Whatever Happened to Alex? (Making the Band)

 This is a Flashback Friday for 'Making the Band'.

“I'm thinking there has got to be a better way than this...” Alex gasped from under the bone clenching tightness of the red latex dress. He hated how familiar the sting of its hem digging into his thighs felt and his sweat was pooling under the shiny material and forming a juicy cocktail with the half-gallon of lubricant required to get him into it. A half-gallon of lube and nine years of bad decisions, he thought miserably. “What about a different direction? I heard denim is in right now... Anything that doesn't make my tits look like tomatoes...”

“Remember what I said...” Lucinda, his long suffering assistant shook her head dismissively. “If I am going to help you with this...with your comeback, we are going to do things my way.” She was playing with the camera trying to line up a shot. As the only person who knew the truth about Alex's identity, she was his assistant, photographer, marketing person and now apparently, his torturer. “Don't forget, the world sees you as the fourth member of Money Shot, and for good reason. The other three girls have all gone on to have successful solo careers because they have two things you don't – musical talent and personality. We need to lean into the things you do have on your side – nostalgia and sex appeal. The latex look was what introduced Money Shot to the world. It's their signature. And somehow, after all these years, you're still hot as hell!”

“I have personality...” Alex protested weakly, readjusting his pose because his heels felt like they were destroying his feet, causing Lucinda to scowl at him.

“You aren't listening!” Lucinda snapped a picture. “You don't need it. You know Andrea in accounts? Dull as a dictionary, and still every weekend without fail, she fluffs up her tits, rolls a skirt halfway up her arse, and has guys lining up to buy her drinks. We don't need to pretend you are interesting. You can't polish a turd but you can shine the shit out of latex, and for everything else, we have autotune, and those boobs you've kept hold of for some reason.”

“Fuck's sake. I couldn't even afford to get the implants removed.” Alex groaned. He couldn't believe he needed the money badly enough to resurrect Alexandra of the briefly world famous girl band 'Money Shot'.With all the beauty products he had needed to buy, he was even more in debt than when he asked Lucinda to help him. Now ten years older, it felt like he needed twice as much of everything to look half as good.

“My plan is fool proof!” Lucinda said. “We put these promotional shots on social media, record a couple of covers, leak some tabloid rumours about you dating a YouTuber or starting an OnlyFemmes...” She grinned as her boss's collagen enhanced lips formed an 'O'. “Relax! You won't actually have to start an OnlyFemmes. At least you won't as long as we can sell the songs. It wouldn't hurt though if those tits look as good in the flesh as they do through that dress...”

Odds and Pairs

 

“Are you going to get it over with then?” Oliver muttered under his breath so only his friend could hear. “Are you going to kiss me?” Tom was inches from his face though neither boy could bring themselves to meet each other's gaze. Oliver had one hand intertwined with the blonde hair of Tom's wig and the other gripped the red solo cup of Dutch courage the girls had charitably provided.

“Why do I have to lead?” Tom grumbled, biting his red painted lips nervously. “You got us into this mess with all that 'odds are in our favour' nonsense.” Like his buddy he was still coming terms with being stuffed into a strappy top and hideously short skirt that showed off the lace panties he was now wearing.

“Well, you haven't hooked up since we started college either. I was just trying to get us some action. I saw a bar full of girls dressed to the nines looking all flirty and thought it looked like a good shot.” He wanted to take another slug of the vodka but felt trapped in place by Tom's hot breath on his cheek. “How was I supposed to know it was a lesbian party?”

“Because they were coupling up all over the place. There were two girls rubbing each other off in a paddling pool. Couldn't you have just enjoyed the view rather than shouting – 'Are you all lesbos or something?' Now thanks to you, we are going to hook up at college – with each other.”

“Do you guys do anything but chitchat?” One of the girls from the group encircling them heckled. “And you wonder why we prefer women...” There was a rumble of female laughter. There was about sixty girls surrounding them in total – more than enough to overpower two big mouthed freshman. Stripping them naked and throwing them in the paddling pool had been their first idea, though the two women fingering each other in the shallow water hadn't appreciated having two nude guys launched at them. The calls to feminise them hadn't started from anyone in particular – rather it was a growing rumble of enthusiasm. There were no shortage of girls volunteering their clothes from the drunken crowd, but it was when using the raffle prizes was suggested that things really got out of hand.

“We better do this soon,” Oliver whispered. “If we don't, they're going to buzz us again.” The buttplugs had the indignity of having lights and even in the shadowy bar, they stood out from under the boys' panties like fireflies. Seeing them being pulled from their packaging had instigated such terror in them that about ten girls had been needed to hold them down to insert the well lubed toys. Their resistance died the second they were in as Tom and Oliver were turned to putty by the violent throbbing that felt like it might split them in two. That's when the fun really began. “Here goes nothing...” Oliver pulled in his friend for a kiss.

“Why are you using tongues...?” Tom tried to splutter but he couldn't get his words out so deep had his friend pushed himself inside. The crowd began to cheer and whoop and someone activated the plugs again. Both boys buckled at the knees in tandem and fell against each other as hundreds of eyes watched what was happening beneath their tiny skirts – quivering lights poking from their asscheeks and their steadily hardening cocks pushed together in between their embrace.

The Apprentits Lost Tapes Part 4

 19/25

The full Network and Femnonymous story is listed on my index page.

A trail of dismantled cameras led the way through the brush to the jetty where they had originally arrived on the island. Martin had clearly done his homework and prepared accordingly, and Angela would have been impressed were she not absolutely set on foiling their escape plan. Every now and then, the beam of a highly powered flashlight would cut through the darkness near them and the remaining three producers would fall into a state of hushed stillness. Angela knew she could yell and wave her arms whenever she liked, and they would be found immediately, but she couldn't guarantee how that would play out next. What if Femnonymous just continued the contest after recapturing them? She couldn't risk both Martin and Celia knowing she had betrayed them. Surely as their mole, Femnonymous were rooting for her to win, but they wouldn't undermine their entire operation to protect her.

“Hurry up!” The naked form of Celia hissed noticing Angela studying the latest of the unhooked cameras a little too hard. Angela scowled – Celia giving her orders back in their old lives had been bad enough, and now on the island it was somehow even more grating. Martin, the eternal professional, put a finger to his lips and beckoned for both women to keep going. Angela fell in beside him as they continued through the dark jungle.

“So...” Angela tried to sound casual as if she weren't playing double agent as part of a daring night time escape from the island compound of gang of latex clad vigilantes systematically transforming them one-by-one into Barbie dolls with some kind of hi-tech dentist chair. “Got anyone waiting for you back home?”

“Actually, yes!” Martin's face seemed to brighten. “I think you two might know each other. She was a producer too when the Network just started getting big. She's a lot more senior now though.” Angela stared at him while he continued to talk, trying to keep her face neutral. “You do know Mandy, right?” Martin watched her expectantly and finally she nodded. Mandy had been close...close enough to stab her right in the back. And now here she was... Trapped on an island with her boyfriend.

“So, you and Mandy, huh?” Celia said a few minutes later along the trail. “How did that come about? She's senior management – not trying to sleep your way to the top, are you?” There was a clear barb in her voice but Martin didn't seem to notice and the two fell into a conversation about office politics and work relationships, not noticing that Angela had slowly started to fall back from the group. Once she was ten feet back she paused in the shadows next to yet another dismantled camera. It was about a foot from the ground and designed to get a low angle shot. From what Angela could see, it was fully intact – the power source had simply been disconnected. Checking that the others were still walking on ahead, she took the wire between her fingers and plugged it back into the main body of the device. A small LED screen booted up and began to display a percentage bar that crawled agonisingly slowly towards completion. Cursing her luck and not wanting to be left behind, Angela abandoned the camera and scurried after the other producers.

“We could use this!” Martin was standing over a small boat with an out-board motor floating off the side of a jetty. “But it doesn't seem to have fuel.” Celia was scowling with her hands on her hips. “Sorry, I know I should have checked before dragging you out here.” He said apologetically.

“Fuel?” Angela repeated dumbly, a cruel idea forming. She thought of Mandy watching from home as her boyfriend was dragged off to be bimbofied. God, she wished that golddigger was here with them,,, “Uh, I think I saw a canister of fuel back there!” She pointed back the way they had come – back towards the camera she had just switched back on. Moments later, Martin was bounding back up the trail. He stopped and began scanning the brush for the non-existent gasoline. Suddenly, he froze in place. He had just seen the blinking LED on the now functioning camera. Mere seconds passed before the night was pierced by several high-powered beams of light and about a dozen latex clad Amazons emerged from the trees. Two gripped Martin and forced his arms behind his back. Right before a kind of electrical riot stick was brought to his still naked body, his eyes locked with Angela's and a look of understanding passed between them. Angela smiled softly before she too was restrained.

The office was chaos around Martin. He had been here a month and he still didn't understand what work was being done. He didn't even know what language was being spoken. Whatever it was, it looked stressful and involved a lot of men sitting in cubicles shouting angrily down the phone. He only understood what the compliance chip told him. He was the relief girl – perfectly crafted by the throne to be exactly the kind of motivation the men needed to keep picking up those phones. Today he wasn't wearing a skirt, just as the chip had instructed, and his brand new bubble butt was parted by a tight black pair of satin panties. When they were particularly frustrated, the men would look up at his ass and lick their lips, or if he was facing the other way, his pussy. Whenever this happened, the chip would instruct him to respond with a coy flirtatious smile and he would comply. As the day progressed, he unfastened his blouse, one button at a time, to show them ever more of his tits. Eventually, he would be topless but that didn't need thinking about yet. The day was still young. Eventually, one of the men could whoop with glee at the end of particularly successful phone call and get to bend Martin over the desk while the others watched – a preview of what they could be rewarded with if they kept working hard. Eventually, Martin would moan with ecstasy as the same lucky worker thrust into him as the chip demanded he enjoy the experience. But, it was still early in the day... That would all come, as too would Martin, but for now he could just stand there in those uncomfortable heels and fantasize about what he would do to Angela if he ever saw her again...

Whatever Happened to the Babysitter? (The Last Time I Babysat)

 This Flashback Friday features the unnamed babysitter from my 3 part story "The Last Time I Babysat". You can find Part 1 here.

The air felt thick with baby powder and once again my diaper was clean and soft on my ass. No more red skin, no more painful chaffing – just blissful fragrant cushion. As always, I was stuck motionless on my back, the muscle relaxant having done its job, and I had all the time in the world to examine my predicament. I wished my legs hadn't been splayed akimbo. My right foot was up by my hip and that was going to get uncomfortable quick. The silk stockings, as soft as they were, would bite into my legs in this position and I might even lose feeling. What's more, the clumsy pose had caused my frilly nightgown to ride up and expose my diaper. No-one was here to see me but for some reason it added to my feeling of debasement. My arms lay helplessly either side of my head and I started to drool without my pacifier in place. Would my diaper leak with my legs spread like this? I dreaded how Daddy might react if I made a mess of my cot...

The fact that Christina and Rebecca no longer lived in the home they had left me tied up dressed as a baby had come as a hammer blow. But nothing could have prepared me for the revelation that had come next. Naturally, I had assumed I had been left in a family home, and that their imminent return to find me bound in my own filth would lead to the cops being called and ultimately my public humiliation as I was carted to the station in a dirty diaper and baby clothes. Except, none of that happened. Instead, the man I would come to know only as 'Daddy' came home.

Lying motionless on my back amongst an army of stuffed toys gave me a lot of time to think. The first thing that clicked was the size of the cot. It was far too big for an actual baby. The next penny to drop was the guy's seemingly endless collection of adult baby clothing and diapers, and ultimately I concluded that the girls had left me tied up in the home of some creep with an adult baby fetish. Seeing me bound and waiting for him when he came home must have felt like all his Christmas's come at once. Other details seemed far more sinister – like why did he have a supply of muscle relaxant on tap? And the biggy – why was he keeping me here?

Daddy takes care of me to the finest detail. I always have fresh clean clothes as soon as I mess myself, which happens more than I would like to admit – muscle relaxant isn't great for self control. He strokes my hair, even though it is a wig, while he feeds me my bottle and never forgets to burp me after. I often drool at this point and he is always ready to carefully fix my lip gloss.. He is weirdly talented with a makeup brush and this is another detail that sends shivers up my spine. And that's it. He is otherwise kind and tender. He will softly spank my butt if I mess too much but I think he knows it isn't my fault.

As I stare at the mobile circling my head, I wonder how I will get out of this. Daddy obviously has no plan to let me go. I have lost track of how long I have been here, and no-one knows where I am except Christina and Rebecca, and I doubt they have been looking out for me after what I did to them. They got their revenge – even if they have no idea just how much revenge they got.

The Assimilation Protocol Phase 4

 

By now you understand our plight. We are two of a dwindling inferior sex. Don't look at me like that. How can you read these files, how can you listen to what I have told you and think anything else? We are scientists – we must base our conclusions on the evidence presented to us. Phase 1 – the nymphoids conquered a man. Phase 2 – the nymphoids conquered men. Phase 3 – the nymphoids conquered all men. Implantation, transmission, assimilation.

The only reasons either of us continue to be male at all are the two foot thick concrete walls of this bunker. You know what I am saying is correct. We are helpless and yet I have found a way out of this for us. Here, take a look at this tablet – it is a live-feed. Indeed, it is one of them, a nymphoid in the flesh, subdued and restrained within a windowless room in this facility. It is an excellent specimen don't you think? The femininity, the sexuality...the shape of her ass! Perfection! Don't look at me like that! I might be a scientist, but I am a man first, and that is an ass I want to fuck. And it wants me too. Listen to this – the cell has microphones.

“Join me. Join us. We can give you everything you want...everything you need. We can satisfy you. We can give you euphoria. All we need is you to give yourself to us. Give yourself to us. Come on. Come fuck us!!”

No, I disagree with you. They aren't the enemy. They are the inevitability. They are better than us. We have made a mess of this world. Men have made a mess of this world and with their help we can make amends. Don't panic! It was just a little prick – a little muscle relaxant. You will be able to move just fine in a little while. Until then, I can carry you. Where are we going? Oh, I am sure you can work it out! We are going to visit our guest here. We are going to see if her ass tastes as good as it looks.

Now just sit there while I get this door open. Don't look so worried, it will all be over soon. I will even let you have the first turn screwing her. You've been down here nearly as long as I have – I know it has been a long time for you too. The second you feel a woman's skin against you again, you will wonder what you were so worried about. She's going to make it worth our while – she told me via the tablet. She is going to do things that will blow our minds and all we have to do in return is join her – join them. Okay, it's open, here goes. Time to join the better half of the species and live a life of endless fornication and lust – of endless euphoria. Up you get – we've got a date with destiny. Phase 1 – the nymphoids conquered a man. Phase 2 – the nymphoids conquered men. Phase 3 – the nymphoids conquered all men. Phase 4 – the nymphoids conquered us. Implantation, transmission, assimilation, submission...

The Assimilation Protocol Phase 3

 

The third phase is admittedly confusingly named 'Assimilation'. It describes the tipping point of the phenomenon from a curiosity to an existential threat. In the early days of the Assimilation there were many who didn't take it seriously. One politician posted a now infamous message on social media embracing the Assimilation as there was 'a nationwide shortage of hot women willing to 'put out'. That same politician was later observed being what I believe is known as 'double-penetrated' by two former members of his security detail on the White House lawn.

That's not to say there weren't genuine supporters of the nymphoids even after the threat was correctly measured. Many women, particularly lesbians, saw the eradication of masculinity as a positive thing. Some even helped transport nymphoid hosts to locations where they knew groups of men would be hiding. You may find it hard to believe, but many men also supported the nymphoids. They saw their spread as a potential remedy to many of the world's ills that they saw as predominantly the result of male power. Additionally, there were the fetishists that viewed the 'great' orgies filmed and uploaded to pornographic websites and wanted to be part of the so-called euphoria.

Many news media organisations depicted phase 3 as a kind of religious war – a battle of two resolute sides, the established order versus the zealots. Let us describe it as what it was – it was a hunt. The nymphoids driven by lust or virulence or whatever it was, hunted the men to the ends of the earth, stopping as nothing to assimilate them and grow their numbers further, the whole time fornicating and seducing with their whispers.

The final picture attached to the file is taken from a surveillance helicopter from above one of the final centers of resistance down south. Interestingly, this group of men actually chose an old monastery to hide out. A collective of women located them and transported a truck full of nymphoids to their location. Here you can see an unknown subject moments after transformation still kneeling in prayer...or mercy. I think this particular image captures the perfection of the female form sculpted by the nymphoids. It is biologically divine, don't you think? It is easy to focus on the helplessness, or the desperation of the subject, but as a scientist, I am drawn to the form. Whatever the nymphoids are is either something divinely powerful beyond our comprehension, or optimally evolved beyond our imaginations.

And, yet it was the women, the nymphoids allies who tracked the men's location that appeared to take the lead. The only other documented footage of this perfect specimen is in pictures and videos shared online by the female radical group. The subject is on his knees in those too, performing fellatio on nymphoid after nymphoid until their semen hardened on his face in the sun. You man hear the nymphoids in this footage too – taunting, laughing, encouraging, but that's not why the radicals shared it. You can hear the subject too – begging for mercy. Underneath the euphoria, and the lust, they are still in there. This is the footage that truly destroyed what was left of our morale – for it showed all of us who are left, our destinies...what awaits us all.

The Assimilation Protocol Phase 2

 

Euphoria – that's the right word for it. Who can resist euphoria? Not Devin Grady – nor any man since who has experienced the nymphoids. Mr. Grady wasted no time in seeking out his new derrière after hearing those voices and no sooner had he done so was what remained of him transformed. Not just a perfect female backside, but an entire woman of breathtaking beauty, guided by the whispers in her ear.

Phase 2 of the Assimilation Protocol would be known as Transmission. This is the phase that begot theories of the Assimilation being a virus. Not just transmission to Mr. Grady upon seeing his own rear, but anyone else who subsequently got to see it became subject of their own implantation. I should caution you here not to panic. Transmission cannot progress through a medium – you will not experience transmission merely looking at Mr. Grady's photograph, just as his colleagues watching through the webcam as he was first slumped over his office chair and then transformed. No, successful transmission requires a first hand viewing. Small difference that made to Anton Potter, Mr. Grady's line manager, who after seeing the whole situation unfold during the online meeting, hurried over to his colleague's house to check on him. Mr. Potter's transformation was also captured on the same meeting recording, as was the sexual encounter that followed between the freshly female versions of Mr. Grady and Mr. Potter – though I am advised that part is only available on pornographic websites for the sexually morbid of our species.

It was this display of sexual appetite, and others like it, that earned the Nymphoids their name. I have seen transcripts of the recorded intercourse between the two subjects and it is full of x-rated discourse clearly initiated by the nymphoids themselves. The word 'harder' is recorded as having been used 56 times in the space of 4 minutes. I should add here that the transformation of the two men was complete with one significant exception. Both subjects retained an admittedly shrunken version of their sexual organs. Theories have concluded that this was in aid of the nymphoids exploiting the masculine instinct of spreading ones seed to accelerate the transmission phase.

This is where another comparison to a virus arose. Once infiltrated by the nymphoids, the male hosts eagerly sought out other males to infect via exhibition of their female backsides. The second photo attached to this file is an infamous example of this. It depicts Don Kellogg, a bartender in Tennessee standing before his shelves of drinks displaying himself invitingly to the bar's patrons. The picture became so well known because the image of the irresistible rear of the subject besides the known addictive alcoholic drinks seemed somewhat allegorical. Security footage shows Mr. Kellogg going into a storeroom before returning 10 minutes later fully transformed. This still shows the moment he initiated implantation simultaneously into no less that 25 men. Woman who were present at the time describe how the bar descended into an all out orgy within moments. A Mrs. Bradley is quoted as saying - “One second I was toasting our anniversary with my husband, the next he was shoving his tiny cock into a shemale's ass while another spanked him with a bar towel and shouted 'fuck her harder, you whore!”