Career Progression Part 2

 

“Name of position applying for...” Steph read aloud from her laptop. “Sissy bitch,” she narrated as she typed. Sat at her desk, an old fashioned mahogany with a partition down the middle separating two stacks of drawers, she had kicked off her patent leather heels and was prodding her stockinged feet into Michael, who was now kneeling rather uncomfortably beneath the desk. Glancing down at the whimpering man, she stretched out a set of toes and forced them between Michael's painted lips and into his mouth. She smiled at the warmth on her big toe as he started to suck it. “What skills do you possess that make you ideal for this role?” She continued, and when no answer came she looked under the desk with a raised eyebrow and removed her foot from her sissy's mouth.

“Please...I'm sorry...” Michael began to titter but Steph immediately returned her toes to his mouth to silence him.

“I am truly pathetic.” Steph returned to typing at her keyboard. “No task is too degrading. I am ready to serve and fulfil any job my mistress assigns to me. I will do so in silence and without protest. I am spineless, weak and simpering.” Steph looked back under the table. “Isn't that right, you piggy bitch?” She removed her toes from Michael's mouth once more and extended them so that they were pointed straight up at the underside of the desk. The heel of her foot was now in his face and she offered it to him. “Tongue out!” She demanded, and after a second's hesitation, Michael obeyed. Once Steph was satisfied his tongue was extended far enough from his mouth, she began to move her foot slowly up and then down, giving him a long lick of her feet. “Next question.”

“Just let me expl...” But Steph's toes were back in Michael's mouth before he could finish the sentence.

“How do you expect to be compensated for you efforts in you new role?” Steph paused and tapped on the mahogany as she thought. “Ah, I need nothing more than the taste of my mistress's feet and ten swats across my bare backside while I am bent over her desk at least twice a week.” She typed and then looked curiously at Michael as if had been him that had actually answered. “Very brave of you considering I operate an open door policy in my office... Okay, one last thing. We need a photo to attach to your application.”Quick as a flash, she reached under the desk and grabbed Michael's ear, pulling him out. “Look into the webcam, sissy.” Completely broken, he obeyed but Steph was not impressed. “I am not quite feeling the urge to please.” She confessed. “Perhaps we need some method acting!” Michael was now out from under the desk but still on his knees and Steph rose from her seat and loosened the belt of her pantsuit. “Your photo needs to convey how much of a kiss-ass you are!” She explained as she lowered her pants and turned around. Michael puckered his lips but hesitated and Steph grabbed him by the back of the head and forced his face deep into her ass crack, slowly grinding up and down on it. “Now that's the level of bitch we need to come through in the photograph!”

Career Progression Part 1

 

“Did you really think I wouldn't know who you were?!” Michael froze in place as the office door swung open. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?” The woman he recognised from the Zoom calls as Steph glared at him from the doorway. Technically, this was her office and she was his new manager but he still thought of her as his stand-in – just someone keeping the boss's seat warm until management came to their senses. “You on the other hand,” she snapped. “I know all about you! And I bet I know what you are doing here too!” Steph strode towards his and suddenly his disguise was no longer a disguise at all. As she marched upon him in her towering leather heels and smart pantsuit, he felt every inch as pathetic as she surely saw him. He cowered, raising one pantyhosed foot above the other and the pink satin dress rose too so that it barely covered his pantied ass. In that moment he felt weak and pathetic and completely at Steph's mercy.

“It's not what it looks like...” Michael managed to force out the words. What did it look like? The new Regional Manager, a position that he had considered himself a shoe in for, had just walked in to find one of her employees snooping around her office dressed as...what?! A sissy?

“Is that wig from you collection?” Steph sneered and drank in the surprise on Michael's face. “Look, I might be an outside hire, and frankly I am seeing why this company went in that direction considering the pathetic specimen that were my competition, but since taking on this role I have been doing my homework. I have done background checks on everyone on my new team, including you Michael, you little shit.” Michael's stomach dropped as he realised where this might be going. “That included a full sweep of your activity on our company laptops. It seems you have some rather peculiar tastes in the kinds of websites you visit when you are supposed to be working. Piggysissies.com was a particularly memorable example.”

“You hacked my computer?” Michael looked outraged, even under the layers of makeup. “You can't do that!”

“It's not 'your' computer you moron. You might be working remotely but it's still company property – and given you fall under my authority, at least for the time being, the laptop and everything on it is my responsibility.” Michael's anger quickly melted away and was replaced by a look of horror. He was about to get fired. He new it. He had come into Steph's office looking for something, anything, to use against her and get the job that should have been his all along and it had backfired so badly that she had all the dirt on him that she could ever need. “Now, my stupid little sissy, we need to have a conversation with HR...but it is your choice what we say to them. Either we show them how you have been using our company property and spending you time on the clock...or we present to them a proposal for how you should be putting your particular skills...and passions to use.” Michael trembled before her, knowing he really didn't have a choice at all.

Lara Lake's Last Lament Part 3

 23/25

The conclusion to my Mannequeen story for a while. The first two parts were earlier in the season but you can find all my Mannequeen caps in order on my index page

By the time Lara realized she was moving entirely on autopilot, it was too late to stop. Each sway of her hips, each tilt of her head, each soft, gasping laugh was no longer an accident but an instinct implanted by the bodysuit’s design. She felt the heat pooling lower, a tightness around her chest, the subtle stretch of the synthetic skin shaping her curves into impossible perfection.

Her reflection in the mirror no longer belonged to the sharp, calculating detective she had once been. Every movement seemed exaggerated—hyper-feminine, deliberately seductive, utterly alien. Her body would betray her before her mind could command it.

Four months had passed since that night in Wesley Tanner's mansion. Four torturous months where she had lived as the Mannequeen's plaything – her taunting voice all the time inside her head as her body was cavorted around like a marionette at her captor's whim. The bodysuit didn't just control her – it WAS her. It was her every time she stood on a street corner, every time she got on her knees, every time she was reduced to a moaning cum-filled mess.

“Do you ever wonder...” came the voice in her head as she gyrated one night for a room of men at a bachelor party, “...if I am even still controlling the bodysuit at all? Maybe I don't need to any more? Maybe you've just truly become the whore I crafted you to be!”

Her hands drifted again, smoothing over the sash on her chest, down her the tops of the fishnets at her hips, under her tiny skirt trailing along the curve of her thighs. She gasped, a tremor of both horror and arousal passing through her. Her reflection in the mirrored ceiling was mesmerizing: the familiar eyes of Lara Lake trapped behind a body that was no longer hers, every feature exaggerated, perfected, primed for display.

And yet, despite the thrill, a shard of her old self screamed inside. She saw it in the reflection—fleeting, fleeting—but she also saw the golden-haired woman’s smile, approving, triumphant. Resistance was futile. She was still conscious, still aware, but the Mannequeen had her now, and there was no turning back.

“So, which one are we taking home tonight?” The voice was back as Lara gripped the shimmering stripper pole tightly and gazed out at the cheering punters – lights from the retro disco ball falling over them like snow. “One!? Sorry, I jest. Just thinking of the mess those drunken idiots are going to make of you puts be in a comedic mood.”

Lara breathed heavily as her body continued to betray her, and the mob reached fever pitch as she slipped a hand inside her panties.

Whatever Happened to Kirk? (Director's Cut)

 A Flashback Friday to the recent caption Director's Cut

“And that's when you say 'Oh, Grandma, what a big dick you have!'” Lorna explained with a deadpan expression. “And Grandma will reply, 'All the better to fuck you with, my Dear!'” Kirk wasn't sure if his blushing would be visible on the bodysuit but his cheeks burned all the same. Everything else about the bodysuit certainly felt like it was the real thing. Putting it on again had been like stepping back into a bad memory – one where he was double penetrated by two behemoths called Lance and Steve. Still, if this was how he got to see Lorna again, so be it...

“Grandma says that?” He asked dumbly, and this time he was sure his confusion was clear on the suit's face. He looked enough like a bimbo as it was...

“No...” Lorna rolled her eyes. “The Big Bad Wolf says that while dressed as Grandma. Haven't you ever read Little Red Riding Hood? Well, Little Red Riding Slut is basically the same except instead of eating Grandma, the wolf screws her doggystyle and cums on her face in the previous scene. By the way, I should have asked, you're cool fucking a guy in a wolf costume, right?” Lorna stood with her hands on her hips and looked the bodysuited Kirk up and down. Gone was the school-girl outfit from his last experience and in its place was what amounted to little more than lingerie and a red shawl. She sighed “What am I asking? Of course you are...”

“I guess...” Kirk stammered. And why not? He had come this far to be close to Lorna. What was another ten inches? Even if those ten inches were protruding from the groin of a man looking like bigfoot. His last experience in Lorna's studio had come as a result of him suspecting she was cheating on him. He had put on the bodysuit and sneaked in only to find she wasn't hiding another man after all, but rather a secret career as a porno director. However, his clingy behaviour hadn't stopped there and Lorna had soon grown frustrated, ending their relationship and telling Kirk to stay away from her. It was only as their romance was ending that he realised how much he needed to be with her. He tried calling but she blocked his number and when he knocked on her door, she threatened to get a restraining order. Then a week later as he was half crying half masturbating, he happened to see Lorna's name in the credits of the porno he had been watching and he realised there was still a way he could be around Lorna. It would just come with a cost.

“Remember...” Lorna ushered him towards the set and nodded to the prop basket of apples in his grasp. “The shiny ones are covered in lube. You will put one of those in your ass when you rub one out in the forest before entering Grandma's house. Don't forget to put it in with the stalk facing out so the Woodsman can pull it out before he fucks you. If you get it wrong, we'll have to start over. I'm sure you have it in you but our fans can tell when a gape has been pre-stretched.” Kirk shuddered. Hearing Lorna talk like this had left him turned on, which was probably for the best, yet he hated what he was about to do to be around her, to let himself be degraded like that...it was hard to justify – though he knew he would...

The Priestess

 22/25

The longer Lincoln stood next to the bar waiting for the rest of the drama club to return, the more he was sure he had been had somehow. The ruffled dress he wore was not particularly short yet he felt completely exposed and while the pantyhose had protected his legs from the cold winter air, they had done nothing to shield him from embarrassment. The rest of his outfit consisted of a sheer top with velvet cuffs to match the dress, a leather purse and painful leather heels. All of it plus the wig had been courtesy of the college drama club's costume closet and had been his fellow clubmates' vision of the Priestess – the card he had drawn from the tarot deck earlier in the night.

It was apparently a club tradition. At the end of the first college semester, all club members, no exceptions, would draw from a tarot deck blindly and whatever card they selected would serve as the basis of their outfit for the final big night out of the semester. Lincoln had of course drawn the Priestess, not only that but he had drawn it upside-down which, club rules stated, meant he had to remain in costume not just for the club party, but the wider college party that occurred immediately afterwards.

He had begged for a redo but Jean-Paul had pulled the deck away and clapped his hands gleefully while Harriet had beamed at him and started dabbing his face with an enormous makeup brush before the rest of the club had even finished having their turns. His peers had taken great joy raiding the costume closet for the perfect outfit and Lincoln had turned white upon seeing some of their offerings. They had pulled and primped and powdered him until he was barely recognisable in the ensemble he now found himself dressed in as he stood at a local bar.

Of course, none of the others had drawn their cards upside-down, and so when the club party ended at nine everyone else ran back to their dorms to shed their significantly less humiliating costumes. The Lovers, the Fool, the Hermit – all mild when compared to the embarrassment of attending the biggest night of the college semester in full drag. And now he was alone...

Lincoln thought he saw a familiar face slide through the revolving doors of the bar and relief flooded through him. Finally, he would no longer have to stand alone looking like a girl trying to get picked up. His heart went cold as he realised the person he recognised was actually one of his class professors – a department head no less. Lincoln didn't want to admit to such an esteemed figure who held at least a piece of his future in his hands that he was here in full makeup and a dress on some silly drama club lark.

“Well, hello there sweetheart,” the greying lecturer shot him a sly wink. “Buy you a drink?” Lincoln tried for a sweet smile and nodded demurely, his purse clutched defensively before him as he wished for the Earth to swallow him up.

Whatever Happened to Felix? (Trigger)

'Trigger' was my most popular ever story and was bound to get a Flashback at some point...and maybe more ;D The first four parts are on my index page but I will link the rest their shortly. Until then, just put "Trigger" in the site's search bar.

“You know...” Felix began as he leaned into the mirror to put the final touches on his lipstick. It wasn't a new shade for him, far from it – the soft red offsetting his long blonde hair and smokey eyes was by now his signature look, but it was the first time he had combined it with the suede corsetted dress and lace-up gloves and he was pleased with the results. He had been the eye-candy for Zoe's hypnotist show for eight years now – not that Zoe wasn't stunningly beautiful in her own right, and it was a constant battle to live up to the sexiness promised by the show's huge posters on the marquee. He pursed his lips in a sultry gaze. “I have been thinking...”

“Oh, how I hate it when you do that...” Zoe approached from behind and wrapped an arm around his cinched waist. “Think, that is.” The backstage dressing room was cramped and strewn with rejected outfit options and they could hear the excitement of the crowd building for tonight's show through the wall. “I didn't release your inner bimbo all those years ago for you to go all Confucius on me. I much prefer this side of you...” She used her thumb to turn Felix's chin and direct his mouth to her own for a deep kiss. Finally, when it was over, she smirked at her partner's hopelessly smudged lipstick.

“That's just it...” Felix continued pensively. “I remember you once telling me that the reason you were able to hypnotise me to be your...me, was that deep inside I wanted to be a bimbo all along. But, what about the people in our show? Last night you made a guy think he was ostrich. I am pretty sure he wasn't secretly a giant flightless bird...”

“Oh, my Sweet,” Zoe cackled wickedly. “You're thinking about it way too literally. I simply appealed to the repressed femininity in you. I didn't summon some kind of bimbo gene. And, you're right, that guy last night wasn't actually an ostrich, but he was naturally clumsy and awkward like a giant bird might be. It's subtle. There is a skill to reading people. I am watching the audience all the time, and when one of them comes on stage, I need to figure out what suggestions are going to take best.”

“Do you see more like me?” Felix asked nervously. “Bimbos...guys you can feminise?”

“Oh, my Dear Felicia...jealously is not a shade that suits you.” Zoe said plucking the lipstick from his hand and beginning to reapply it. “There's no-one quite like you. But...” She paused thoughtfully. “I admit, there are other ways. A guy doesn't necessarily need to have a hidden feminine side. You can get him in a dress by appealing to other things...like with the ostrich. Guilt for example – spot a guy clearly harboring some guilt and you can hypnotise him into thinking he deserves to be humiliated. Even better if the person he wronged is there in the audience with him. Those are the ones where it is fun to leave the trigger in place...” Zoe bit her tongue, realising the implications of her words. “That isn't what I did with you by the way.” She caressed Felix's cheek lovingly having completed fixing his makeup. “How about I show you tonight? We can find a guy in the crowd with a dirty little secret, and then make him pay with his dignity!”

The Apprentits Lost Tapes Part 6

 21/25

Celia had been blissfully unaware the whole time the throne had been completing its transformation. She had screamed in exaltation, bucking and grinding even as her ass was reshaped to bursting point, and moaned through her freshly inflated lips as the robotic arms continued their work. And then she was gone – wheeled away like the rest of them, onward to their new lives as whores and playthings. Only Angela remained, still strapped to her throne, silent but for the metal piercings thrumming away on her newly exaggerated tits and between her legs.

“The cameras are off now.” One of the latex clad members of Femnonymous announced without emotion. “We are done here.” No 'congratulations', Angela noted. No 'you are the winner' or 'thank you for helping set all this up and then foiling the escape attempt' – just 'we are done here'. Other amazons were gathering now too, yet none of them made any movement towards freeing her.

“So, that's it?” Angela stammered, her eyes flitting from one rubber suited figure to the next. “I can go home?” That was the least they could do, she thought. They should be rewarding her.

“Not quite...” The first woman said coolly. “You've been very useful, Angela. You were useful before the island. You were useful while you were here. And now...you will be useful after the island. We have a new assignment for you. One we think you will be very good at. Once a mole, always a mole, right?” The woman began to circle her. “We expect you to fill this role perfectly, and if you don't, there's always the chip to push you in the right direction.” Angela's blood ran cold. She had assumed she had been spared the compliance device given to the rest of the producers. “Of course, to complete this new task, we need to make sure you won't be recognised. You need to be perfect. Fortunately, we have just the thing...” Angela screamed and thrashed as countless robotic arms flowed out from beneath the throne to do Femnonymous's bidding...

Ten years had passed since her final transformation, and Angela was perched on the arm of a leather couch awaiting her husband's return from work. She knew it was a big day for him and he would be expecting a celebratory fuck and so she was dressed appropriately. The finale of the Apprentits Lost Tapes had been watched by millions and the Network had been resurrected. Bryce Murphy would be coming home a happy man – a happy, horny man who wanted nothing more than to pound his kinky young wife.

Bryce was predictable by now – they had been married nine years after all. But maybe he was predictable all along, and that was why Femnonymous had so easily crafted Angela into his future wife. But then again, he was a spoiled rich guy who made his fortune, and got off on, transforming gameshow contestants into glorified sex objects. Maybe the transformation of Angela into the ultimate sex object had been enough... The throne had crafted her into a walking wet dream and the compliance chip had done the rest, pushing her towards Bryce in a busy strip club – her enormous tits already out and the metal piercing thrumming busily. She had blown him and professed her love for him with the same collagen pumped lips that night, and after a whirlwind two months of 'romance' and debauchery, they had married.

The mole was in position and to make sure she stayed in position, the chip dictated that she be the perfect wife to Bryce. For ten years, she had been everything for him. Not only had she cooked and cleaned and kept their house, but she had been his own personal whore. Even a man of Bryce's sexual appetite was constantly amazed by what Angela was willing to do to keep him. She was almost permanently dressed in fetish wear such as the latex lingerie she now wore and would attend events with him wearing visible buttplugs or the occasional ballgag.

Their physical relationship was a nonstop zoetrope of new positions and sex acts that eventually involved Bryce bringing home other women to help fulfil his fantasies. One weekend he brought home Angela's former colleague and friend, Mandy, now a senior executive at the Network. She hadn't recognised Angela, of course, who now looked like a completely different person – her slim build now a curvy caricature, her small face now pouting and wild, and her formerly brown hair now long blonde and wavy – all thanks to the throne. Angela had joined Mandy on their knees as they sucked off Bryce in unison and Angela couldn't help but think this could have all been avoided if she had just got on her knees at a long ago Christmas party.

Bryce also got into the habit of taking her back to the strip club where they had first met and having her perform with the girls there. His favourite was a guy who had been a contestant on the Network's own Apprentits and had been transformed into one of the strippers when he was eliminated. Bryce loved watching him fuck his wife. It was as if his ultimate fantasy was seeing the man whose life his gameshow had ruined by turning him into a bimbo cuckold him with his own bimbo wife.

Ten years, thought Angela, ten fucking years. Ten years of degrading herself for Bryce fucking Murphy. Ten years of her clit vibrating. Ten years of threesomes with her best friend turned mortal enemy. Ten years of hell courtesy of Femnonymous's grand fucking plan of which she still had no knowledge. The chip was the only thing keeping her on their side now. Without it she would turn on them in a second. She wasn't with Femnonymous, nor the Network, nor Bryce, nor Mandy, nor the other producers, wherever they were... It was just her, and it was nearly her time...

“Angela!” A voice soothed in her head, and she realised it must be the chip. Femnonymous were using it to communicate with her. “It's time! The next phase starts now!”