The Witch Switch

 

It is fair to say there were two things the Robertsons cared about very deeply in life – bringing up their children in a moral, wholesome environment, and putting on the best damn Halloween party year in year out. Every October, they would transform their house outside and in into a grotto for all things sinister and spooky and open it up for the whole neighbourhood. They took extreme pride in crafting the perfect Halloween experience and their two kids, Julian and Tilly, were players to be cast in their production.

The key to their annual scare-a-thon was planning. They mapped out every detail months in advance to ensure nothing was overlooked and their home was ready for frightening the bejeezus out of the local kids. This year, however, their increasingly rebellious teenage daughter was about to throw a spanner in the works.

“Over my grave are you wearing that!” Tilly's Dad went beetroot red as she showed him her costume for the first time. This Halloween they had cast her as a creepy witch but largely left the kids to their own devices to prepare their outfits. A decision their dad was regretting merely hours before go time. “No daughter of mine is dressing like a...like a...” he spluttered, fumbling for the right words as he glared at the ensemble of hot-pants and stockings.

“...a whore?” Tilly rolled her eyes as her father's temperature rose a few degrees shy of steam coming out of his ears. “You said be a witch – not Mother Teresa...though the shop did have a pretty sexy nun costume too...” She trailed off. “Dad, come one, you need me to wear this. Who else is going to be your witch? Julian?”

And so it came to pass – their Dad decidedly less offended by the idea of their son dressing like a prostitute than their daughter. Julian, of course, had little choice in the matter – the Robertson's Halloween crushing all resistance in its path in the name of their annual scare-fest. And with their reputation to live up to, they decided if their son was indeed going to be a witch, they were going to do it properly. Their Mom spent the last couple of hours before they opened their doors doing his makeup and styling a wig she had from a previous Halloween where she dressed as a zombie Marilyn Munroe. Tilly watched on gleefully as she squeezed into her brother's toy soldier costume. She had wanted to wear the outfit to impress a guy from school but this was even better. Seeing her brother brought down a peg like this was worth a thousand Halloweens worth of candy.

“Remember,” Mr Robertson hissed as he prepared to open the house doors to the legions of trick or treaters. “Julian, when they come over to your side of the room grab their wrist as they reach for the candy and pretend like you are going to bite it. At the last moment, turn it over and kiss the back of their hand. Make sure you leave a blood red lipstick print. If you need topping up, ask Mom.” He nodded in a way that was almost military-like. “And I better not see you break character for your friends from school – it will totally ruin the experience for everyone...”

Curing the Werewolf

 

We always had a dog while I was growing up, and the more I think about it, the more I think it is how it took me so long to realise I was a Werewolf. I think we all have those half-memory, half-dreams from when we were a kid – those nights where we woke but didn't quite wake up, a parent putting us on the toilet or the house making a strange sound that rustles us from our slumber but the spark of conscious thought only half-penetrates the twilight of our minds. For me, it was memories of playing with our dogs, wrestling them, chasing them, running with them in the pale moonlight – running on all fours. When I recounted these night-time adventures to my parents they would smile politely and then retell my tales at family engagements whilst sharing knowing winks with my relatives. It wasn't until I was about fifteen, an age by which I had long learned to stop telling my parents everything, when one night I was aware of helping my dogs out into my yard – there we climbed a fence to where our neighbours kept a pen of bunnies. The next day our dogs were taken away, but I still had the memory of that hunger I had felt once under the full moon for the first time. I still had the carcass of that bunny I had brought back to my bed as a trophy.

I never felt right about my dogs taking the blame for that night, yet a certain amount of dissociation from my night form was necessary to not be crushed by guilt as it would get worse...much worse. As I hit adulthood, so did the wolf inside me. The town where I went to college was struck by a spate of brutal animal attacks. Late night joggers and students returning from bars were set upon by what they described as a dog that walked upright like a bear. Local wildlife was blamed but I knew the truth.

Aware that it was only a matter of time before my hunger would result in someone's death, I went in search of a cure for my affliction. You can find anything online if you know where to look, and I found Genevieve – a self-confessed sorceress who specialised in relieving chimera of their dangerous bloodlust. By then, I was well past the denial stage of my werewolfdom and drove the five hours to visit her.

I was comforted by the fact Genevieve seemed to recognise something inside me as soon as she saw me for the first time. Maybe she had just seen a lot of were-people or perhaps she really did have an eye for it. In any case, soon enough she was sprinkling me with sage and chanting about exchanging monstrousness for beauty. I couldn't tell then if it worked, but I drove home feeling changed.

I never really felt different in my Werewolf form. I think it is because I grew up with it and internalised the sensations that came with being such a creature. The next time I transformed in the moonlight, I certainly felt the change. My body reconfigured, remoulded into a slender feminine form – long hair, breasts, a tight butt and long graceful legs. Parts of my mind folded to meet it too – I sought out clothing for my new body, sexy, shiny outfits that fit the contours and oozed desire. I glowed in the full moon as I prowled. And yet the woman that is my new night form has every bit of the animal instinct that the wolf did. I still have the hunger, but I no longer have the bloodlust. No, it is a different bodily fluid I lust after. And when I wake up, I remember everything...

The Sacrifice

 

The girls had made yet another pit-stop to freshen up their costumes and do some shots. Joel wasn’t sure which of them called the house they were in home but they were all milling about making adjustments to their outfits to blaring music. The abnormally warm Halloween that had made their barely-there costumes possible without risk of hypothermia was causing unwanted sweaty patches and running makeup so the titty-tape was out once more to make sure things stayed in place and Jennifer was again basically naked as she switched from a lingerie cat outfit to a lingerie witch outfit. A few of the girls glanced at Joel knowingly – Jennifer’s last quick change had resulted in him sprouting a visible erection and the rest of the girls screaming ‘do something about it’. It had been Bailey, a mummy without about a toilet roll short of maintaining modesty, that had done something about it, producing an eye-watering chastity device from her bedroom.

They called Joel their sacrificial lamb. They didn’t know him very well and had taken great delight in telling him they had chosen him for no other reason than his soft body looked about a bucket of testosterone short of a masculine figure. They had been planning ‘Hot Halloween’ ever since the weather forecast a week ago and knew the kind of unwanted male attention their costumes would attract. They needed a sacrifice, someone to act as a magnet for all the male lust and advances so they could enjoy their evening – and no way were they going to subject any member of the sisterhood to that.

Hence, they grabbed Joel, overpowered and stripped him, before transforming him into a kind of ultra slutty day of the dead princess bride complete with thick sequinned makeup, a tiny sheer tutu, fishnet tights and killer heels. And it had worked – walking out ahead of the girls, he had been groped by someone dressed as Freddy Krueger and had guys taking not-so-subtle photos of him all night. He was struggling to walk in the heels and fallen forward a number of times sending his round ass into the air with nothing but the tiny thong panties and the fishnets to defend his modesty.

Once Jennifer had changed into her skanky witch get-up, they headed for a local art museum that had opened its doors for Halloween, serving wine and haunted looking snacks. The girls had unabashedly told him they wanted to take photos for blackmail material for next year, but what could he do while outnumbered and dressed like an undead whore. As he posed in front of a painting for them, cogs turned in his head. It really had been hot and the girls makeup had been running all night – and yet they hadn’t once had to touch his up. Fear started to knot in his stomach even as he continued to pose. They sure hadn’t used any titty-tape on him either. Instead they had been passing around that red tube while they were getting him ready. He had thought it was lipstick but couldn’t remember any of them applying it to his mouth. All he knew for sure was this wig sure was itchy – and these heels hadn’t moved on his feet once…

Whatever Happened to Freddy? (Hotshot)

 This week's Flashback Friday is for Hotshot.

Everything feels enormous when your body is so small and delicate - doubly so for the few that got to experience being a man before the FemmeShot 1000 took that particular luxury away from them. Even his master's wooden desk felt like a stage - one that Freddy was expected to use to give his performance. Not that you could tell from the apparent indifference of the Chinese businessman that had called himself Freddy's owner for the last two years as he tapped away on his laptop. Freddy tried to remain silent so not to draw the man's attention in spite of the hot-pink latex catsuit that encased his diminutive body. His long dark hair cascaded over his shoulders onto the polished walnut and he closed his eyes to try to ignore the presence of the man slurping a latte as he answered his emails. If only he could blend into the very furniture he was perched on... Yet, he knew it was an act. How could the man forget he was there? Not with the soft buzz that now accompanied him everywhere he went.

Freddy placed one hand ahead of him for balance so that he could reach the other back between his legs. It was a modestly sized vibrator inserted into the pussy that the nanotechnology of the Femmeshot 1000 had given him, but everything feels enormous when your body is so small and delicate. His fingers brushed the black latex of his panties and he could feel the material was already filling with his juices as his new body betrayed him. Freddy stifled a moan and glanced to check if the man would react but his eyes never left his screen. Heat was smouldering between his legs now, forcing his breathing deeper and raspier. The conclusion was inevitable but he fought the urge to help it along with his reaching hand – and so the slow charade that he could resist cumming his brains out right there on the worktop continued as the man went on with his day. A secretary brought another coffee, tutting disapprovingly at Freddy as she did so, and then a little later the man took a long phone call with a colleague. Freddy was panting hard by this point and his master, finally acknowledged him, stroked his soft rubber clad ass gently like he was some kind of office cat. The end was nearing, his nails dug into the wood as he gasped the beginning of a long-delayed orgasm. Then, and only then, would the man stop his work to behold the spectacle. Fighting it for so long would only make the pleasure so much more intense. Freddy's elbows would buckle, sending his ass into the air and squeezing the toy between his legs even tighter. He might even drool a little, might say 'fuck' gently in that sweet feminine voice that his new body possessed. Dilated eyes would roll back into his head as he became almost feral with ecstasy. Until finally, it would be over. The businessman would clap reservedly before declaring it was his turn and then Freddy would be send under the desk to give pleasure while his master started on his afternoon emails. The man was unimpressive, but everything feels enormous when your body is small and delicate.

The ritual was daily, sometimes multiple times and sometimes it was all Freddy could do to stare at the shelves that ran along the man's office wall. They were full of pictures of the man with various people, some of them famous, and random paraphernalia. There was one item that held his attention more than the others – a small science-fiction looking pistol. It was a FemmeShot 1000, or maybe even a newer model – the exact kind of weapon that led to this daily humiliation. Freddy knew there was no going back for him, but one of these days he would seize his chance, and the businessman would learn what it was like to be small and delicate. 

Whatever Happened to Avery and Rick? (Assimilation)

 This Flashback Friday is for a two part Aiko story called Assimilation. You can find it under by Aiko stories on my index page.

“And to conclude the tour of your new dorm,” Zara, the older college girl turned to Talia, the freshman in tow. “I present to you our final room – the Playroom!” Talia stared on open-mouthed as her guide swung wide the door to reveal the scene beyond. This couldn't be real, she thought, as her eyes popped at the sight of the two prissy satin clad figures engaged in some sort of combination of a wrestling match and an embrace. “You may hear stories of our most infamous alumnus,” Zara continued. “Aiko was here before my time, but her legend here is immortal. And, of course, she left us the boys...”

“The boys...?!” Talia repeated dumbfounded, loud enough for the room's occupants to hear. The one wielding an ornate fan like a dagger glanced up at her, and through the layers of glittery cosmetics she saw something else...shame. The boy had hair that had grown out into tight ringlets and was being squeezed by a merciless looking corset. His legs jutted out before him from the chair he was seated on and were wrapped in silky looking stockings that ended in towering platform sandals. The other boy had so far avoided making eye-contact but faired no better. He had no stockings or corset but was wearing a crinkled hat that was tied beneath his chin with a ribbon along with lacy elbow-length gloves and short satin dress clasped at his waist. Both boys were caked in makeup and wreaked of flowery perfume.

“Avery is the one with the cute ruffled panties. Rick is the one wearing pearls.” Zara said in introduction. “They were Aiko's leaving gift to us. They are like our dorm pets...but so much better. Of course, once you're settled in, we will need to get you added to the feeding rota. It's candy, by the way, that keeps them like that. Hopelessly addicted, both of them. That's why they are like pink putty in our hands. We couldn't even trust them to feed it to themselves. We tried it once – they just ate themselves into a sweaty, horny stupor...” Talia watched them in bemusement. It was if they had forgotten the girls were there and had returned to what they were doing before the door opened – the weird groping wrestling – simpering slap fighting that made her cringe just watching.

“Okay,” Avery pushed out a glossy bottom lip in a pout and raised the fan up higher. “Never ever have I been dressed in lingerie with a buttplug tail, been put on a leash and led around the campus green!” Rick glared back defiantly for a moment before closing one of his manicured fingers into his fist,

“Well,” Rick retorted, grabbing one of Avery's outstretched stockinged legs. “Never ever have I ran a 5k in a tutu and ballet heels while all the girls in the dorm ran behind me whipping my butt with bamboo canes!” He stared at his friend, their painted faces meeting one another, but Avery kept all of his fingers up. “Oh wait...” Rick blushed. “Was that me too? I have lost track...”

Sisterhood

 This is my entry to a caption contest on DA

“Hiding in plain sight – it really is your only way out of this!” Sylvia had sounded so self-assured as she outlined her brother's (lack of) options, so much so that Frank was already wondering if he would have been better off taking his chances with Cherry and her friends as some of his other frat brothers had. Horrified shrieks cascading down the corridors of the Alpha-Pi sorority house quickly put paid to that notion, and he quickly turned back to his sister. More screams added exclamation points to just how perilous his situation was standing in Sylvia's doorway – and yet she had named her terms. Could he really do what she was asking?! She was his younger sister yet in that moment hold untold amounts of power over him – and it would be more, if he let her. He once more considered his options as a sustained howl of horror travelled from somewhere else in the house. Unable to meet Sylvia's eye, he nodded his agreement and pushed past her into her bedroom.

The Beta Tan Omega panty raid had began to go awry even as it started. Not that they hadn't done their homework – they had spent weeks scoping out the Alpha-Pi house, and yet when they climbed through an open window they found the sorority as silent as a trap. When the commotion broke, he recognised a girl he knew as Cherry and her friends grab Mark, their leader, and like a damsel in a bad horror movie, Frank took off up a flight of stairs. And yet, he had an ace in the hole – as he sprinted along the sorority corridor with blood pulsing in his veins past bedroom doors decorated with girls' names, he scanned for one in particular – Sylvia. His sister was a freshman and one of the newest additions to the Alpha-Pi sorority – she was also his ticket out of this disaster. He just hadn't expected such a steep price.

Almost an hour later, Frank emerged back into the corridor. The house was quiet once again and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest – somewhere beneath the clinging material of the metallic wraparound dress Sylvia had given him to wear. Fastened around his neck, it plunged down his front, past his crotch and back up over his butt like a leotard before wrapping around his waist like a miniskirt. He didn't even know how to begin taking it off. Sullenly, he stared down at his feet and got a sinking feeling as he saw the spools of white leather tied around his ankles to hold the platform sandals in place. His sister had even added the finishing touch of matching toenail polish. Come to think of it, she had added a lot of finishing touches – the purse, the watch, he already had long hair he'd been growing since starting college, but she had smoothed it flat with her straightening tongs. He had never known his younger sister to be so authoritative but she did hold all the cards. Yet how was he going to get all this stuff off?!

“Your initiation starts tomorrow!” Sylvia appeared behind him in the doorway. “I suggest you take one of those empty bedrooms. It is quite demanding – you'll need your rest!” Frank peered back at her in shock. “All new sisters need to undergo initiation.” His sister explained sternly. “Or,” she nodded down the corridor to where Cherry and some other girls were dragging a screeching blonde bimbo that was barely recognisable under a year's supply of cosmetics as Mark, “you can take your chances with Cherry... I think you might look good with huge boobs glued to your chest..

No Imitations

 There won't be a Flashback Friday this week because I am away on a trip and haven't had chance to write one, so I am going to give you something a little different. This is a Mannequeen caption I wrote back in 2016 and never posted for various reasons. Now that I have finished the current iteration of the Mannequeen story, I am happy to post it.

Fabio awoke face down on a piano, something akin to what his high school music teacher used to play, a million miles from the antique grand piano that stood in his ballroom. Pealing his face from the keys, he was surprised to find a weird smear left behind and alerted to the fact his face did feel a little strange, like his skin was coated in something thick and powdery, he sent his hands up to investigate. In was not what his hands found on his face that really scared him, though that was bad enough, but what his face found when his hands touched it. They were soft, small and slender and when he looked at them he saw that the nails had French tips. Things escalated quickly from there as he realised that these were the least of his problems, the greatest most likely being the pair of buxom bosoms that had conquered his chest. He checked between his legs. Scratch that…this was the greatest of his problems. In a state of panic he glanced around himself for any indication as to why he was now a woman but all he found in the otherwise bare room was the piano bench his new rounded ass was sat on and a metronome and small tape recorder lying on top of the piano. Seeing no other options, he pressed play…

‘Hello, Fabio. I want to play a game. I am the Mannequeen. I tell you this not because I am especially keen to get my identity out there but because recently my work has fell foul to that of a cheap imitation, a knock off, ‘the Cleaner’. I know you don’t understand why this angers me, after all you bear a far bigger resemblance to the maid, especially now you have tits. Like her, you build your reputation by defrauding others. For you it was a piano track that you stole from your brother and sold it as your own, making millions from its success. When he appealed to you, you used your new found wealth to appoint lawyers to squash his claim and then his reputation, leaving him nothing. Well, tonight we’re going to have a private little concert. You have been fitted with one of my cutting edge female bodysuits that unless unlocked with bond permanently to your skin in a little over twenty minutes. To unlock it all you have to do is play the piece of music you are famous for. It shouldn’t be too difficult for an expert musician like yourself. Oh, and for a little extra fun you might find your libido goes up somewhat every time you him a G. If you’re not sure, that’s the key next to the G#. You have twenty minutes.’

Fabio cursed his luck as he looked at the keys the way one might look at hieroglyphs and longed for the programmable piano that he used to perform live. He tried to hear the melody in his head. Surely, it couldn’t be that hard. He tried one on the black keys but it sounded nothing like he was expecting and in frustration he mashed the keys with both hands. There was a jolt between his legs and he found himself gasping for air. He looked where he’d smashed hands. Which one had been the G? Not that it mattered, he realised as his defeat seeped in. He was going to have a lifetime of looking for the G. His own…