The Capitalist (Bimbo Note)

 12/25

You can find the rest of my Bimbo Note captions on my index page

Azalea loved visiting the racetrack. She didn’t give a damn about horses, but it was full of rich idiots doing careless things with money. It was the perfect place to dress up, push her tits out and take home some lovesick dope with an overstuffed bank account to buy her a new fur coat or some leather boots. Half the time she didn’t even have to let them put their dick in her – a few strokes of the wrist was enough to get these fools to shoot their loads and become smitten. After all, they didn’t bet on horses because they believed in delayed gratification…

Azalea didn’t like to gamble, she liked sure things, but seeing men place their bets was the easiest way to tell who had cash to splash and who didn’t, and so she obliged. It was a sunny Saturday and she was leaning at one of the provided stations filling out a slip. She was betting her usual – the track minimum on the favourite. A well-dressed man with a moustache at the stall next to her appeared to glance over her shoulder and scoff. At first she thought he was looking at her tits, but no one scoffed at her tits, so she surmised that her wager was the source of his derision.

“Alright then stud. What have you got?” She scowled. The man held up his betting slip and Azalea saw that he was planning to bet a thousand bucks on a rank outsider. “Well, good luck with that…” she snorted noting to herself that she didn’t care if he bought her a tiara, no way was she bringing sexual gratification to that weasel face. They both placed their bets with the teller and went to watch the race.

Twenty minutes later and Azalea was waiting for her prey by the betting office. Few punters had opted for the apparent no-hoper ‘Sod’s Chance’ and the moustachioed man was one of only a handful to come and collect winnings. Seeing her, he grinned smugly, holding up his betting slip just as she had hoped he would. She made a mental note of his name written at the top of the slip. She would be making a physical note very shortly.

It didn’t take Azalea long to spot her latest creation. Most women who came to the track were in groups – Prosecco sipping bachelorette parties, who, while often slutty, did not resemble the kind of airhead that the Bimbo Note produced. She saw her target standing alone staring blankly out at the track – big plastic looking jugs bursting out of a figure hugging jacket and a large purse bulging with stacks of bank notes sitting at her feet. Azalea walked over and scooped up the purse before any would-be thief could do the same, and gave the babe a squeeze on the backside.

“Come with me,” she cooed, “enough of those boring horses.” The woman looked at her blandly as she surveyed the people around her. A Rolex peeked from a jacket sleeve. “Here we go!” Azalea guided her over to an expensively dressed man while expertly inching down the zippers on her new bimbo’s jacket and her own catsuit to reveal maximum cleavage. “Hey there!” She bit her lip seductively. “How’d you like to take home a sure thing? You can ride this one all you want…” Azalea snaked an arm around her waist, “…and she doesn’t care where you finish!”

Whatever Happened to Rhys? (Black Friday)

 The original caption is here

Rhys found himself playing with his hair again. The long locks were dry from the sun and had loose ends from the humidity – just as real hair would. This was the longest he had ever worn the bodysuit and he was still finding things to be astounded by. Just the fact he was tottering down a Hawaiian beach in a bikini, turning the heads of surfers as he passed should have been enough – yet the way the sun beat down on the synthetic skin, the way it produced sweat that trickled down the small of his back leaving tiny tickling trails as it went all the way down to the perfect ass that had parted many a Black Friday crush over the years.

This is the least I deserve, he thought as he sipped a rum cocktail from a hollowed out pineapple. This was his just desserts for donning this ridiculous bodysuit every November to retrieve whatever trinket his sister desired this year. He didn't care that he had to enjoy it as a woman. Luxury was luxury.

Ten years ago Rhys had broken his sister's leg in a drunken bike prank gone wrong. Confined to the sofa with her limb in plaster, she had demanded that he put on a ultra-realistic female bodysuit she somehow had and brave the Black Friday crush to purchase a console game she was desperate for in lieu of revealing the true cause of her fractured leg to their parents. To this day, Rhys couldn't even remember what the game had been.

It certainly hadn't helped his memory that his sister had not called it one and done when it came to his new alter ego. Rather she continued to hold the bike incident over him like a dangling guillotine and made it a tradition to gleefully drag out the bodysuit every year for him to put on in place of his dignity. New phones, consoles, even an air-fryer one year, they were well into their twenties by now and due to the challenges of modern life, both still living with their parents. Rhys didn't know what his Mom and Dad would do after all these years if they found out what he had done to their daughter, but for the sake of the roof over his head, he dared not find out.

And then there was this year... His sister had sent him out as usual, this time to buy some super-light weight luggage for a girls' trip she was planning in the new year. He had gone to the checkout, the familiar feeling of shame behind his eyes as the shop assistant scanned the items...and then her face lit up. Rhys had won some kind of promotional prize from the company selling the luggage – a winter sun vacation to Hawaii.

The cocktail tasted extra sweet as Rhys thought of his sister. It was her passport that was tucked into the zip of the luggage that had won him his escape and she would likely find out what he had done when she took her own vacation in the new year. But, hey, what she going to do? He considered, grinning across the surf. Blackmail him?

The Legend of Harlot's Creek Part 4

 

The woman in black stood over them, studying them like they were zoo animals. She tilted her head first to one side, then the other, a wide satisfied smile cracking her beautiful face. Finally, she raised both her arms up and Mikey and Patrick were drawn to their feet before her. They weren't identical creatures – Mikey was curvier and had darker hair, but their outfits, leopard print catsuits that hugged their new feminine bodies, matched perfectly.

“Two!” The woman grinned cruelly “Oh, it works so much better like this. Two mirrors of desire, reflecting one another for eternity.”

“What...” Mikey's caught his tongue before he could say any more. He couldn't bear to listen to the girlish lilt of his new voice. Turning to face his friend, he found himself drinking in the curves of Patrick's body stretching out the spandex outfit. “Oh...” His mouth was dry and he realised that the nipples of his new breasts had become engorged and pressed painfully against the tight material. “Ohhhh...” This time there was no mistaking it – a fully-fledged moan and Mikey watched in terror as his hand involuntary reached between his legs. His mind registered shock as he realised he still had his cock and it now bulged firmly in his slender hand, but his body betrayed him, stoking his throbbing erection as drool dripped from between his soft pink lips.

“There's no use trying to fight it!” As long as you are horny, you are mine. “Men always have been. Only this time there are two of you. Two sexy muses to inspire each other's untold debauchery!”

“Ohhhh...” By now Patrick was also a passenger in the body that wasn't even his save for his stiff dick. The more he tried to fight it, the less he wanted to as desire rushed through him. Desire for the girl that held Mikey like a prison, desire for the raven haired woman - their gaoler, desire for his own voluptuousness. Was it he who dropped into a squat or the alter-ego that was his desire possessing him? Was there even a difference? His delicate face was inches from Mikey's powerful round ass and he imagined burying his nose between those cheeks – he imagined burying his cock between those cheeks, and he knew before the night was over he would do both.

Mikey's mind was drunk on pleasure. He desperately needed to find how to remove the catsuit. The other girl's face was almost exactly where he needed it but that stretchy material was in the way. He imagined crushing her button nose into his ass as he reached ecstasy. He would ride her face and then she would ride his ass and then the sorceress would ride them both – just as she had done the Scarlet Harlot all those centuries ago. As she would continue to do so for eternity. And by night, they wonder the creek, searching for others to bring back here. Searching for more toys for the mistress to play with...

The Legend of Harlot's Creek Part 3

 

“This was a bad idea!” Patrick murmured as he angled his flashlight around the darkness of the mansions ruins. In the early hours of the morning the house was a different beast to the eerie remains they used for their smoke breaks. In the pitch black in was downright sinister. “I mean, I know we're doing this for Caleb, but is it really worth getting killed over? Like, sure he's a hot babe now...scratch that, a hot horny babe who wants to use us as her living sextoys, but there are worse things...right? Maybe there's even an upside? Can we honestly say he was truly happy as Cal...”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Mikey hissed. They were entering hat was either a courtyard or what was once a great hall that had had its roof caved in.”Hey, would you look at that?” He pointed his light at the wall in front of them. An enormous picture frame hung from it – the canvas painted with the life-sized depiction of a darkly beautiful woman with raven hair and severe features dressed all in black. Her cape appeared to billow in the night. “Holy shit!” Mikey cried. “Hey, how does it look so new? It's basically fresh!”

“Funny!” The woman in the picture smirked and cocked her head to one side. “I was just thinking the same about you! Fresh...fresh...fresh...MEAT!” She practically shouted the final word and both boys responded by dropping their flashlights in terror. What followed was a desperate scramble as Mikey and Patrick clamoured to find their extinguished lights. Patrick squealed in horror as he slapped the ground, his hand finally hitting something hard and plastic only for it to be pulled away from his grasp. “Let me help you with that!” The woman's sneer was six inches from his face, the flashlight held just below her chin. With a snap, she redirected it right into his eyes and the world went white.

When their surroundings finally came back into focus, the night was gone and the courtyard was no longer the wrecked bowels of a destroyed house. The walls were white marble and the ground was covered in lush grass. The raven haired woman stood in the centre of it wrapped in a black cape and clutching the flashlight like a toy. She smiled triumphantly.

Patrick realised in his panic he had crawled over his sprawled friend and looked down only to receive an even greater shock. Beneath him was the pert ass of a girl clad in a leopard print catsuit and judging from her grunting, she was as frightened as he was. He tried to push himself up only to find that the same feline pattern wrapped his now much more slender arms.

“Dude, get off me!” The girl cried out in a soft voice. “Hey, what's wrong with my voice?” She rolled over and looked at Patrick leaning over her. “Hey, who the hell are you? Where's Patrick?”

The Legend of Harlot's Creek Part 2

 

When Mikey and Patrick assembled in their customary place the next day for their midday smoke, they were startled to find they were not alone. As if expecting them, an elegant figure sat perched on what remained of a destroyed staircase from what was once the mansion's east wing. The woman held her head as in a daze – her multicoloured hair cascading over a revealing sheer leotard and leather corset outfit. Thigh high boots completed her look – one that was drastically out of tone with the ruined old house.

“I suppose I found my proof in a way...just as the Harlot promised I would that night I saw her down by the creek” the woman spoke softly...ruefully. “I mean, I would have settled for photos but that bitch did this to me instead.” Mikey and Patrick stared at one another and then at the women in abject confusion until finally the busty newcomer broke the silence. “Guys, it's me...Caleb!” The woman stood and took a step towards them.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Mikey finally found his voice. “I don't know how Caleb put you up to this...or how much he paid, but this isn't funny...it's just weird. You might be kind of hot but...”

“Hey!” the woman interrupted, her beautiful face stormy “You aren't listening. I am Caleb!” Her eyes soothed from anger to fear. “Guys, you got to help me. I found her, the Harlot...she told me to go to the house...she's not what we thought. She's the reason I have these!” She grabbed her own breasts firmly and gave them an exaggerated jiggle. “She's...” The woman stopped and gave her chest another shake. Her stare seemed to turn glassy and her thick pink lips parted. “She's...” Her voice broke off into a moan – snd then a soft panted sigh. She dropped one hand to the avenue of soft skin on her inner thigh between the bottom of the leotard and the top of a boot – her other hand reached her chin and pushing a long slender finger into her mouth. “You have to go to the house...tonight!”

“Lady, are you okay?” Patrick asked even as she took a step towards him. He didn't resist as she pushed a hand into his hair and pulled herself close to him. They were face to face, her round tits pushing into him. He could feel her laboured breaths as she gave another ecstatic cry and leaned in.

“Dude!” Mikey pulled his friend away from the obviously horny woman. Patrick glared at him with clear annoyance until he saw the fear in his comrade's face. “Look!” Mikey nodded to the woman's crotch where an erect cock appeared to be pushing hard against the sheer material of the leotard. The woman seemed oblivious, she merely continued to step towards them with the same dull expression of arousal on her features. “I hope to God I am wrong,” Mikey muttered, “but I think somehow, that actually might be Caleb!”

The Legend of Harlot's Creek Part 1

 This is a commission I did for DeviantArt

Harlot's Creek wasn't your average small town. Hell, it wasn't even your average haunted small town. But for Caleb, Mikey and Patrick it was home. To the three boys in their late teens, the tales of the phantom woman dressed in red roaming the local fields at night were just bedtime stories they were told growing up. The ghostly creek that filled with mist on winter mornings was just a place to catch fish in the summer – and the decrepit old abandoned mansion where the spectre supposedly lived was just a quiet place they could sneak off to for a vape or a beer free from scolding looks.

“You guys all got the same story as me growing up, right?” asked Caleb one day between swigs from a bottle of lager. “The version our parents were comfortable telling?” His friends gave him confused looks that begged 'what other version was there?' Caleb chuckled softly taking another slug. “You guys haven't heard the real one, huh? How the Scarlet Harlot came to haunt this place and how this shitty town got its name?”

“How about you quit flapping your jaw and tell us?” Mikey tossed his empty beer bottle against the wall of the house and watched it smash into a million pieces. Patrick smirked.

“Alright, calm down,” Caleb rolled his eyes. “It goes like this. So, about a hundred years ago, a guy lived in this house – not a woman like in the version you know, but a guy. He was into some weird shit, in more ways than one. The story goes that he would invite some local sorceress every couple of months to be like some old-timey dominatrix. Only, she didn't tie him up and stuff – well, I suppose she may have, but the main thing she did was use her powers to turn this guy into a hot babe.” Patrick snorted with laughter but Caleb ignored him. “Apparently, the guy got off on it. He had this whole alter ego with long blonde hair and massive tits. The sorceress would transform him and dress him all in red...red gloves, red shoes and this shiny red corset...”

“How would you know this?” Mikey scoffed. “And why is he now a ghost?”

“I am getting to that!” Caleb had grown irritated. “So, yeah, this weirdo like being turned into a woman for kicks but it wasn't enough for him. He wanted the sorceress to change him permanently. Problem is, why would she slaughter the sissy that lays the golden eggs? She refused and when the man refused to pay her, she used her other powers on him and accidentally burned his house down.” He paused to gauge the reactions of his now silent friends. “And in death, the guy finally got what he wanted...eternity as a beautiful woman, destined to haunt the creek forever.” Caleb finished his own beer and looked at his friends seriously. “And as for how I know...well, that's the wrong question. The real question is how will I prove it? Because the answer to that question is I am going to sneak in here tonight with my camera and get photo evidence.

Subliminal Part 2

 11/25

Fashion mogul Max Vektor hadn't been seen in a month. Since that fateful day when the pictures of the unfortunate Kevin had shown up on his boardroom projector, he had been walled up in his luxury city apartment praying that the subliminal ad he had watched two days earlier wouldn't have the same effect on him that it did on his poor video tech. Nearly a week passed and he began to think he had dodged such a destiny when suddenly one day the packages began to appear on his doorstep. Parcel after parcel of his own company's products – dresses, shoes, underwear, and cosmetics, and all in his size too. He didn't remember ordering any of it but sure enough when he checked his browser history and his credit cards, the purchases were all there and paid for in full in the middle of the night when he was sure he had been sleeping.

He stuffed all of the merchandise to the back of his closet even as it was still turning up at his door, but just a few days later he started waking up in the morning wearing the clothing. It was just one or two things at first. One day it was a single high-heel, the next a bra, but as the days continued to pass it started to happen more frequently and more acutely. One afternoon he apparently blacked out and came to wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a full face of makeup. It actually seemed like the more he tried to fight it, the stronger whatever force was guiding him became. He started to dream of women – glamorous beautiful women dressed head to toe in Max Vektor products and they were him. And he needed to be them.

Within a week of the first clothes arriving, beauticians and stylists began to turn up at his door. They were visibly confused upon seeing that their client was a man but seeing as he was partly dressed in bits of female clothing and they had already been paid for, they were more than happy to groom and primp and apply hair extensions and Max was powerless to resist. Each time they left their subject a step closer to the frolicking models in his dreams.

Fashion mogul Max Vektor hadn't been seen in a month and now as he sat on the steps of the office building bearing his name, no-one would recognise him. Sat next to one of his company's own limited edition handbags, he pushed his long dark hair away from his immaculately made-up face. A long wool coat wrapped around a black figure hugging dress and his stockinged legs sprawled out before into a pair of patent leather stilettos. Part of him screamed and tried to claw himself back to his apartment where he would rip off the clothes and pull out his hair extensions. But something else drove him on. It wasn't the same as Kevin – it was deeper. He didn't just need the products, not just crave to drape them over his soft feminised skin. It was his company – his life's work and he needed to do what was best for it. He pulled himself up onto his heels and started to totter up the steps. He quickly checked the thumb-drive was still in his handbag as he prepared for his meeting with the social media team. He needed to release that ad, and nothing was going to stop him...