stephanie appearing in her second Flashback Friday.

Stephanie pushed her way into the apartment, the by now familiar butterflies beginning to flutter in her stomach. Her latest conqueror, a short-haired goth girl so-called Arachna, followed her in – very butch, very cool, certainly not new to this kind of thing. Not that Stephanie was by this point. This was the fourth girl she'd gone home with this month in her newest attempt to scratch the itch that Kirsten had exposed.

Arachna's flat was all black suede and leather. It smelled just like the motorbike jacket Stephanie had clung to all the way back from the New Year's party at the lesbian bar where she had allowed herself to wooed with whisky and picked up. By contrast, Stephanie was all powder and shine – perfectly conditioned blonde hair and latex leggings so glossy you could see your face in her ass. Just as she had been that day in Kirsten's room...

“I'm gonna take you places, Bitch!” Arachna smelled her and wrapped a fingerless gloved hand around one of Stephanie's shiny butt-cheeks. She hated herself for it, but the b-word struck a chord in her and she could feel herself already starting to get wet. She parted her lips and turned to see the lesbian was pulling a strapon up over her jeans. “I'm gonna show you the fucking world!” She pushed Stephanie forward so that she was leaning over a sofa with both hands pressed into the leather cushioned wall. “I'm gonna grant all your wishes like no genie ever could!” And then Stephanie's leggings were being peeled down over her ass. An odd duality took over and she was somehow back at Kirsten's but also being bent over by this new girl. She felt the dildo being lined up with her dripping sex, ready to be pushed home.

“No!” Stephanie cried softly. “Not there!” Shame crept through her like an echo of every time she had played out this scene – like an echo of that first time with the entire Pink n Prissy Collective watching on with glee at her violation. She swallowed and imagined the last vestige of her pride dropping into her stomach. She needed this. She wished to God she didn't, but, fuck did she need this. “Put it in my ass!” She stammered.

“Dirty Bitch!” Arachna scoffed but didn't need asking twice. She repositioned her toy, rubbed some extra spit on it, and pushed it slowly but firmly into Stephanie's most private hole. She instantly went blind with a cocktail of pain and pleasure. She was being split in half and filled with something new – it was degradation, shame, lust and paradise all melted into one. A hand pulled her hair into a reign, another spanked at the ass that was being mercilessly violated. And then the hands were in her mouth, hooking her cheeks wide as she was slammed into again and again. Stephanie tried to reach back to spread herself to make her ordeal more comfortable but Arachna pushed her forward onto the sofa and continued harder. Stephanie moaned as she felt the first signs of an orgasm building – the familiar throb that she was chasing and had been chasing over and over since Kirsten – and that she knew she would go on chasing every weekend...

Pre-emptive Measures Part 3

 

The taste of expensive Champagne was about the only thing Daniel had allowed himself to get used to over the last six months. Alice limited his intake, of course – she didn't want to let her toy get sloppy. But, she did allow him to sample many the top shelf bottle on their many trips together. Whether the visit was to fulfil one of his many 'upgrades', or simply an excursion to another luxury resort, there was always a day set aside for indulgence and that included a bottle or two of bubbly.

Each time, after each new piece was added to his quickly transforming body, Alice would be there to appreciate him as if he were the fine wine. She didn't sample, didn't taste, she just stood close, drinking him in with her eyes, breathing in the delicious notes of his new breasts, his fat new lips, his long new hair extensions. The hormones were hitting hard now too. He had grown curves – his skin had become soft as silk. These were things Daniel had not got used to.

Finally, it was on a trip to the Mediterranean coast of Turkey in a boutique hotel that Alice prepared to take her first sip. Daniel's hands were flat on the room's desk, their latest bottle of Champagne empty before him as Alice sat on the edge of the bed admiring his latest new feature. His ass implants had been added less than a month before and his backside was still tender as he lent forward to give the LoanRanger attorney the view she wanted. The six inch heels were a size too big but they served the purpose of serving his pert ass on a silver platter. The Vektor silk stockings were top of the line, as was the matching silk panties tugged up between his cheeks – again things Daniel was yet to get used to.

“Even Raphael's wasn't as fine as this,” Alice was breathing heavily behind him. He caught her reflection in the mirror and saw that she had removed her top. She was practically drooling while completely fixated on his new ass. She stood from the bed and something caught in his throat. She wasn't just topless – she was completely naked but for a thick pink dildo strapped around her crotch. Flashes of every action he had taken in aid of Raphael's insider trading scheme flashed through his mind and now more than ever he regretted all of them. This was surely better than prison, better even than fawning over some billionaire while wearing a tiny bikini on a yacht – but in that moment Daniel wished to be anywhere else but that room.

“Wait...” Daniel gasped, but Alice didn't listen. She stepped up behind him and kissed the back of his neck whilst expertly pulling his panties to his ankles with one hand. The cold lubricant of the dildo pressed into his lower back and the soft silk of his underwear caressed his legs all the way down. When Alice entered him, she was slow but firm and soon she was all the way in. He felt the front of her hips press into the cheeks of his new ass as the rest of his body screamed in a combination of discomfort and a niggling quiet but growing pleasure. “Wait..” he moaned it this time just as Alice pulled at his hair, arching his back and pulling his vision up to the reflection of his beautiful feminine face. His eyes held for a second and then rolled back as Alice began to slowly pull out. “There was no way he was going to get used to this...”