tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10607187939216518452024-03-25T23:00:56.553-07:00The ZoligomystThe Zoligomyst compells you. The Zoligomyst compells everyone - to embrace their pink, powdered, scented and fluffy sides. TG captions for everyonezoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.comBlogger659125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-51659119981040197122023-11-12T04:52:00.000-08:002023-11-12T04:52:01.479-08:00'O' Sissy, My Sissy!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQABGm0aRcrYTjMHqyDmcKCUXDqlK-5WESSLiMVCBA4SLDfBC7KdxGW7kKOAemeo5vXP3BzU-sv8MvDlRRGJZm_l9AXELA5SV2jTyI5GFIeQZxCUdM5Zoz6z08JbItlqMLhbOU1x2bK74h4WPWzAiJeyUiePhdQuZNYzdxMU-kPLI7DqrRGe7yn1nksmC/s960/o_my.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQABGm0aRcrYTjMHqyDmcKCUXDqlK-5WESSLiMVCBA4SLDfBC7KdxGW7kKOAemeo5vXP3BzU-sv8MvDlRRGJZm_l9AXELA5SV2jTyI5GFIeQZxCUdM5Zoz6z08JbItlqMLhbOU1x2bK74h4WPWzAiJeyUiePhdQuZNYzdxMU-kPLI7DqrRGe7yn1nksmC/s320/o_my.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Studies have shown
that the female orgasm can be up to ten times more intense than its
male equivalent,” Jane Silver let her words wash over the
auditorium full of people before her. “Doesn't seem very fair, does
it?” There were murmurs, giggles and even a few cheers from her
audience of two hundred couples that had been specially invited to
her presentation. “That's why here at MyPleasure, we have developed
a drug that stimulates the male brain during ejaculation to emit
theta waves equivalent to its female counterpart, simulating the
female orgasmic experience.” She paused. “That's science talk for
'it will make you cum your brains out' like you can only dream
about.”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">There were whoops from
the crowd and couples looked at each other in wonder with winks and
wet lips. There was a palpable excitement in the room now, especially
from the men. “Now,” Jane continued, “what do us girls get out
of this deal?” She smiled out a few good natured heckles and
stepped closer to the edge of the stage. “As you know, you were
invited here today for our product launch after filling out one of
our sexual fantasy questionnaires online. These were answered
independently from your partners so not to bias the responses and I
can tell you now, gentlemen, that every lady in this room answered
one certain question in a very specific way.” She paused again to
allow the suspense to build. “When asked, 'on a scale of one to
ten, how much would you like to feminise your partner?', they
responded...10!”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The atmosphere in the
crowd changed in an instant. The room was suddenly filled with looks
of shock and suspicious glances. “Well, ladies, we know that just
one experience of our product will be enough to get you whatever you
want. After all, our new drug is only on sale to women, and we know
for a fact that every man in this room will do whatever it takes for
another taste of sweet ecstasy.” The heckling was no longer light
hearted and Jane had to adjust her mic to be heard above the male
anger and mockery. “Guys, you are probably thinking you are better
off avoiding our product like the plague. It can't be worth a new
life as a sissy, right? Well, I hope you enjoyed your complimentary
champagne as you entered.” The room fell silent apart from a single
glass falling from someone's hand and smashing on the floor.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Perhaps you'd like
to hear a testimonial? Benji, come here, darling!” The curtains at
the back of the stage parted and a timid blonde in a frilly wedding
dress stepped through. “Before becoming my sissy wife, Benji was my
lab assistant and one of the first men to try our new product. So
addicted to the female thrill is dear Benji, that she agreed to marry
me.” There was a growing rumble of excitement from the women in the
room as their partners sat in silence next to them. Benji's madeup
face was a picture of shame and acceptance as he knew what was going
to happen next. “Benji is my sissy now,” Jane grinned, “just as
your boyfriends and husbands will become yours – pathetic little
orgasm addicts to do with as you please. Of course, it's up to you
how you allow them to climax. I like to use a small but extremely
powerful buttplug.” She took a keyfob from her pocket and a look of
fear washed over Benji. “You will all find one in your welcome
packs.”</p></div><p><br /> </p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-31737028292936932452023-03-01T09:55:00.008-08:002023-03-01T09:55:54.971-08:00My Accessory<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZXeqrQvo1kAJoBzZWvfbhbdCx1QSJBYGosTVaM4b3KuiWCLdCZBqxqG8q8b-9c1ebMkZiNw7sfnO5XtBcTrScpb6Bs3f7o339hCmBPoPliwgnA1YJP1kszN-qFceiINDPW7a5p_-cC1V9M6p81ZAKLUsilvvSEWeaSnnWyl7Dv-M1XarBC2DeECMkA/s1128/myaccessory.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="1128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZXeqrQvo1kAJoBzZWvfbhbdCx1QSJBYGosTVaM4b3KuiWCLdCZBqxqG8q8b-9c1ebMkZiNw7sfnO5XtBcTrScpb6Bs3f7o339hCmBPoPliwgnA1YJP1kszN-qFceiINDPW7a5p_-cC1V9M6p81ZAKLUsilvvSEWeaSnnWyl7Dv-M1XarBC2DeECMkA/s320/myaccessory.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">'Game? No this isn't a
game, Darling. Though I must say I am having fun dolling you up.
Don't give me that look. It isn't becoming of a lady. Parting those
pretty pink lips like that will give guys all sorts of dirty ideas.
Done? I guess we're gone for now, but...whoa...not so fast. If I were
you, I would keep that dress on a little longer and listen to me. See
how it looks in the mirror. Drink it in why don't you? Study
yourself. Just look at how much work I have put into you – the
hair, the makeup...the shoes... You will need to remember it
all...for next time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">As you know, I leave
for college this weekend, and our summer of love will come to an end.
All those sloppy blowjobs in the back of your car...those nights
sneaking into my bedroom so I could ride you raw...all that
preamble...all that hard work.. You see, I'm an ambitious girl –
ambitious and ruthless. On Saturday I go off to college, but I have
no intention of being just another freshman in the crowd. I have much
bigger plans. The sororities...the social scene...the parties...I
want it all and you're going to help me get it.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">You see, if I shuffle
timidly through those ivy-covered gates with my head down and my
hands in my pockets, I will quickly be another face lost in the
crowd. But, on the other hand, if I rock up with my obedient
feminised little sissy boyfriend in tow, I will instantly grab the
respect of even the baddest bitch on campus. And when said sissy
turns up every weekend in perfect dress to serve me and my growing
clique of fellow alpha females, I will be fielding invites from every
sorority at the college.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I know what you're
thinking. Why would you do that, right? But even under those fake
eyelashes I can see that look as you think about losing me. You're
addicted. I knew you would be the second I chose you. All I had to do
was spoil you for a summer with sex and intimacy and you would be
willing to spoil me for much longer to come.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Sure you can stay home
if you want. You never have to put on that shimmering dress again,
strap on those heels or practice putting on that makeup. But you
will. We both know that. You will in the blind hope that I might take
pity on you and let you put that little dick in me once more after an
evening of you serving my house sisters. And who knows? Maybe I
will...Or maybe I will let you taste my ass instead...or model
outfits for the girls... That's the gamble you'll be taking, and we
both know you'll roll the dice. I knew the second I watched you
eagerly step into those satin panties earlier this afternoon when you
thought we were playing some kind of kinky sex game.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">But this isn't a game.
Though you are a pawn. You are my wildcard for social success. You
are my passage to popularity. You are my accessory!'</p></div><p><br /> </p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-10790193803742090312023-02-20T09:56:00.003-08:002023-02-20T09:56:42.080-08:00Home of the Governess<p> Sorry for the lack of a caption last week. I have been horrendously busy with work.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNag4CtpsQPEU7FO0SSXaBX5lcxCt1t71OasXBawbRhS0Omkh4yS5y1ezfNhbpn8M9Rrx1N-DdxEjQoawTAAMm9vARQ6Mu-84mC4thMnNo50zEe0vM6UmHe_yG3jslJ4RdeBJhQs0p-PY82rFbYnbQv5NuRRVJe93lL3oK5mSyokBfhac9OC1cdbETA/s900/homeofthegoverness.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="621" data-original-width="900" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNag4CtpsQPEU7FO0SSXaBX5lcxCt1t71OasXBawbRhS0Omkh4yS5y1ezfNhbpn8M9Rrx1N-DdxEjQoawTAAMm9vARQ6Mu-84mC4thMnNo50zEe0vM6UmHe_yG3jslJ4RdeBJhQs0p-PY82rFbYnbQv5NuRRVJe93lL3oK5mSyokBfhac9OC1cdbETA/s320/homeofthegoverness.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Detective Finn Collier
ducked under the police tape and strode into the crime scene. If
seeing ten police cruisers parked outside the old mansion on the hill
had seemed surreal, things were just about to go to whole new level
of weird. He spotted his partner, Detective Pam Larsson, talking to a
crime scene photographer and walked over. “What do we have here,
Pam?” he demanded. “Kidnapping? False imprisonment?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Looks like it,”
Detective Larsson nodded, “Fifteen vics so far. All like this...or
worse.” She glanced at the two figures standing in the corridor,
both in short maids' uniforms and heels, their arms bound behind
their backs and ball gags stuffed deep between painted lips. “Poor
guys...”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Guys?!” Finn's
eyes went wide. “You mean...”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Men?” Pam nodded,
“yes, all of them. Some have been here quite some by the looks of
things. These two are some of the newer additions by all accounts.
Their transformation seems to have been mostly cosmetic. Hence the
bonds, I guess. Some of the guys further into the house are nowhere
near as lucky. They are much further gone. Psychological
conditioning, we think. Probably drug induced too.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Good Lord...”
Detective Collier gasped. He eyed the desperate look of the blonde
maid before him and immediately wished he hadn't. He tried to avert
his gaze but only succeeded at staring at a pair of glossy legs in
fishnets perched on open toed heels instead. He was having a hard
time thinking of these poor men as lucky. “Who would do something
like this?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“We're pretty sure
it's a woman,” Pam said consulting her notepad, “judging by the
strapons we found in the sex dungeon. Oh right, that's a thing too.
There are also hypnosis tapes we found with a woman's voice on them.
Thirties or forties by the sound of her voice. Some of the officers
are calling her the Governess. There's a large dressing room full of
outfits like these and...others. We're trying to track down who
bought them, but nothing so far.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Okay,” Finn
scratched his head. “How about in the meantime, we get these poor
guys out of them?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Oh, they are much
too far gone for that. Some of these men have undergone serious
mental conditioning. It's going to take some of them months, maybe
years, of therapy to reconnect them with who they really are. Not
that we even know who they are yet. Even these two,” Pam pointed at
their prissy welcoming committee, “seem to be deep into hormone
cycles. They need to be weaned off and will still have curves for a
very long time. In the short-term, our focus needs to be on finding
the Governess. Because someone who does something like this has an
obsession. They aren't just going to stop because we found some of
their maids...” </p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-7857858772317232592023-02-06T09:56:00.001-08:002023-02-06T09:56:07.434-08:00ChickStarter<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwsXWFCzLoUXoRaLWiHDyhwEMcOvg7f3exdv6LgrD7mtXX-wQ9g9s0h1LxIkO6Ir7tV2Hmkml6WrQaO76EARoS_IsB9Nw0kApdDGwCprbf_iDSBlSCge8NsV1WlNw7R6wmaHvTroxCP6-qDAHRHc-ff09BZw1wNLqtg8tJbRxlzhkZJ6PsfnB6Lj9A_g/s1128/chickstarter.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="1128" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwsXWFCzLoUXoRaLWiHDyhwEMcOvg7f3exdv6LgrD7mtXX-wQ9g9s0h1LxIkO6Ir7tV2Hmkml6WrQaO76EARoS_IsB9Nw0kApdDGwCprbf_iDSBlSCge8NsV1WlNw7R6wmaHvTroxCP6-qDAHRHc-ff09BZw1wNLqtg8tJbRxlzhkZJ6PsfnB6Lj9A_g/s320/chickstarter.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It began as any other
quiet Friday morning. At least until the media trucks pulled up
outside and reporters started hammering on our door. We assembled in
the hall at the bottom of the stairs as we always seem to do in a
crisis, that is except for my sister who hovered timidly on the
upstairs landing above us. My Mom has always had a bit of a sixth
sense for our guilt and lasered in on her immediately while my Dad
and I looked on open-mouthed.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Sylvie, what is
going on?!” she yelled. “Why is every news crew in the county
seemingly intent on breaking into our house?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“It was just supposed
to be a joke...” My sister's face was a mask of fear. She was a
year older than me but I had never seen her look like such a scared
little kid. “It just got out of hand, that's all...” She gulped
as my parents folded their arms in unison. “I started a
GoFundMe...for Gabe,” she looked at me, “I said he wanted to live
as a girl and needed money for clothes and makeup. I was just being
silly. I set a target of a hundred bucks but I didn't actually expect
anyone to donate. Except they did... It went viral and people gave
almost fifteen grand. People gave so much the local news started
emailing me. They wanted to do a piece on Gabe...”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“What?!” My Mom
turned crimson and looked like she was about to explode. “Are you
insane?!” Another loud knock on the door cut her rant short. “Well,
young lady, it looks like you going to have to go out their and
explain. And then you are going to spend the rest of the day
reimbursing people.” Their eyes locked and something unspoken
seemed to pass between them. I practically heard a penny drop as my
Mom realised Sylvie hadn't bought her new BMW with the tips from her
overtime shifts after all. “Right...” her eyes darted around the
room as she frantically tried to think of what to do. “Okay, I'll
deal with you later,” she snapped at my sister. “Right now, just
find something for your brother to wear while we figure out what to
do about this mess you've created!”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">So that's how I ended
up standing outside my own house dressed as a girl while an army of
photographers snapped pictures of me and reporters tried to shove
microphones in my face. I'm pretty skinny so I fit easily into the
polka dot dress Sylvie picked out for me and the wig she had from a
stint in the school drama club plus a bit of makeup completed my
makeover. I tried to keep my eyes glued to the ground that I wanted
to swallow me up and the one glance up I did take was met with the
gleeful smirk of my sister. Thankfully, my Mom fielded most of the
reporters' questions. I suppose she was worried I would expose the
scam. After about fifteen minutes of my humiliation, a well-dressed
woman from a local network came over.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“I understand your
GoFundMe raised nearly fifteen thousand dollars,” she smiled, ”my
channel would be willing to match that if we can have exclusive
access to your son's...errr...daughter's journey.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Now I didn't exactly
see dollar signs in my Mom's eyes, but I saw enough...enough to know
that this morning wouldn't be the end of my nightmare, not by a long
shot...</p><br /><p></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-49200275764483080692023-01-30T10:28:00.000-08:002023-01-30T10:28:01.295-08:00Smoking Hot<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuj_2chDV0aBDQ67smA9ICfUbPjrLfzqv7_4T4qBsJywtT38cAC3uZr_IeB6A_K3Fux_591Dg90QcVsp3E4Bumq-E97flI8OGLZ7cBFlwVDN2hdUDodoGitRJL6uVx8_utQ_VB-MQPqZdQhIDRWlHoaGk9FUmQPyPKLLLkqFFLBx4vhaajnohFrz2LgQ/s1280/smokinghot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1280" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuj_2chDV0aBDQ67smA9ICfUbPjrLfzqv7_4T4qBsJywtT38cAC3uZr_IeB6A_K3Fux_591Dg90QcVsp3E4Bumq-E97flI8OGLZ7cBFlwVDN2hdUDodoGitRJL6uVx8_utQ_VB-MQPqZdQhIDRWlHoaGk9FUmQPyPKLLLkqFFLBx4vhaajnohFrz2LgQ/s320/smokinghot.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Kaitlyn swatted with
irritation at the buzzing intercom on her desk as if it were some
intruding insect. It had been a long day for the hypnotherapist and
now her 5 o'clock was late. Not that she was in any rush to spend
another hour with that insufferable man and his futile attempt to
quit smoking. The moron didn't seem to understand that she wasn't
some kind of magician. To make progress you actually had to make a
commitment towards improvement – not just lie there lazily on her
couch, farting into the expensive red leather and ignoring her. The
intercom buzzed again furiously.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“For God's sake,
what?!” Kaitlyn yelled down the line at her secretary, who no doubt
heard her from the adjoining office through the wall anyway.
“Sorry...what it is Cathy?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“It's your 5 o'clock,
Doctor – Mr. Kent, the smoker,” her voice sounded feeble and
tinny through the speaker, “he's cancelled his session. He says the
therapy isn't working. He called it a waste of time.” Cathy paused
knowing her boss would need a moment to seethe before she piled on
the bad news. “That's not all, Doctor. His son is here, at the
front desk I mean. It seems Mr. Kent wants his money back and he sent
the boy to collect it.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Right...” Kaitlyn
sighed angrily. As nice as it was not to have to spend any more time
with the flatulent Mr. Kent, she couldn't believe the nerve of the
man demanding a refund on an entire course of therapy. She smiled
thinly as an idea started to form. “Oh Cathy,” she said pushing
down the button on the intercom, “send him through won't you? I'm
sure we can work something out...”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">An hour passed and
Cathy was getting a little impatient. It was past six and she wanted
to go home but her boss was still in with Mr. Kent's son. What was
she doing? He wasn't even a patient. She knocked on the door gently
and pushed into the doctor's office expecting to see her with the boy
in his late teens she had led through earlier. What she got instead
almost made her fall down in shock.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Ah Cathy,” Kaitlyn
waved her in, “we were just finishing up.” The doctor gestured to
what appeared to be a young woman in a short dress and heels sprawled
on the leather couch. “I told Billy here that we couldn't refund
his dad's payment but since the last session was already paid for we
could use it to give young Billy some help understanding girls. Some
hypnosis and a little help from my prop cupboard and I would say he
is more than in touch with his feminine side. It's just a shame the
hour is up so quickly.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Huh?” Cathy's eyes
were popping out of her head at the sight of the boy with the blank
stare piercing through layers of makeup. “You're sending him home
like that?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Oh, don't worry,”
Kaitlyn grinned, “he will snap out of it before he gets home. It's
best he keeps the outfit anyway since I have programmed his femme
alter-ego to re-emerge every time he sees his dad smoking a
cigarette.” </p></div><p><br /> </p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-82715495190716924982023-01-26T03:25:00.001-08:002023-01-26T03:25:42.734-08:00RansomWear<p> Sorry for the late caption this week. I had a job interview on Tuesday morning so I was busy on Monday. </p><p>By the way, thank you for all the lovely comments on my captions, I am not intentionally ignoring them but I am having problems leaving replies as I get logged out whenever I try. Please know I read and appreciate all of them.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKKwc6O3jIKy70fLDoNH_tF8UQV5QfFqNIMU1dSuX7A9PT4KqKpXT19pRdetMbYvL1eoacGxGiVuJ_Ylb3c9Iv_z-KhSPaSotQvkRxZqW1i9E3lcFtyltiK813G3gSNlZZOhkDhQQ-sI1WXvVFFQ_ol2cT2OmbRAVGwxm9mBCsdA18SffzZfv2RtH2A/s1280/ransomwear.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="905" data-original-width="1280" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKKwc6O3jIKy70fLDoNH_tF8UQV5QfFqNIMU1dSuX7A9PT4KqKpXT19pRdetMbYvL1eoacGxGiVuJ_Ylb3c9Iv_z-KhSPaSotQvkRxZqW1i9E3lcFtyltiK813G3gSNlZZOhkDhQQ-sI1WXvVFFQ_ol2cT2OmbRAVGwxm9mBCsdA18SffzZfv2RtH2A/s320/ransomwear.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Good afternoon, you're
through to UltraReal Bodysuits Customer Care, my name is Felicity.
How can I help you today?</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">You have to help me!
Please help me! This is a nightmare!</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Whoa!! Slow down there
tiger. Where's the fire?</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">My suit, the one I have
on loan from you, it's been hacked!!</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Wait! What do you mean
it's been hacked? Do you have it on right now?</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">Yes, and it won't come
off.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">What do mean it won't
come off?</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">It won't come off. When
I try to activate the keypad on the hip, the LED just flashes red and
then nothing happens.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Okay, that's strange.
All our bodysuits are state-of-the-art, expertly handcrafted to give
the most authentic female experience to any wearer. Wait a
minute...didn't you say you thought it had been hacked?!</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">I got an email.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">An email?!</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">Some anonymous sender,
but they knew everything about me. Said they had hacked my suit with
something called a ransomware virus.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Oh, right. Those...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">Yes, those...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Well, sir, I am pleased
to tell you it is your lucky day. Here at UltraReal Bodysuits we put
the customer first always and we are fully insured for occassions
such as this. If you pay this err...ransom, we will gladly refund you
once you are out safe and sound. How great is that?</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">They don't want
money...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">What?!</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">The hacker...he isn't
asking for money. He...errr...wants something else. He wants me. He
wants me to..oh god I cant...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Sir?</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">...but I can't stay
like this. This was supposed to be a bit of fun...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Sir, please calm down.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">...and now I'm stuck
like this...unless...unless...but it's vile...degrading...to be used
like that...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Sir, please?!</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">...I'm going to do it.
I have to. I can't stay like this... Goodbye.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Sir?...Sir?...Please
come back. We can help you negotiate. Sir? We can replace any money.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: right;">…</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">But....that....that is
going to stay with you forever...</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-35855676325103552362023-01-16T13:28:00.003-08:002023-01-16T13:34:05.757-08:00After the Sleepover<p> If I were to do a few Flashback Fridays, which captions would you like them for? Can be recent ones or ancient...</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_ROEcCWmTE0p-CRY324yKPhHhZnHXtQQWWu99jWJrKVxLk55goaZg07NQyxW-3wd6aPsgA6_69f3k3PxX8hOV9E-iYw6SiGf_DhjFQW_q1_UCrfQ386PsQaX3PC_iXrHW0GqOUuQG-az7T6JNBGx1Wz42Xhzj1WrCF9dT4-oS8UF6TxK4vpi0M4SQA/s1000/afterthesleepover.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="1000" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_ROEcCWmTE0p-CRY324yKPhHhZnHXtQQWWu99jWJrKVxLk55goaZg07NQyxW-3wd6aPsgA6_69f3k3PxX8hOV9E-iYw6SiGf_DhjFQW_q1_UCrfQ386PsQaX3PC_iXrHW0GqOUuQG-az7T6JNBGx1Wz42Xhzj1WrCF9dT4-oS8UF6TxK4vpi0M4SQA/s320/afterthesleepover.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“We're never gonna
talk about this ever again, right?” James didn't even dare look at
his friend as they sauntered away from the girls' summer cabin. The
morning sun was just rising above the trees and casting unwanted
daylight on the two feminised boys. Finally, in anticipation of a
response, he looked over at Warren and instantly regretted it – his
friend's poofy sleeved dress, knee length socks and pigtailed hair an
exact replica of his own. “I mean, I won't mention it if you
don't.”</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Whatever...”
Warren grunted as they trudged away the house where their nightmares
had become reality. Sleep deprived and humiliated, he had no interest
in conversing with his partner in crime. Every word was like reliving
the whole wretched experience. He just wanted to get home and get
this crap off of him.</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">One thing they both
agreed on was that it was a mistake to crash the girls' sleepover at
Jane's dad's fishing cabin. Their curiosity had got the better of
them as they imagined the sordid things a few teenaged girls might
get up to alone in the dark and went along to do some spying. The
problem was that it was not a 'few' girls at all. In fact, there were
twelve and once the boys were discovered peeking in through the
window, they were quickly overpowered and given a close up
demonstration of what sordid things girls can get up to.</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Being naked with a hot
girl is exciting, but as the boys found out, being naked around
twelve is terrifying – especially when said nudity is not mutual.
After forcefully stripping James and Warren, the girls raided an old
dressing up box from when Jane and her sister used to spend summers
in the cabin with their parents and stuffed the boys into matching
princess outfits. It would only get worse, as they boys lived out one
of the longest nights of their young lives.</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">First up was Truth or
Dare and it was always James and Warren's turn. The dares consisted
of allowing the girls to put makeup on them and paint their nails and
once they were sufficiently prissy they moved onto making the boys
hold hands and even kiss. For Truth, they were made to adopt a
character and answer humiliating questions in feminine voices and if
they refused one of the girls would hike up their dress and pinch
their balls, which were being squeezed by pairs of super-tight
panties. Finally, as it approached five in the morning, the last of
the girls went to bed and James and Warren were able to slip out into
the dawn.</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“So, we're agreed?”
James persisted, eager to forget that just hours ago he had kissed
his best friend on the lips. “Say, do you have money for the bus?”</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“The bus?” Warren's
glossed bottom lip dropped open as he imagined being on a crowded bus
dressed as they were.</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p><p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Yeah, did you
forget?” James said. “We're like ten miles from home. Either we
get the bus or we walk all the way through town like this.” Both
boys fell silent as they realised that even if they never spoke about
this again, there would be plenty of other people to do it for them.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-65150048945923246012023-01-09T10:08:00.002-08:002023-01-09T10:08:37.429-08:00Reason for Cheer<p> I am really sorry about the unintended break. I planned to skip a week from Christmas and then I was really ill for the two weeks that followed. I have only been functional since about Friday. Anyway, here's a nice gentle one to start off the new year.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1IiNqaH0Q_YysJ3jsxFKX7LA3hMEGHff2utu7iOrHBEw2dk3Nu6WBSuR6vc_3rd8Ps5gWstVzA9L42HE8YoiCFIYVRKTGNYUldGbgfwIgWpT57Ld2MDSGB8JNSTZhRNXVaKvXleddN62NYLyZbpyQiuQeJivkZYcYgGuCzS1EE7XeJzqlWCdCdb2xrw/s1264/reasonforcheer.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="950" data-original-width="1264" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1IiNqaH0Q_YysJ3jsxFKX7LA3hMEGHff2utu7iOrHBEw2dk3Nu6WBSuR6vc_3rd8Ps5gWstVzA9L42HE8YoiCFIYVRKTGNYUldGbgfwIgWpT57Ld2MDSGB8JNSTZhRNXVaKvXleddN62NYLyZbpyQiuQeJivkZYcYgGuCzS1EE7XeJzqlWCdCdb2xrw/s320/reasonforcheer.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">One of the greatest
moments of my life happened in the school gym during a basketball
game. No, no, it isn't what you are thinking. I wasn't out there on
the court. I'm not some athletic prodigy. No, actually, I was sitting
on the bleachers with every other loser forced into sycophancy to
those more sportingly accomplished in the name of school spirit.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">On that sweltering
afternoon there was a problem with the scoreboard and the game had
been delayed almost an hour. Boredom and frustration reigned and even
the cheerleaders usually deployed to rev up the spectators had
exhausted their routine and were sitting on the playing surface
amongst their pompoms grumbling like everyone else. I don't remember
why I started doing it. Just a fidget I guess, but absent-mindedly I
raised a foot and planted it down on the metal bleacher. The other
followed and then a clap and before I knew it I was drumming out the
percussive introduction of 'We Will Rock You' by Queen. BOOM BOOM
TSSSH. BOOM BOOM TSSH. Right foot, left foot, clap. Right foot, left
foot clap.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The acoustics of the
large airy room carried the infectious rhythm and within seconds my
beat had spread in every direction from where I sat and met at the
other side of the room. The entire gym was following my lead. BOOM
BOOM TSSSH. BOOM BOOM TSSH. Right foot, left foot, clap. Right foot,
left foot clap. It didn't matter that noone knew I started it. I
knew. It had become much bigger than that. The rhythm was an
extension of myself but it now encompassed the whole room and
everyone inside. It was electric. I felt so powerful. Single-handedly
I had rejuvenated the pre-game spirit and now even the cheerleaders
were on their feet. I was in heaven.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Before I continue my
story, you need to get to know me a little better. I am not a popular
guy. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I am not someone you
would ever give a second look. Hell, I am not someone you would even
remember meeting. So to have an entire room of my peers following my
lead like that is simply something I can't even properly describe. It
is also why when given a chance to wish for anything my heart
desired, I asked to relive that moment...again and again...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I think the girl who
offered me the wish may have been trying to trick me. Like some kind
of corrupt-a-wish thing. She introduced herself after school one day
as Jeanie and said I could have anything I wanted. I told her and she
smiled this sort of naughty smile. No girl had ever smiled at me that
way before and I didn't get more than a few moments to enjoy it as
suddenly my body was filled with a warm glow and began to change. I
became something else,,,someone new...my wish was fulfilled...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I was surprised how
easy it was to get on the cheer squad. The bitchy stereotypes just
never came up and I was welcomed with open arms. It didn't matter
that I was a beginner as I was given the easier parts of the routines
while I learned the ropes and soon the watching crowds loved me too.
Maybe it's because of how I look now..</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-12088405680933828092022-12-12T09:54:00.005-08:002022-12-12T09:54:59.863-08:00The Last Time I Babysat Part 3<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRW-OXgIeysfmoKWQNLqYK3k0GsYrrnp2XFB8PDnXGBmUfSwT2yWlV8vZuMNETX0gEoklkNF2cF3fHgzyFnN5XTdwh29aM4PEd6OmQ1YdFZJulkh8b3u9bH2dwtO1s8K6sAeecbhbOxr0VAbTYipc4pFaoHDfl8TEcJCbQ1iNA6CJJt9x55g90gNCSzg/s1098/lasttimeibabysay3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="931" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRW-OXgIeysfmoKWQNLqYK3k0GsYrrnp2XFB8PDnXGBmUfSwT2yWlV8vZuMNETX0gEoklkNF2cF3fHgzyFnN5XTdwh29aM4PEd6OmQ1YdFZJulkh8b3u9bH2dwtO1s8K6sAeecbhbOxr0VAbTYipc4pFaoHDfl8TEcJCbQ1iNA6CJJt9x55g90gNCSzg/s320/lasttimeibabysay3.png" width="271" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">My outrage stayed awake
even as I drifted from consciousness and I awoke with the acute need
to scream with fury. Yet try as I might, I couldn't get any sound out
to expel my anger. I couldn't even move. Something thick and rubber
had been shoved into my mouth and the more I fought to spit it out,
the more I seemed to suck on it. With every effort a foul tasted
seemed to fill my mouth and I got the sensation of something liquid
running down my throat. I came to the realisation that it was a
pacifier and one of the girls had clipped it to my lower lip. When I
tried to remove it I found that my wrists were tied down either side
of my head to some kind of mattress. I tried to look, but whatever
was restraining my hands was rigidly attached to my neck rendering me
completely unable to move my head. Attempts to move my feet revealed
that my ankles were similarly bound down. In fact I was completely
helpless to do anything but stare at the ceiling above me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Awww...the baby's
awake!” A female voice cooed from somewhere in the room. “Doesn't
she look cute!” Memories of the humiliating outfit flooded back and
even though I couldn't see it, I knew it was there. I could feel the
silk stockings enveloping my legs and clinging to my thighs. I could
feel that stupid dress swimming around me. I could feel the burn of
the adhesive binding the wig to my scalp. But I could also feel
something new – a puffy, squishy material around my ass and crotch.
I realised in horror that I was wearing a diaper.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“You don't even know
what this is about do you?” Christina's face appeared above me. “Of
course you don'y. You're far too stupid!” She laughed cruelly as I
was helpless to do anything but stare straight up at her. “You
really thought I wouldn't find out? That you sold those pictures of
me on OnlyFemmes? You thought I wouldn't remember my little sister's
pervert babysitter bursting in on me in the shower with his
cameraphone? You thought I wouldn't put two and two together?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Isn't revenge
sweet?” Rebecca appeared above me from the other side. “In fact,
it's fucking adorable.” She bent over and pinched my cheek. “The
best part is we don't even live here anymore. We forgot to hand one
of our keys over when we moved out and decided to make use of it. I
just wish I could see the new owners' faces when they come home to
find you lying here like this. It would be a shame if they called the
cops on the prissy little pervert that had tied himself up in their
house. Oh well...”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The girls disappeared
from view and my heart thudded in my chest as I listened to their
footstep leading away, the closing of doors and finally the sound of
a key in a lock. Unable to scream, I did the only thing I could and
started to cry – big wet pitiful tears that trickled down my cheeks
as I tried to think of how this could get any worse. All of a sudden,
there was a tightness in my gut, my stomach cramped painfully and my
eyes widened in terror as I realised what the liquid seeping off the
pacifier and down my throat had been...</p></div><p><br /> </p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-77160370715969762002022-12-05T09:20:00.001-08:002022-12-05T09:20:11.672-08:00The Last Time I Babysat Part 2<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAcU6CUHXdndttlaY8-_dxbshBXnCnyJRR73SRmDSfDSbyyeE-dJW7NsL2YFpS8zONm5d_-EBX5QS2837ia3ibJ9LYWvxdEojhttsczE8V3Uve9eGhp25CoR1TTNwUH7Lg1k-Kbk33RQUProxR-xUmxbN9iO_ilJI93GGZ_dU3SoSpKTWWYlOWjzIqgg/s1280/lasttimeibabysat2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="959" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAcU6CUHXdndttlaY8-_dxbshBXnCnyJRR73SRmDSfDSbyyeE-dJW7NsL2YFpS8zONm5d_-EBX5QS2837ia3ibJ9LYWvxdEojhttsczE8V3Uve9eGhp25CoR1TTNwUH7Lg1k-Kbk33RQUProxR-xUmxbN9iO_ilJI93GGZ_dU3SoSpKTWWYlOWjzIqgg/s320/lasttimeibabysat2.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The next time I awoke I
was alone. I lay in a heap on the floor and a heavy silence rested
over me. I blinked and groaned as my head throbbed and the room
swirled around me. Slowly, I tried to stand and with a squeal of
surprise I flopped helplessly back onto the wooden floor. Rolling
over on my backside, I stared down at my feet to inspect what had
inhibited my balance and I gave a short horrified gasp at the
glittering monstrosities attached to my feet. Not only that, but
shimmering silk stockings sprouted from the silver platform heels
buckled tightly to my feet and encased my legs all the way up to my
thighs.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">By now my heart was
pounding and my mouth fell open into a wide 'O'. I was greeted by the
strange sensation of hair falling between my parted lips. I had
always had short hair and as I became more aware of my surroundings I
recalled when I had woken up previously to find my entire body had
been shaved. I was certain that had included my head. So what was
this hair falling over my face? I reached up in horror to find heaps
of hair cascading down my back – a wig. I gave it a tug and it
stayed firm, so I pulled harder and searing pain ran across my scalp.
That bitch had glued it right on to my skin.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I was on the verge of
hyperventilating at this point and I scrambled to feet with the
intention of running away as fast as these ridiculous shoes would
allow Ideas of calling the police and getting this crazy bitch locked
up seethed within me. Being alone, my rage still overpowered my
humiliation as I glowered at the stupid frilly gloves that had been
pulled over my hands. Even as I had chance to take in the absurd
dress I had been stuffed into in all its gaudy glory, all I could
think of was revenge. This all ended when I stumbled over to the open
doorway and found Christina standing there smirking at me. It
suddenly dawned on me how truly pathetic I must have looked.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“I always did suck at
science,” Christina sighed, “but I could have sworn I got the
dose right this time. Well, at least I got you into most of your
outfit...”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Most?” I glanced
down at her hands and saw she was holding a syringe. “You mean
there's more?” Fear seized me and I started to totter backwards on
my prissy stilts as my imagination went into overdrive dreaming up
ways this could possibly get any worse.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Oh, trust me,
there's so much more!” The voice came from behind me and I turned
to find a slightly older version of the girl who had drugged me. It
all clicked together in a second. How could I have been so stupid?! I
had thought Rebecca would be too old for a babysitter by now because
she WAS too old for a babysitter. It had been Rebecca who had given
me the laced wine, not Christina – the older sister with whom I now
found myself face to face. I stood there in shock and outrage at my
own stupidity as Rebecca plunged the syringe into my neck...</p><br /><p></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-85483578735835625932022-11-28T09:30:00.003-08:002022-11-28T09:30:48.718-08:00The Last Time I Babysat Part 1<p> Thank you for all your lovely comments. I am glad you are enjoying my captions</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhGX-bTbbH_jpWOAw3BCyTTHNuTpMVh7954OFsAXimt8TjWRgTbsTO39NqoEYnfK-Gb4o4-_rzVN9f8jNu4s0gFgAGjNbRePXEZc0sXZg7xFq31jTlW42JL9VKHfpQHLYBve9X3fAUCf_vmZOys_gNdjmY7XYBbwJZ-TVZNa9rhYUopPZHgrRlatoYQ/s1172/lasttimeibabysat1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1172" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhGX-bTbbH_jpWOAw3BCyTTHNuTpMVh7954OFsAXimt8TjWRgTbsTO39NqoEYnfK-Gb4o4-_rzVN9f8jNu4s0gFgAGjNbRePXEZc0sXZg7xFq31jTlW42JL9VKHfpQHLYBve9X3fAUCf_vmZOys_gNdjmY7XYBbwJZ-TVZNa9rhYUopPZHgrRlatoYQ/s320/lasttimeibabysat1.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Babysitting wasn't a
regular earner for me. In fact, I hadn't done it in years. But money
is money and despite making quick bucks selling nudes of a few
ex-girlfriends on OnlyFemmes, I was still hard up for cash. That's
why when the text came asking if I would look after Rebecca one
Saturday evening I said yes with no hesitation. It was a bit out of
the blue. Rebecca had been a cute little kid when I had looked after
her back in the day but that seemed like an age ago. Surely she was
old enough to stay home by herself by now... Apparently not! Besides,
what sealed the deal was her older sister. Christina was certified
hot property and I feel no shame in telling you that I watched her
getting ready to go out with her friends with my jaw on the floor
every time I was round there. I even caught her coming out of the
shower one time. Reading the babysitting offer back again on my
phone, I hoped to God she still lived at home.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">My prayers didn't go
long unanswered as she opened the door to me moments after I pressed
the doorbell. She was exactly as I remembered her – utterly
gorgeous and it suddenly occurred to me that now I was in my twenties
I might actually have a shot with her.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Christina, wow! You
look amazing!” I smiled at her. She seemed to blink with surprise
but quickly regained her composure and invited me inside. Just like
old times she appeared to be getting ready to go out and there was an
open bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. She offered me a glass.
“Sure,” I nodded trying to play it cool. “Where is Rebecca?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Around here
somewhere,” Christina grinned handing me the drink. “You know
what kids are like – they get everywhere they're not supposed to.”
She watched intently as I took a long sip of wine and I tried to act
like I did this kind of thing all the time. I managed right up until
the room began to spin...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I awoke with a
throbbing headache. Not only that but all the skin on my body felt
like it was glowing – as if I had just pulled a giant band-aid off.
Groggily, I rolled over to find Christina sitting over me with a
razor in her hand.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Shit!” she tossed
the blade into a bowl of hot water next to a tangle of spent waxing
strips. “Looks like I got the dosage wrong!” Before she could
react, I stumbled to my feet. It was then I realised I was completely
hairless from head to toe. Not only that but a pair of tight satin
panties clung to my newly smooth backside. What the fuck was going on
here?! I tried to run but my legs felt like jelly and the world
sloshed around me with the after effects of whatever Christina had
given me. I moved in the direction of what I thought was the door but
giddily sprawled onto the sofa instead. Feebly, I tried to clamber
over the back cushions to put furniture between myself and the crazy
bitch that had drugged me. However, my burst of energy spent, I only
succeeded in flopping forward and presenting my pantied butt
pathetically in the air to my captor. “Bless you,” the girl
giggled behind me, “but we're not done, not by a long SHOT!”
There was a sharp pinch in my ass and then everything went black.</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-31853132363766967362022-11-21T09:10:00.003-08:002022-11-21T09:10:26.357-08:00Neighbourhood Watch<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpkzEtnq5dB0fPMPRJn00-DBIQ4-Ol8i7bfEJVoYw9nUyV68lxt_Zi-P4g4zu9NRGArTfBEh2OxAS7SXzZ5Iakw1nkIIsstQAKx_En1jdT0qpA-pOmYg3zoQRrxkDpnmRoEjtZGJV3J1zGgHEqxQGVhVfKR-3RrcYBeKe8xytURvLfwBl0M_kCFTPIw/s984/neighbourhoodwatch.jpg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="984" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvpkzEtnq5dB0fPMPRJn00-DBIQ4-Ol8i7bfEJVoYw9nUyV68lxt_Zi-P4g4zu9NRGArTfBEh2OxAS7SXzZ5Iakw1nkIIsstQAKx_En1jdT0qpA-pOmYg3zoQRrxkDpnmRoEjtZGJV3J1zGgHEqxQGVhVfKR-3RrcYBeKe8xytURvLfwBl0M_kCFTPIw/s320/neighbourhoodwatch.jpg.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Remind me because I
think I'm going giddy in my old age, but why do you shave their heads
first?” Martha looked over the paraphernalia sprawled across
Molly's kitchen table. Over the decades, the two women had shared
many meals here, but now it was home to a cut-throat razor in a bowl
of foamy water, a mug of tea with a saucer of freshly pruned leaves
and of course, a make-up bag of epic proportions.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Oh Martha...”
Molly smiled sweetly at her dear friend. “Why, it's to help the
wigs stick longer of course. The glue just sets so much better to the
scalp than it does to hair. Besides, they could just cut that off,
couldn't they?” She turned back to her project and gave the
blank-faced boy a knowing look as she continued to work her pencil
around his painted lips.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Of course, silly
me...” Martha chuckled as she admired her friend's work. “Wait, I
know this one. Leo, isn't it? My granddaughter says he's a right
nasty piece of work. Always taking money off the neighbourhood kids.
Probably shoplifts too.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Oh, he's money
motivated alright,” Molly sighed. “All I had to do was offer him
money to cut my grass and you could practically see the dollar signs
in his eyes. Probably had designs on my purse when my back was turned
too. I know his sort. Plenty of them have come through this kitchen,
as you know. A mug of my home-grown tea certainly made him more
obedient.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“He'll have a shock
when he wakes up!” Martha reached over to stroke the bead necklace
wrapped around the boy's neck. Her hand moved to the faux-fur jacket
and then the shimmering twenties style ballgown. “Oh Molly, don't
you remember when we used to dress up like this?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Oh, he's awake
already,” Molly sat back so Martha could get a good look at Leo's
vacant gaze. His eyes stared out lifelessly from behind layers upon
layers of cosmetics and his bottom lip hung open as if weighed down
by the pink gloss. “Can't you see the look in his eyes? My tea
doesn't put you to sleep. It just makes you compliant. Leo here is
aware of everything but can do nothing. Hence the wide-eyed 'dying on
the inside' look. I'm just finishing up and then I'll send him off
home. By the time he regains control, half the neighbourhood will
have seen him.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Do you think he will
learn his lesson?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“I'm not sure it
matters,” Molly put the pencil back it her giant makeup bag. “After
his parade home no one is going to take him seriously as a bully ever
again. Besides, like I said, the glue sets really nicely to the
scalp, the makeup is my permanent stuff and there's always this
little trick...” The old woman pulled out a tube of glue from a
fold in her apron and squeezed it liberally over the zippers on the
back of dress and the fronts of the high-heeled shoes housing Leo's
feet. “He'll still be in this dress by the time he gets to our
age,” she joked. “Won't look half as good though...”</p></div><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-12100293578618655132022-11-14T05:03:00.006-08:002022-11-14T05:03:55.999-08:00Mirror, Mirror...<p> Thank you for making me feel so welcome to be back</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAG8VpET9Xd9V7ZTGN3a001GUpNj9p6IsQZp2CMiEgXvOBCM4UyDUF-Ys76WqVKPIbBEhivpgcaks3G3LZjKtmj1zzB-pDvXcMEa2FZC0ZsePgKQcJElVGCh8yRrdbLM5Daaw94OhSFWxrsSupnOsIZPucrm437vHpbZkqjQluJiCPMQhDFqhggQd6sQ/s900/mirrormirror.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="900" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAG8VpET9Xd9V7ZTGN3a001GUpNj9p6IsQZp2CMiEgXvOBCM4UyDUF-Ys76WqVKPIbBEhivpgcaks3G3LZjKtmj1zzB-pDvXcMEa2FZC0ZsePgKQcJElVGCh8yRrdbLM5Daaw94OhSFWxrsSupnOsIZPucrm437vHpbZkqjQluJiCPMQhDFqhggQd6sQ/s320/mirrormirror.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Michael gazed into the
hand-mirror for the ninetieth time that day and for the ninetieth
time that day, he didn't recognise the face staring back at him. The
sweet little nose, the delicate chin, the exquisite cheekbones –
all expertly crafted works of art, things of pure beauty...but none
of them were his. Like much of the rest of his body, they were the
result of state-of-the-art enhancements from the finest surgeons in
the country. His body had been cut up and crafted into something
spectacular by leaders in their fields. The problem was Michael
didn't want any of it. Same as how he didn't want the sheer
nightgowns, or the designer lingerie or even his pink painted nails.
He didn't want it at all. But the mirror did. And that was all that
mattered...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The hand-mirror had
been a Mother's Day gift. He had been searching all day for a present
for his Mom when he stumbled upon a boutique on the edge of town. The
mirror had called out to him from the front window of Gloria
Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly and he knew he had found what he
was looking for. Little did he realise at that moment that the mirror
too had found its target.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Michael's mother never
did receive her present. Just one look into the silvery glass was
enough to lock him in. One glance and he was immediately compelled
like some kind of jewellery box marionette to create something worth
reflecting back. Merely a passenger behind his eyes, he had observed
his body as it slipped into a nearby store and purchased cosmetics
and a lacy dress. He wanted to scream as his feet marched him home to
try on his new wares in front of the mirror. More than anything else,
the compulsion to look at his own reflection was overwhelming. That
night he had watched on in horror as the hand-mirror like some kind
of demanding mistress forced him to dress himself up – constantly
checking how he looked in its gleaming face as if he were being
inspected. If only it had stopped at that...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The mirror clearly had
loftier ambitions for whom should be allowed to stare into it.
Michael looked on in dread from within his own betraying flesh as his
body emptied his savings on a more complete wardrobe overhaul and
then began to schedule appointments with doctors about hormone
treatments and finally even surgical operations. Over the past six
months he must have seen his reflection a million times and each time
it looked different – softer, more feminine, strikingly beautiful
even. Finally after half a year, all he had to show of his old life
was an empty bank account in his own name and a tiny bald cock
shrivelled by multiple rounds of hormone therapy...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">There was a loud
thumping on his apartment door and Michael looked away from his
reflection at last. His heart began to pound and his arm
involuntarily placed the mirror carefully down on the dresser.
Suddenly he longed to be back standing in the middle of his room
staring at his refection. It was at least better that what was about
to happen. As he reached to open the door, he knew he would be
looking at his face again in that glass shortly – only when he did
it would be glazed in the cum of the man standing at his door. </p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-9494975228811483702022-11-07T10:28:00.001-08:002022-11-07T10:28:10.201-08:00New Orders<p> So it's been a while, eh? Almost eighteen months... I'm really sorry about that. I got a pretty big promotion this time last year and simply put, I just don't have the time and energy to work on these big interwoven 25 caption seasons anymore...let alone the caption a day thing I had going on in like 2015. I'm much more inclined right now to do some online gaming right now after a long day at work rather than yet work sitting in front of a computer typing.</p><p>That said, how about we change things up so that this doesn't fade into the sands of time. I can't promise season after season of content. But, I can manage a caption a week. How about Missy Mondays? That's a thing. right? Well, it is now! I hope you enjoy, and love you always.</p><p>zoli</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplCGpA6yT7ugEHSU9Gc0iEH8czRfO2B8DWQ3YTpPkcqhsJShEyRJPZZtUGkM2d4tlk7rE3DUTk33iSNbB_spav4KDC3lfSFIGDrqfnex55dezMQtjWN9aABxg2x-daYGdZhPChPbwrNLTTLbQna7Hei6mUTFEAg-ZLweruHYctMXy5TSkNK6iiqeD1Q/s1328/neworders.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1328" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplCGpA6yT7ugEHSU9Gc0iEH8czRfO2B8DWQ3YTpPkcqhsJShEyRJPZZtUGkM2d4tlk7rE3DUTk33iSNbB_spav4KDC3lfSFIGDrqfnex55dezMQtjWN9aABxg2x-daYGdZhPChPbwrNLTTLbQna7Hei6mUTFEAg-ZLweruHYctMXy5TSkNK6iiqeD1Q/s320/neworders.png" width="308" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">ames looked at the
screen in confusion. A browser was open to the home page of retail
titan, Glamazon, and even though he was clearly logged in, his store
credit balance was showing as zero. What the hell?! He needed that
money! Badly! Times were tough and he and his girlfriend, Sophia,
were struggling to make rent as it was. They simply couldn't afford
for credit they had planned to spend on basics to go missing like
that. Frantically he clicked into his account page and his profile
flashed up. Suddenly it all made sense as he realised what had
happened and he let out an audible sigh. However, his relief quickly
faded to horror as the full understanding of what it meant
materialised.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">James had a second
Glamazon account – one that Sophia didn't know about. Money was
scarce and the belt was tight but that didn't mean the temptation of
online shopping went away. So, whenever James wanted to defy his
frugal partner and treat himself, he logged into his second account
and scheduled some orders to arrive when he knew she would be out.
Fool proof, as long as he always remembered to log himself out –
and as long as his order history didn't include a bunch of
forced-feminisation ebooks he absolutely didn't want Sophia to know
about. Wondering how obvious it was he had purchased the erotica, he
clicked onto his orders page and his heart pounded in his chest as it
quickly became clear his girlfriend had already seen it.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Another thing that was
clear was the sexy lingerie Sophia had ordered on his account was
meant for James – the inclusion of blonde hair-extensions and high
heels in his size made sure of this. What was less obvious was how
his girlfriend planned to get him into said underwear. He assumed she
would blackmail him with his smut collection, in which case he would
just refuse and deny everything. If only...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Sweetheart, stop
hiding,” Sophia taunted him from behind, “I want to make sure all
our neighbours see what a hot little sissy you make. Don't make me
tighten that corset even more!” James gulped and forced himself to
totter in front of their large arched window. He could barely breathe
as it was and the skin on the small of his back was pinching under
the white satin. Surely people in all the other houses on the street
had seen him by now. He felt totally exposed in every direction –
the glass, his bare waxed skin...even the sheer panties packaging his
ass cheeks up for his girlfriend's appreciation. “Come on, sissy,
give me my money's worth!” James glanced back with a bruised
expression at the mention of their finances. Sophia had never had any
intention of keeping his secret. Instead she emptied his bank account
via his Glamazon account on a collection of sexy and suggestive
outfits. If he didn't like it, he could leave. Not that there was
anywhere he could go without a penny to his name. Sophia's name was
on the rental contract and so she effectively owned him if he wanted
a roof over his head. “Come on, my slutty whore,” Sophia sneered
at him, “I want everyone to see my sissy wife to be. I wanted you
to buy we a ring but instead you spent all our money on sissy porn so
consider this our engagement, only I'm not asking and I won't be the
one wearing a dress down the aisle!” James's knees knocked within
their silk stockings as he began to understand just how much his
dirty little secret was a secret no more...</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-67471477433307830202021-09-29T03:39:00.005-07:002021-09-29T03:39:25.816-07:00What If...Femnonymous Ran Society?<p> It's been five years since my last Femnonymous cap. Time for a comeback?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhy5njYiU7aw0-cIVUwIB92YhN-5tPTh8kY_ezpqquKrypslCV7ZTk-0Jnj8v0tY3KWZSiTJ3gMVMuNNM5FxeqK_TKNCt5RfSwBy7e6EXfQzob2HXl8PRofqwAcTcRuQue2qp_I1yb9Gij/s1084/whatiffemnonymous.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="1084" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhy5njYiU7aw0-cIVUwIB92YhN-5tPTh8kY_ezpqquKrypslCV7ZTk-0Jnj8v0tY3KWZSiTJ3gMVMuNNM5FxeqK_TKNCt5RfSwBy7e6EXfQzob2HXl8PRofqwAcTcRuQue2qp_I1yb9Gij/s320/whatiffemnonymous.png" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><p></p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Ada looked up from her
desk at her next parolee waiting on a foldable chair near the
entrance to her office. Predictably, he was fidgeting with the chain
that ran from the leather harness around his waist to the six inch
heels on his feet, simultaneously locking both outfit and footwear
securely in place. The parole officer rolled her eyes. It was the
heels, she knew, it always was. In spite of everything these men had
been subjected to since the new Femnonymous government had instituted
Ammendment F, it was the shoes that drove them over the edge. It was
as though if they could somehow remove them, the rest of their ordeal
could somehow be reversed.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Next,” Ada coughed
and opened the file on her desk, watching her subject as he rose
unsteadily and shuffled over. Standing removed the slack from the
chain connecting his ankles and he had little choice but to
half-hobble half-wiggle his new body over to her. “Please sit,”
she beckoned and smiled thinly as he failed to meet her gaze. “It
says here that as Gary Pines, you were convicted of gross disturbance
of physical and phycological female dignity and sentenced in Houston,
Texas under federal jurisdiction of Amendment F for immediate
rehabilitation. Your identity has been reassigned to that of one
equivalent to the victim...your victim, and you have been
subsequently referred to me, your state parole officer, for
monitoring of your progress. Correct so far?” The man formerly
known as Gary gave a tiny nod, just enough to send his newly grown
out hair cascading over his hormone softened cheeks. “There's just
a few administrative details to iron out before we discuss the
conditions of your parole. According to my file, before your
reassignment, you had a four and half inch penis,” she paused to
smirk at the blushing prisoner. “What is missing however, is the
new length post-transformation...” She held her pen ready but the
man muttered something inaudible. “I didn't catch that...”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“They took it all!”
Gary raised his head in wild yell, his frantic eyes bulging beneath
false eyelashes. “The bastards took the whole thing! Give me fake
tits and pumping me full of all this shit wasn't enough for them. Was
it?! They had to take my dick!” His pink lips trembled with rage.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Ah! That would
explain it!” Ada spoke delicately. “Well, if it's any
consolation, the dosage of hormones you are currently on would have
rendered it almost useless anyway. Not to mention tiny. Well,
tinier...” It didn't seem to be much of a consolation.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“This is bullshit!”
Gary was crying and panting. “One grope. Just one grope! It was
nothing! Just a squeeze of the ass, and what... I get all this...”
he gestured at his new body. “How is that fair?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Well...” Ada
sighed like she had heard the rant a thousand times. “That is just
how things are now. Zero tolerance. It may have just been a grope to
you, but that grope could have ruined a life.” She looked at her
parolee sternly. “It's a new world out there. And those who don't
adapt will be adapted to fit it.”</p><br /><p></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-45875214552778974452021-09-22T03:28:00.001-07:002021-09-22T03:28:09.243-07:00What if...the Artist Revived the Network?<p> What if Wednesday again and this time we have a story that combines my Artist and Network series. This cap is not canon to either but both are fully listed on my index page. Hope you enjoy...</p><p>zoli</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWMpK3m-RMA3Bk9ZhGzRMkeUgL2Cv-5cwq2_1eFHKM8JQzT7Xb025XJkzM8QjIt8Vqr3kXINwhteB3K8gnxquR-Rtl_sJSYrs8sWuposXAqjUQBRnspdDC7B-Nzm-CzEi9s-deJOTG6Fk/s1280/whatifartistnetwork.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1280" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWMpK3m-RMA3Bk9ZhGzRMkeUgL2Cv-5cwq2_1eFHKM8JQzT7Xb025XJkzM8QjIt8Vqr3kXINwhteB3K8gnxquR-Rtl_sJSYrs8sWuposXAqjUQBRnspdDC7B-Nzm-CzEi9s-deJOTG6Fk/s320/whatifartistnetwork.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Hello and welcome to
another edition of 'Parting Gift' – the gameshow that makes sure
couples walk away from their ending relationship with so much more
than a broken heart!” The Artist was revelling in the applause from
the studio audience. Back when he was simply Martin...back before he
had invented the genetic rewriting device that would change his life
and those of so many others, this would have been his worst
nightmare, but now in his new life as owner and host of the Network
and all its shows he was living the dream. Of course it helped that
he had used his invention to transform himself back into the Bianca
Beauchamp doppelganger that had got him in so much trouble in the
first place, but he was so glad he had decided to abandon his plots
of revenge and put his money and skills into something else – like
reviving the corpse of a cult television network specialising in
transformation based gameshows.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">As the show progressed
Martin took delight in strutting around in his voluptuous latex clad
body for the approval of the audience while the latest contestants
answered questions to increase their prize fund. The rules were
simple – a newly broken up and often quite vindictive couple
completed a series of challenges in order to accumulate money for
their kitty. The better the pair were able to work together, the more
cash they would earn by the end of the show. This is when things
would get interesting. Whichever new singleton earned the most for
the prize fund would be given freedom to take as much of it home as
they wanted. However, their former partner could then choose whether
they wanted to take the rest...or send their ex for a trip in the
Artist's genetic rewriting device.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Martin took great pride
in a show that changed lives – literally. He could hardly contain
himself at how the latest episode was progressing and he wondered if
the crowd could tell the rubber-clothed host was becoming aroused
before their eyes. Tony may have been two timing his wife but today
he was answering questions and completing tasks with laser focus and
the recent divorcees had made almost $100k. Having vetted the
contestants personally, the Artist new exactly how much they were
hoping to win and what how wanted to spend it and so when Tony surged
ahead of Kate in the personal scores there was only one way it was
going to end. The humiliated ex-wife was never going to take $5k over
the chance to get the ultimate vengeance over her unfaithful spouse.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The prize reveals were
always his favorite part of the show. The audience got to see how
both contestants had spent their winnings simultaneously and today
was set to be spectacular. There was a hush of excitement as the big
screen cut to where Tony, fresh out of the transformation pod was
awarded his prize. The crowd gasped as his latex clad knees went weak
though not from the presence of the Dodge Viper in front of him and
silently Martin gave kudos to Kate for matching her ex's hair with
the paint job. There were giggles as everyone watched the 'winner'
totter around in his new body, hands examining every gleaming curve
with disbelief as the car went ignored. The Artist smiled – it
would need to be sold to pay for the divorce anyway and there was
only one way a bimbo like that was going to make a living. Before
long, both contestant and prize would be being ridden by other men.
Yes...this was so much better that revenge...</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-48549794272375565872021-09-15T03:20:00.006-07:002021-09-15T03:20:47.365-07:00What if...Aiko was the Mannequeen?<p>So, no Flashback Friday, but what about a What If Wednesday? If Marvel can do it so can I...I think - not totally sure on the copyright... Anyway, hope you like and obviously this isn't canon...</p><p>zoli</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMz6D3mFQ01_gfGJ49D_yZid40dK4_mIoElkvBIh5goTFl18JeXHAGY3-ZcvHyztk6qVxlYqw_C9cCfC03TxRw_fDGu9LmzHjbAEu2i02ON5Nfa0cc9L_mWbtRhOvC4SXCJ9F2u3hMDeXJ/s1280/whatifaikowasthemannequeen.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMz6D3mFQ01_gfGJ49D_yZid40dK4_mIoElkvBIh5goTFl18JeXHAGY3-ZcvHyztk6qVxlYqw_C9cCfC03TxRw_fDGu9LmzHjbAEu2i02ON5Nfa0cc9L_mWbtRhOvC4SXCJ9F2u3hMDeXJ/s320/whatifaikowasthemannequeen.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Wakey, wakey, sleepy
head! Rise and shine!!”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Andy blinked awake and
his eyes darted to the tiny Asian girl sitting across the room behind
what looked like an elaborate tea party complete with brightly
coloured cupcakes and other sweet treats. Confused, he sat up and
became instantly aware of the extra weight jiggling on his chest. A
pair of large round breasts bounced inside a frilly aproned dress and
parted two thick braids of hair that seemed to be hanging from his
head. His lips opened in horror and he rose from his seat, almost
tripping on the heels housing his stockinged feet.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“What the hell have
you done to me?” He fought to repress a scream. Even still, the
curves of his new body quivered with fear and rage and the hem of his
short skirt rocked on his ample hips as he tried to balance. With
every movement of his soft feminine skin, an electricity rippled
through him – an itch, a craving...a need!! The girl in front of
him remained demurely silent and and memories flashed through his
head. Just fractures – meeting a girl on the subway, her saying she
was from Japan, offering him a donut, then...nothing... But that
donut, those flavors...out of this world. In his jumbled thoughts one
thing became clear. That donut was the source of the fiery urges
racing through this alien body he found himself occupying.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Calm down, Sugar!”
The girl adjusted her pleated skirt and smiled sweetly. “I haven't
done anything to you. It is just a bodysuit. Though a totally
adorable one if I do say so myself. I can absolutely remove it for
you...” She watched Andy's heaving chest slow with relief, “...as
long as you don't make me mad.” She wrinkled her nose in mock anger
as Andy's eyes went wide. “That donut I gave you on the subway
didn't just contain some pretty potent sleep serum but it was also
topped with sprinkles of my delicious and completely irresistible
candy.” She stopped to watch the boy's knees knocking together
giddily – the bows on the garters shaking in unison. “I see you
can already feel HOW irresistible. But...” she waved her finger as
if she was addressing a small child, “you're going to have to be a
big girl and control yourself. Every treat in this room contains
those same sprinkles but this is for my tea party and so you
absolutely mustn't touch. Otherwise, I will be very upset. And if you
make me upset, I will activate the lock and the bodysuit will stick
to your skin forever. You'll be a good little girl for Aiko, right?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Andy stared in
disbelief at the girl smiling maniacally at him and then around the
room and all the confectionery it housed. His whole body was
trembling and raging with desire. His hypersensitive skin could feel
every stitch of the panties squeezing his ass even through the
bodysuit and he struggled to arrange his thoughts coherently. He was
rapidly becoming a slobbering needful mess and the girl in front of
him was quietly enjoying the whole prissy show. He needed to scratch
the itch and the world felt dreamlike as he picked up a tray of
donuts and held one up to his face. The hole framed his captor
looking back with glee, knowing Andy was helpless but to push it into
his cute little mouth...</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-11921388994214633522021-07-25T14:28:00.006-07:002021-07-25T14:28:55.828-07:00Harbinger<p> 25/25</p><p>This is from my Mannequeen series. The rest of the captions are listed in my index page.</p><p>I hope you enjoyed this set. I need a bit of a break as I am really burned out and some time to figure out how I am going to present my stories going forward. I hope to continue with Flashback Fridays in the meantime but I am away for most of next week so they might not start until the Friday after. I have about five or six captions ready for the next batch but as I mentioned before I may start posting my longer stories as and when they are ready and leave the seasons for standalones.</p><p>I really want to do a longer Aiko story soon and I think the Mannequeen vs Lara Lake story needs wrapping up. I also want to write about the Pink n Prissy Collective's revenge plot on Kirsten, continue building on the Emporium of Fun and Folly and the Bimbo Note, and possibly bring back some old friends...</p><p> First things first, I need a rest...</p><p>zoli</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2E4qUlD9sO4ZpfV2jn6F9AlI4AzfXCTpLXwze8uQS7gkYTuWT1jx2DN4_cVLH0m8eehefEEOEmQDh-X1wAzsVNwX0EVsoUXAPZODPQAlWGqm7Eu7QWw1bnw3VFFZEWfHscQa1jLZpjAiv/s1280/harbinger.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="776" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2E4qUlD9sO4ZpfV2jn6F9AlI4AzfXCTpLXwze8uQS7gkYTuWT1jx2DN4_cVLH0m8eehefEEOEmQDh-X1wAzsVNwX0EVsoUXAPZODPQAlWGqm7Eu7QWw1bnw3VFFZEWfHscQa1jLZpjAiv/s320/harbinger.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“This has got the
Mannequeen written all over it,” the young police officer greeted
Detective Lara Lake as she entered the crime scene. “We were called
to an apparent disturbance and found this one being pummelled...and I
mean pummelled...” he paused to make some crude gestures with his
fingers and thumbs, “...by five guys.” He nodded to the busty
figure knelt by the fireplace with long dark hair dressed in nothing
but a slingshot bikini. “She...he says his name is Tino – some
kind of mafia big shot. The other guys being questioned in the other
room by my partner are supposedly his associates...but who know...
You, okay Detective?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Lara Lake was far from
okay. The expensively furnished room spun around her and the walls
seemed to be closing in just as the ones in her life were. The
Mannequeen had kidnapped her brother and fiance and turned them into
permanent buxom bodysuited imitations of their former selves and she
knew it was just a matter of time before she was at one of these
crimescenes in an entirely different role.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Hey,” the
policeman shouted and Lara nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked
up and realising he was talking to the bimbo in the corner, who had
started to make a curious soft whining sound. Lara looked into her
eyes and saw raw desperation – an ungodly blend of fear and lust.
She gulped as if seeing a sneak preview of her own future. “I said
stop it!” The cop barked again. “One more peep and I will throw
you back in with your friends and we'll see what noises you make
then...”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Tape recorder?”
Lara croaked from a dry throat.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Here,” the
policeman held out a small black device, “we haven't listened to it
yet...he looked into her eyes, “it was addressed to you.” Lara
went cold. She thanked the office before shuffling out of the room
and pressing 'play'.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Hello Lara. Welcome
to my game. I hope you like my latest pawn. Tino was a bad man and I
am sure he'll make an even badder girl. You'll note that I broke my
golden rule. I didn't give him a chance of salvation. I wanted you to
understand what awaits you. Don't worry, he more than deserved it.
Just like you deserve what's coming to you. Tino's bodysuit is
calibrated so that he will never have enough pleasure regardless of
how much he puts his new body about – an insatiability I'm sure his
family business will turn into great profit. He has no way out of his
horny prison. Just as you have no way out. See you soon Detective...”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Detective?!” Lara
dropped the tape player in fright. It was just the cop checking on
her. “Everything okay?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Yes,” she tried to
compose herself, “it's just a prank.” She pointed at the
mobster-cum-bimbo, “release him...errr....her. If she wants to get
her brains fucked out, that's no business of ours. We've got bigger
fish to fry...”</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-19242778693213272942021-07-23T08:42:00.000-07:002021-07-23T08:42:01.965-07:00The Girls<p> 24/25</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE0F5pO5uznUaLO4lZaaIpKqveQp0RogT1LaxUZbS7Og226eUcxuqLzRQFT0cxeXZ41CLC0AKn0NcMTxyIBgYWmx2mcF2fv5IrRIKMt9q2F6xYx2U6vhdCBNmwjto7r6XumLi3SBgB50Ri/s1280/thegirls.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="795" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE0F5pO5uznUaLO4lZaaIpKqveQp0RogT1LaxUZbS7Og226eUcxuqLzRQFT0cxeXZ41CLC0AKn0NcMTxyIBgYWmx2mcF2fv5IrRIKMt9q2F6xYx2U6vhdCBNmwjto7r6XumLi3SBgB50Ri/s320/thegirls.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Eric pushed himself off
the tall metal stool and looked around nervously at the rest of the
support group. They were all there for same purpose as he was – to
heal, but their eyes bore into him all the same. They had all been
wronged, cheated out of their regular lives and their voices ignored
by society for the supposed 'Greater Good' just as he had. He had
listened to their stories and now finally it was his turn to speak
about the injustice that had befallen him. Placing his manicured
hands on the tops of his thigh-high boots, he cast his gaze amongst
them avoiding direct eye contact, and began...</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Hi everyone. My name
is Eric Baker...but I guess I just go by Baker now. Obviously I don't
look much like an Eric any more... Like all of you, my life was
changed forever by the actions of the so-called 'Protectors' in what
they say is their line of duty. Like you, I am supposed 'collateral
damage' in the 'eternal struggle with evil.” He finally looked up
and saw countless faces nodding in agreement. Some were scarred,
others belonged to visibly injured people and many like his, were
simply worn by people to whom they did not belong.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Hello, Baker,” the
group murmured in unison.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“I used to be a
security guard. I was bulky and strong. I guess that's why I was
chosen,” Baker looked forlorn down at his slender new existence.
“The Super known as 'the Leaper' was in pursuit of a criminal
outside the club I was working and she must have decided I was a good
fit for the chase as before I knew it, she had commandeered by body
and I was switched into the one she had previously been possessing.
This one.” He gave the group a moment to look over the figure his
mind now captained. In the week since the switch he had got used to
the stares. At least the support group would be sympathetic. “It
belonged to a girl that danced in the club I worked at. Sandy. Her
mind is now stuck in a businessman from Hong Kong.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“It's true.” The
group whirled around to see a small Asian gentleman sobbing at the
back of the room.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Of course, I have
tried to get through to the Protectors and their representatives,”
Baker continued, “but I am sure all of you know how it goes. I was
redirected through countless corporate departments and when I finally
did get someone to listen to me, I was told I couldn't prove anything
and threatened with legal action or 'worse' if I didn't keep my mouth
shut. I was told if I even implied that the Leaper or any other of
the Protectors supers had harmed me in any way, I would be made very
miserable indeed.” He took a moment to survey the downcast eyes
around him and knew that the rest of the group had suffered almost
identical experiences. “But I'm already miserable. I kept working
at the club. What else was I supposed to do? I have rent to pay and
Lord knows I've watched those girls dance enough times to know how to
move. I am trying to stay positive. The female orgasm is a thing to
marvel,” he cracked in a half-hearted attempt to raise the mood.
“But every time I grind on that pole or pull on one of these slutty
outfits, I die a little more inside. Hell, I've even got bored of
watching my tits bounce in the mirror.” He brushed his long dark
hair from his face and sighed. “I may be stuck as a hot little
stripper forever..but someday...somehow, those Supers are going to
pay for what they've done.”</p><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-59835006148283534322021-07-21T14:44:00.003-07:002021-07-21T14:44:35.932-07:00Liza's Second Lesson (an Aiko story)<p> 23/25</p><p>The rest of my Aiko series is on my index page</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdA_roKO9heKE6JE8ata-uKBshQFaEoqYwscSAUC0Krv8zHjTib1nDcgF3Q8AI4pHt5OESyW4CgPzMsiSHoyaTCr3hmHsijYRc7nAupr9nPzQvo42B7kXAbEv46xD-6Pv1_jmChyphenhyphenzinxk/s1000/lizasecondlesson.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdA_roKO9heKE6JE8ata-uKBshQFaEoqYwscSAUC0Krv8zHjTib1nDcgF3Q8AI4pHt5OESyW4CgPzMsiSHoyaTCr3hmHsijYRc7nAupr9nPzQvo42B7kXAbEv46xD-6Pv1_jmChyphenhyphenzinxk/s320/lizasecondlesson.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Lesson number two,”
Aiko took a big bite of the cotton candy she had bought on the way
home from the park. “You must reset your subject's instincts. My
candy is only enough to make boys play out a role. It can't
recalibrate their natural behaviour. You have to do that yourself.
See what I mean?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Liza grunted with
frustration. It was tough to teach anyone their natural place when
she felt so far out of her own. The tight black latex leotard that
Aiko had pulled from her suitcase was unlike anything she had ever
worn in her life, enveloping her body and creaking with every
movement. In contrast, Robin in his soft velvet leotard and red wig
loomed over her clumsily.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“You can do it Liza!”
Aiko cooed. “A prissified boy is soft and malleable. Look at him,
he is terrified.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Liza met Robin's gaze.
Their prey did indeed look scared. He had followed them home in that
ridiculous kawaii dress a figure of defeat, knowing that the only way
to subdue his rabid cravings for Aiko's candy was to do what they
said. His relief when Aiko had told him to remove the dress had been
as shortlived as it took him to untangle the leotard and nylons she
had then thrust into his hands. He looked truly absurd once the
outfit was completed by heels, makeup and a wig. So why was he still
able to muster the guile to lead them in the dance Aiko had insisted
upon them?</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“That's it Liza,”
Akio clapped excitedly, “use your eyes!”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Liza looked deeper into
the boy's stare and suddenly she saw the last ounce of resolve freeze
and then shatter before her. She wrinkled her nose and grinned
mischievously, grabbing one of Robin's hands in her own and snaking
her other around his hips. His body moved limply in her grasp and she
pulled his pelvis forward against her own latex clad body. He slumped
forward onto her, off balance on the towering heels and Liza felt a
thrill as she realised that without her holding him tightly he would
fall to the floor. She pushed her face close to his, held his hand
wide and began to lead him in a slow pirouette.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Bravo, Liza. Bravo!”
Aiko applauded. “I knew you could do it.” She watched in awe as
Robin was pushed backwards and led in a wide circle. “His
instinctive role is now to serve your direction. See how he goes
where you want? Where you lead? He is the perfect prissified boy toy
who will do and be whatever you want.” Robin visibly shrank deeper
inside his own shame on hearing this and Liza gleefully noticed.
“Okay,” Aiko stood and cleared her throat, “now that I have
taught you how to control boys, I am going to show you which boys are
deserving of your control – target selection. Robin can join us.
Let's find him a new outfit. We're going sissy hunting!”</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-9236277294813754182021-07-19T14:32:00.007-07:002021-07-19T14:32:53.786-07:00Poolside<p> 22/25</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHo47BTA_kF-pLzw1P-47JNERhllnlwBaKfdurXvyE_cXRp0w2mtz8hu020XDKiyWzh3ERKG4hyphenhyphenlXKf7_TqEyRx-pLLZ1ZzzONl484mM-_uwe6DiwFPKx_r47_hCbj7csQ_ZFB_uZaWnkV/s1280/poolside.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="786" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHo47BTA_kF-pLzw1P-47JNERhllnlwBaKfdurXvyE_cXRp0w2mtz8hu020XDKiyWzh3ERKG4hyphenhyphenlXKf7_TqEyRx-pLLZ1ZzzONl484mM-_uwe6DiwFPKx_r47_hCbj7csQ_ZFB_uZaWnkV/s320/poolside.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Fernando rounded a row
of sunbeds and almost dropped the tray of Mojitos he was carrying in
surprise at the spectacle that greeted him at the side of the hotel's
main pool. He beckoned over Sonia, a fellow member of the poolside
bar staff. She followed his gaze and chuckled.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“I see you've met
Mistress Ivanova,” she nodded to the tall blonde woman bursting
from her bejewelled bikini. “She arrived Friday. As you can see,
she is quite high-maintenance.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Quite?” Fernando
looked on with sympathy at the figure kneeling before her. He felt
hot just watching the sun beat down upon the pink latex. “Did she
bring her...erm...maid here with her?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Her maid?!” Sonia
giggled once more. “That's not her maid. Mistress Ivanova's full
time...erm...sissy maid is back in Russia. Apparently he was refused
a visa. Of course Mistress Ivanova demanded that the hotel provide
one for her for the duration of her stay. But you know how our dear
employer is...they aren't going to stump up the cash to hire in a
professional sissy maid...if such a thing actually exists...”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“You mean...?”
Fernando's voice trailed off as he studied the maid's face. Her face
was glistening with perspiration and bits of the blonde wig were
clinging to her cosmetic caked face. In spite of this Fernando felt a
hint of recognition. “Marco?!”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Yep!” Sonia
confirmed as they watched the hotel guest hook a long fingernail
under Marco's chin and smile cruelly. “Supposedly she spotted him
during check-in and slipped the hotel manager a fat envelope of cash.
The manager made it clear if Marco wanted to keep his job, he should
do whatever Mistress Ivanova told him and he took her bags to her
room and next time anyone saw him he was like that.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Poor Marco,”
Fernando cringed. “I guess money talks. How long is she staying?
She looks demanding!”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Two weeks and yes
she is. Last night during the evening show Marco was under her table
massaging her feet. He feeds her, rubs in her sunscreen and Anna said
she saw her spanking him for missing a spot. Rumour is she has her
eye on adding another maid to her service for the second week of her
stay.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Fernando shuddered.
“Are there any rumours who she wants?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Well,” Sonia's
eyes sparkled and she nodded at the tray of drinks. “Let's just say
I hope you are as good with White Russians as you are with
Mojitos...”</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-44164204025863753802021-07-16T10:51:00.000-07:002021-07-16T10:51:09.833-07:00Whatever Happened to the Pink n Prissy Collective? Part 4<p> 21/25</p><p>The rest of my Pink n Prissy captions are all listed on my index page</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxyxkNligiHSZ4N6Kq5PFwkgwySuWPHJ6XYpCkRQ6tv1yT9lYgJ7uEsZr4ADrGZ7-siqvnbG0xjF2x-xQ534irzOVQkeDCuFNfUMW4U-w_u7J2aCvblaZQ0Usf3wKMXZjQ19gDFD0r0hFo/s1208/pnp4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1012" data-original-width="1208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxyxkNligiHSZ4N6Kq5PFwkgwySuWPHJ6XYpCkRQ6tv1yT9lYgJ7uEsZr4ADrGZ7-siqvnbG0xjF2x-xQ534irzOVQkeDCuFNfUMW4U-w_u7J2aCvblaZQ0Usf3wKMXZjQ19gDFD0r0hFo/s320/pnp4.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“It was at that exact
moment that Stephanie realised we had set her up. It clicked who
Kirsten was and her eyes went wide with horror as everything that had
happened to Grace must have been flashing through her head along with
whatever might have been about to happen to her. She just gaped at
us, knowing we weren't going to come to her rescue, and something
visibly broke inside her,” Josie paused for dramatic effect, her
eyes locked with Sam's over the campfire.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“That moment was
perfect,” Charlotte chimed in. “You could tell she knew she was
toast. I enjoyed it almost as much as what came next. She just kind
of mentally crumpled. I mean, Kirsten is one scary bitch, but knowing
we were throwing her under the bus must have made her feel so
helpless. Kirsten told her to strip and she just kind of did it.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Stephanie was a
hardcore tomboy like me,” Terri continued, “so I get how
humiliating it must have been for her to become someone's private
Barbie. But when Kirsten pulled out those hideous leggings that make
your body look like it was made of liquid metal she seemed almost
relieved – like she was expecting a dress or something. It was like
she forgot about the massive dildo strapped to Kirsten's waist was a
second.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“It was the heels
that were the killer,” Cassie took over. “Obviously, Steph had no
experience in shoes like that but they were so high she couldn't even
stand. She kind of just toppled forward and put both of her hands on
the dresser with her ass sticking in the air like a giant shiny
bubblegum.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Brent must have got
the thrill of his life when Kirsten told him to expose her butt,”
Josie snorted. “He was still in that stupid nurse's outfit and
shaking like a leaf as he peeled that shiny material slowly over her
ass like it was a banana. Stephanie was trying to look back over her
shoulder but she was struggling to balance. She saw us sat against
the wall and I winked at her.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Yeah, Kirsten really
thought we were a captive audience,” Charlotte said. “But I was
enjoying every moment of it. Kirsten started rubbing Steph's pussy,
gently at first then harder and harder, slipping one finger in, then
another and another. By the time Kirsten started fucking her with the
dildo, Steph was sopping wet.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Kirsten moved her to
lean on a stool,” Cassie explained, “so Steph had to look right
at us while she was getting pounded. With every thrust she made these
little squeals like a horny mouse. I can still hear that sound when I
close my eyes. After about ten minutes, Steph came hard and Kirsten
took the strapon out and looked us dead in the eye. She was actually
stroking the dildo as she said if any of us feminised another boy and
she found out, we would be next. Then she grabbed Steph by the hair.”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“And that's why the
Pink n Prissy Collective has been inactive for four years,” Josie
sighed. “None of us want to risk it after hearing that awful howl
as Kirsten jammed that giant cock in Stephanie's asshole. At least
not until now. With your help, Sam, we're going to take Kirsten down
once and for all.”</p><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-7426598744547813532021-07-14T14:32:00.003-07:002021-07-14T14:32:33.992-07:00The Poligomyst<p> 20/25</p><p>This is the latest in my 'The Artist' storyline. The rest of the parts are on my index page</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRV2f4gaDzizEyhycIIUMZQgJ6cDu9OnEZ52rqQrMCfAIEIveF1XYfCeW-fkbu8Z1sDeHsirCXWCkc4ylowHOWa4EqtFTDjktoEOpJRFBCt5BoXhdnmEaS5VhILSKfXjfPr3JYz8v8qDqg/s1324/poligomyst.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="1324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRV2f4gaDzizEyhycIIUMZQgJ6cDu9OnEZ52rqQrMCfAIEIveF1XYfCeW-fkbu8Z1sDeHsirCXWCkc4ylowHOWa4EqtFTDjktoEOpJRFBCt5BoXhdnmEaS5VhILSKfXjfPr3JYz8v8qDqg/s320/poligomyst.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Martin paused to listen
to the crackle of his latex three piece suit as it rippled around the
body he had crafted himself. He had worn the vinyl material countless
times since adopting the moniker of 'the Artist', it being the only
substance other than human DNA that could survive his genetic
recoding device after all, but this was the first time he had
experienced it in a male body. He smiled. He felt powerful.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Needless to say, the
figure before him wasn't enjoying the experience quite so much. Fear
was splashed across the face of the raven haired beauty as she pulled
at the straps of her rubber dress in obvious confusion. Full fleshy
globes bounced and jiggled with every movement until their owner
finally seemed satisfied they were indeed part of her body.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“This is the one I
presume?” Martin turned his attention to the middle aged woman to
his left. She was a tech genius in her own right as well as a
self-made billionaire and the quivering bimbo in front of them had
once been her serially unfaithful husband.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Oh that's her
alright,” she spat, “I even caught him fucking her on that desk.”
She pointed to the bureau behind the voluptuous body of her former
spouse before turning back to Martin. Her eyes went wide for not the
first time that afternoon. “And you look exactly like him!”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Well, technically I
am him,” The Artist grinned. “And your husband is the pretty
young thing he enjoyed sharing his dick with. Ironic...” Martin
squeezed the crotch of his adoptive body and nodded at the device
gripped in his hand like a large gun. It was a portable version of
the genetic recoder he had been using for the military. “With this
thing I can be anyone. I can make anyone be anyone – from a
billionaire's cheating husband to his air-headed mistress. For the
right price anyway...” He heard a gasp escape the busty latex-clad
woman as what had happened began to dawn. “I think it's time your
husband shared a little more dick, don't you? Care to join me?” He
held up the genetic recoder and the tech billionaire smiled evilly.
“You will need to strip off. This thing only tolerates latex.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The woman removed her
clothing while her bimbofied husband pleaded for forgiveness and with
a zap of blue light he was suddenly faced with two identical versions
of his former self. “Please...” he cried out. “Whatever she's
paying you, I will double it!”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Double?” Martin
smirked at his doppelgänger. “How about triple?” He turned to
the naked form of Ms. Williams to his right – her hands tied with
latex and a ball gag in her mouth. The blonde woman glared back.
“Come now,” the Artist cocked his device, “you can either join
us, or..” he glanced at the former husband trying to hide under the
desk, “you can join her...” A flash of light later and the big
breasted cheater looked up to see three versions of his former self
approaching with cocks like drawn swords.</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-65018844455147523892021-07-12T14:36:00.004-07:002021-07-12T14:36:24.684-07:00Under the Influence Part 6<p> 19/25</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGUvDl9OZ0Wzu0_aFIFp1ELefSsbS-LXi4K_atNA7VCB8VTVmfGf5qXyd600FYblLCBh45NGCUHCgA9wpb4Rm1_ifyF7-BD7pf7Er1CrtjRRxzaVzgzdKaB5UY2v3n2GDkS3p59dk0PVW/s1280/undertheinfluence6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGUvDl9OZ0Wzu0_aFIFp1ELefSsbS-LXi4K_atNA7VCB8VTVmfGf5qXyd600FYblLCBh45NGCUHCgA9wpb4Rm1_ifyF7-BD7pf7Er1CrtjRRxzaVzgzdKaB5UY2v3n2GDkS3p59dk0PVW/s320/undertheinfluence6.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Forgetting he could now
break character, Brody gave a little squeal of excitement. He
couldn't believe it worked. He was free. “I GIVE” The words
beamed from the IM. “I GIVE” He had won. Throwing on the first
piece of clothing he found over the scandalous outfit for the
OnlyFemmes stream, plugged his laptop into his workstation. It didn't
matter that the clothing was a stupid frilly dress Claire had sent
him, it didn't even matter that there wasn't a single shred of male
clothing in his home. It was over.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">True to her word, his
sister's next IM contained all the logins to the social media
accounts she had set up for him and Brody set about the long task of
deactivating them. He started with Facebook since he guessed that
would be the one the most people he knew would be active on. The
password worked and his eyes went wide at the extent Claire had gone
to in order to paint him an online existence. Countless photos
scrolled endlessly down the page – thankfully all of his old life
and numerous ongoing conversations with friends and family were open.
The more he looked, the more he spotted the 'clues' his sister had
warned him about. Follows to Ru Paul and various cosmetics companies.
Likes to local beauticians' pages. They were subtle but there. Almost
ready to close it all down, Brody clicked on the 'Groups' tab and
stopped short.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">There were over a dozen
of them – groups dedicated to forced feminisation, sissification
and mistress/slave relationships. Clicking on the first one, he found
it to have tens of thousands of members with profile pictures an
equal assortment of scary looking women in black leather and feeble
looking men in pink satin. Brody scrolled down and noticed with
surprise that the most recent post was made by his account – a
simple hyperlink followed by an invitation. A sinking feeling began
to form in his stomach. He quickly checked the other groups and sure
enough, his account had posted the same link in each and every one.
He didn't need to click it to know what it was but he did anyway and
instantly felt sick when the screen changed and proved him right.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The OnlyFemmes profile
he had set up for Claire sat before him – a blank window from a
finished livestream. So that's how he had suddenly grown his
following... Desperately, he tried to login but the password had
already been changed. A new announcement popped up above the ended
video.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“MAKE ME YOUR BITCH!!
SISSY SLAVE IN NEED OF A POWERFUL MISTRESS. NO SAFEWORDS. NO MERCY.
THE VICTORIOUS DOMME CAN EXPECT A $10K REWARD!”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Brody continued reading
and almost fell out of his chair. His full name and address were
posted after the message. He grabbed his phone and shot off an sms
to Claire. “What are you doing? You just put a bounty on my head to
every mistress in the country!!”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The reply was almost
instant. “Oh, I wouldn't say the bounty is on your 'head' ;)
Besides it looks to me like you took it out on yourself. Btw, I hope
you have 10k or you're going to have to deal with some very angry
dominas...”</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060718793921651845.post-84972589980516135492021-07-10T14:11:00.005-07:002021-07-10T14:11:30.798-07:00Under the Influence Part 5<p> 18/25</p><p>I've been thinking quite a bit this last week about how I post my captions. I love doing these longer multiple segment stories as well as my regular recurring characters like Aiko and the Mannequeen. They give me a sense of progression from a writing perspective since as much as I love them, a lot of standalones are just unfeminised male to feminised male repeat.</p><p>That said, I can tell my series aren't for everyone and they do have a tendency to clog up my 25 caption batches. Also, I kind of feel like spreading the character stuff out like this loses a lot of the continuity and makes them hard for new readers to follow.</p><p>I don't mean this in a conceited way I promise, but I really hope people do appreciate the effort I put into both the writing and presentation of my stories. Putting together a batch of 25 takes a lot of time and effort and lately I have been feeling really burned out. My mental health has been inconsistent to say the least since last November and to keep captioning a fulfilling part of my life I need to balance what I enjoy writing with what people actually want to see.</p><p>What I am thinking of doing is to continue to post in 25 caption batches but to keep these sets mostly for standalones and testing out new potential recurring stuff. On top of this I plan to write special extended stories for my recurring characters that I will post as and when they are ready. For example I really want to write a summer themed Aiko story (Pink Boy Summer) but if I leave it until I have 25 ready, it probably won't get posted until October or so, which seems sad. </p><p>Anyway, sorry if I am rambling. Point is I really like captioning and am trying to ensure I continue to enjoy it and you continue to enjoy reading them. Things might change slightly but I'm gonna stick around. On with the show...</p><p>Zoli</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkVV6h6RJeTG6gdH6q8g9Yq9XXZK9R7dENr3qa_vAM9qKZZ2rUuVKZnHE6QVG4YOw3nHigyqpHe2_V5Q2Xppo0-2sieoeAc-V0ER5MepGEMq9FjJOjXQ6_jEGka5IFiIglkGjfe8Y7QdM/s1280/undertheinfluence5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="918" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkVV6h6RJeTG6gdH6q8g9Yq9XXZK9R7dENr3qa_vAM9qKZZ2rUuVKZnHE6QVG4YOw3nHigyqpHe2_V5Q2Xppo0-2sieoeAc-V0ER5MepGEMq9FjJOjXQ6_jEGka5IFiIglkGjfe8Y7QdM/s320/undertheinfluence5.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Brody looked back over
his shoulder and tried to gaze what he hoped was seductively into his
webcam. Comments and requests popped up relentlessly from punters
enjoying his live feed and it took all his effort not to gag with
disgust. He had hooked his laptop up to his flatscreen so he could
read the messages from across the room and consequently the writing
was not the only thing that was magnified. Soft alabaster skin peeked
out from underneath the sexy outfit and his stomach turned at seeing
how delicate looking his body had become. The hormones had done that.
Early on as the plan had begun forming in his head, Brody had
realised he would need some help if he was to look feminine enough to
pass as his sister in skimpy clothing. The pills he ordered off the
internet were supposed to have been the finishing touch but the end
result left him wondering if they had worked a little too well.
Still, the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could flush
them down the toilet.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">'PANTIES OFF NAO!!' A
particularly adamant message flashed on the screen and was instantly
'liked' by dozens of other watchers. Something gnawed at him. He knew
it was a bad idea but it was a way to give his following that extra
boost and simultaneously paint Claire as an even bigger slut.
Besides, the satin white thong currently parting his asscheeks was
barely dental floss anyway.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Winking at the camera,
he placed a hand on the old metal chair he had hauled in from the
yard as a prop and bent forward. His pill enhanced bubble butt looked
extra ripe perched on his six inch heels and keeping his eyes locked
on the webcam, Brody carefully slid his hand back to his hip and
began to slip his panties down. The one upside, if you can call in
that, of the hormone tablets was that his junk had shrunk and
recoiled back between his legs giving him a much smaller set of
equipment to keep hidden as he gently dragged the satin down his
thighs and over his stockings. Finally, when he was fully bent over
and his bare backside was sunny side up for the internet to see, he
dropped the underwear over his feet and kicked them backwards across
the room with one of his heels.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The comment section was
going crazy and Brody could even see donations flashing up the screen
within the storm of lewd remarks and emojis. Somewhere out there he
knew Claire was watching after he had sent her the link to 'her'
OnlyFemmes profile. He wondered if she was enjoying seeing him
humiliate himself in spite of the audience thinking they were
watching her. Hopefully she was squirming at the sight of his rump
wriggling in the air for the masses knowing if she didn't relinquish
control, he would forward 'her' profile to everyone she knew.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The show was over and
his self-worth was completely obliterated but Brody was sure he had
debased himself for Claire's pleasure for the last time. With a hand
covering his shrunken dick, he clicked off the webcam by remote. The
cavalcade of comments dissipated from the screen leaving just a
solitary IM from his sister. Relief washed over him as he read it.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“OKAY, I GIVE!! SEND
ME THE PASSWORD TO THAT PROFILE AND I WILL DO THE SAME THE SOCIAL
MEDIA ACCOUNTS I SET UP FOR YOU. JUST PLEASE DON'T SHARE THAT STUFF
WITH ANYONE!”</p></div><br /><p><br /></p>zoligomysthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07444064816256021024noreply@blogger.com11