Life Stream Part 3

 

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

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

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

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

Life Stream Part 2

 

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

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

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

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

Life Stream Part 1

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hot House Part 1

 20/25

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

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

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

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

Whatever Happened to Jared? (Price of Admission)

 The original caption was a three parter and starts here 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Pink n Prissy Pact Part 4

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Pink n Prissy Pact Part 3

 

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

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

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

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

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

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