Side Quest Part 2 (an Aiko Story)

 

He was picture perfect but as she gazed at him in the sunshine, Aiko felt nothing but sadness. The boy Emiko's email had identified as the second culprit in the scamming of under-privileged school kids back in Japan sat before her in a dress so prissy, so laden with flowers that it was hard to see where his outfit ended and the floral arrangement he was sitting in front of began. Aiko had taken two cross-country buses to find the boy the email named as Ren – carrying a holdall of her most outrageously feminine costumes and enough fury to occupy the entire luggage hold. She hadn't slept for two days, obsessively tracking the boy and when she finally found him, it was all she could do to stop herself landing fists on him. How could someone do such a thing...

Aiko had restrained herself enough to embrace the boy in the park. She feigned recognition from back home and he was seemingly too polite to deny knowing her. Not too polite to steal from children though, she seethed. And yet, she kept her cool, and when she offered Ren some candy 'from back home', he appeared genuinely grateful. Once the sweet treat was safely past his lips, Aiko dropped the facade.

She forced him to transform himself right there in the park, only offering cover as he pulled the absurdly frilly panties up his legs. An audience gathered in bemusement to watch the tiny Japanese girl yelling at the boy in a language they didn't understand, feeding him candy while, despite clear embarrassment, he dressed himself with unpractised hands in sheer stockings and an ornate dress covered in pink roses. Aiko hadn't stopped there. She worked furiously to apply makeup, ballet style pumps, a long blonde wig and even a hair decoration that matched the dress. The crowd could tell from the occasional sob that the boy was no volunteer, but Aiko worked with such intensity that no-one dared intervene for fear she might turn on them.

Ren had that empty thousand yard stare Aiko knew too well. She knew she had given him too much candy and was reminded of when she lectured Liza for doing the same thing. 'I am a bad teacher', she thought to herself – 'a total hypocrite'. She had wasted so much time feminising any boy she could lay her hands on when there were guys like Minaru and Ren going round doing things like stealing from children. They were the ones that truly deserved to be put in lace and satin. She had told Liza that it was wrong to bestow this sweetness on boys that were innocent – she even had a name for it, 'Treacle', something that was both sweet and ugly, but now she was seeing what it truly meant. In that moment, she vowed to only use the power that came with her candy for good, starting with Ren.

“Are you ready to tell me where you put the money you stole?” Aiko asked gently, her chin cradled in her hands. But the boy only stared past her. There was something in his eyes – a determination she rarely saw in boys once they had sampled her treats, and while he had been quite willing to humiliate himself to get more, he still wasn't quite ready to give up his score. Aiko sucked on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “You will tell me. Maybe I need to take you home with me first. You'll love my friends...”

Side Quest Part 1 (an Aiko Story)

Season 9 is coming. Aiko is ready - will you be?

All of my Aiko stories can be found in the correct order on my index page

 

Upon finishing reading the email for a second time, Aiko opened the attached image. She knew it was a boy right away – she was something of an expert. The untrained eye would never have spotted it. The makeup was perfect – subtle but colourful and toned to feminise the fact, and the wig was well chosen with bangs that hid the forehead without betraying the prevailing cuteness. The outfit was another excellent selection. The cotton dress was demure but crept up the thighs in a way that make the wearer feel vulnerable, and the layered blouse was prissy yet had loose sleeves and a thick collar that would hide any remaining masculinity in the shoulders and arms. Still, Aiko could spot a boy in a second. It was in the facial expression – the humiliated look of someone caught doing something they shouldn't combined with a kind of meekness that betrayed absolute submission to the person they were looking at. Aiko had seen that look a thousand times on the faces of her sissies.

The email was from Aiko's home town in Japan. Emiko, a school-girl had written to her asking for help. Two college boys had concocted a scam at her school to take money that had been raised to provide after school activities for some of the lesser fortunate kids. Emiko had figured something was afoot when the app they were using to take donations suddenly went offline and when she asked around on social media, it turned out the same guys had pulled similar schemes at other local schools. Feeling helpless and like her ability to trust in anything had been ripped away, Emiko turned to the one thing she still truly believed in – Aiko.

Aiko continued to study the picture of the boy Emiko had said was called Minoru and the more she looked the more she saw. His pupils were dilated like big black pennies and there was a definite blush to his skin – telltale signs of someone in the throes of a dependency on Aiko's candy. Minoru was holding up a plate pleadingly and there was a tray of frosted cupcakes behind him. Aiko smiled as she always did when her candy captured a deserving victim, even when it wasn't at her hands. She had left her website online, even after leaving Japan, for this very reason.

In the email Emiko explained that she had caught up with Minoru after he thought he had got away with the scam and ambushed him with the cupcakes as a supposed thank you using products ordered from Aiko's own website. Once he was well and truly addicted, she set about enacting her punishment – dressing him as a cute girl and having him host after school tea parties with the kids his scheme had deprived of funding for activities.

Aiko frowned as she once more got to the bottom of the email. This wasn't merely a gloat, though if it were, Aiko wouldn't have begrudged Emiko – what she had done to Minoru was a work of art. It was a plea for help. Minaru's partner in crime had already left Japan to do an exchange program in America – one partially funded by their scam according to the conquered Minaru. Emiko confessed she felt her vengeance on behalf of her school was only half-fulfilled but as she didn't know anyone in the United States she didn't know what else to do except contact Aiko herself. Now, with eyes narrowed coldly and a steely determination in her veins, Aiko started to pack things into a bag. It was time to go hunting...

Whatever Happened to Matt and Paul? (Bunnimacher Modelling)

 This is a Flashback Friday to my discontinued series 'Bunnimacher Modelling'. You can find all the captions on my index page.

“Did you check with the organiser about payment?” Matt whispered to his partner with the subtlety of a ventriloquist. His speech was subdued for two reasons. Firstly, they were in the process of posing for photos in front of a big gaudy Roman chariot and if he messed up the pictures, they would only have to endure the tedious process all over again. Secondly, and more to the point, the corset of his bodysuit was so tight when combined with the breast moulds that catching his breath was difficult and often painful. Fortunately, their role was one that demanded they be seen far more than heard and the sexy outfit and beaming smile that they sported for the photographs were enough. Finally, the pictures were over and the grin stayed on the blonde bunny's face as he turned to Paul, the brunette co-owner of Bunnimacher Modelling. “I still don't understand how bunnies fit alongside Centurions, maybe it's supposed to be a Caesar's Palace reference, but this convention is proving to be a nice little earner.”

“Maybe it's because guys think about the Roman Empire almost as much as they think of sex...” Paul smirked. His breast forms were even larger and bulged uncomfortably out of his red bodysuit – not to mention his tightly tucked crotch that was actually starting to resemble something of a camel toe. The convention centre's lights were hot and their waterproof makeup clung to their faces in spite of a thin layer of perspiration. And yet their happiness stayed as fixed as their cosmetics. It was so much easier to take pleasure in even as frequently humiliating work as this when they knew the fruits of their labour would end up in their bank accounts.

When Matt and Paul joined the world of bunny girls ten years ago, they did so less than voluntarily. Trapped into ironclad contracts by the wily Herr Bunnimacher, they spent nearly half a decade as little more than feminised escorts, stuck doing a seemingly never-ending string of ridiculous call-outs where they were mocked and groped, all while wearing the company's signature bunny-girl costumes. When the old man finally died, they thought they were free at last. However, to their amazement, the old German left them everything in his will – his fortune, his company, and all his business contracts. And that was where things got messy... The fortune was tied up in the company shares, the price of which being subject to its ability to honour its existing and ongoing client contracts. And so Matt and Paul were left with a choice – sell Bunnimacher Modelling for pennies on the dollar and move on with their non-feminised lives having no work experience to speak of except being employed as glorified escorts for half a decade, or keep donning the ears and tails and reap the rewards of lucrative long-term business agreements.

“You even think we should have called a day on this?” Paul asked as a man dressed as a Gladiator marched past. “I mean, I do worry about the long term effects these heels are having on my feet, and the hormones are probably shaping my body is ways I don't even want to think about, but what was the alternative? Working in fast-food?” He paused as his friend adjusted his bow-tie. “I suppose we could hire. But where are we gonna find guys willing to put themselves through this for a pay check...”  

The Halloween Special

 

Though still shy of his thirty-fifth birthday, Roger Bentley's career felt like it was on the ropes. A stand-up comedian by trade, he had been scouted by a network executive and thrust into the public eye as host of a popular television sketch show. The ratings came and brought with it the fame and within six months Roger had become a bona fide star of Saturday Night TV. That was years ago now. Time had passed, tastes had changed, and Roger was a budget cut away from being unemployed.

It wasn't clear whether the stunt for the Halloween special of 'Saturday Night Car Crash' was a genuine Hail Mary to grab ratings or an engineered farce to create an excuse to fire Roger. What was clear was that the network's producers had decided they wanted to create a spectacle and the down on his luck presenter would be their marionette. The setup was that Roger would present the Halloween edition of the show as Bridgette Rivers, a well-loved, and long dead, star of the seventies cabaret circuit. Someone in wardrobe had claimed to have found one of her old dresses and this would form the basis of the costume.

Though Roger had little leverage to refuse direction, he had expected the gown to be an old ratty thing that he could play for laughs. He wasn't expecting the elegant jewel encrusted garment that had been expertly altered to fit his dimensions. Instead of an over-the-job drag transformation, he was subjected to a team of beauticians painting his face and scraping back his hair. As he checked his appearance before taking the stage in front of the television audience, he pondered whether he really had brought Bridgette Rivers back to life.

“Good evening and welcome to Saturday Night Car Crash! And what a spectacular evening we have in store for you, darlings!” Roger's opening line earned a generous round of applause. He flashed the camera a theatrical smile, then paused. Something was wrong. His voice had sounded nothing like his own. It was higher, smoother, with a curious musical lilt. He cleared his throat. “Well, that's bloody weird,” he muttered, only to hear Bridgette's unmistakable voice again. He glanced down at his hands. The fingers seemed longer. A peculiar sensation crept across his shoulders. His jacketless arms narrowed, his wrists became slender, and the bodice of the dress suddenly felt considerably tighter. He instinctively reached for his chest. The shape beneath the gown was changing, filling out the carefully fitted cups. His waist pulled inward, his hips pushing outward until the dress hugged a distinctly feminine silhouette. He stumbled, catching himself on the presenter's desk. His face began to tingle. His jaw softened, his nose narrowed, and the carefully applied makeup seemed to settle into a completely different face. He wanted to scream. Instead, what emerged was a breathless giggle. The audience applauded, apparently delighted by his commitment to the character. Roger looked down at his transformed body, then towards the camera, where the monitor showed a woman he recognised from the photographs in his dressing room. Roger felt a cold sensation creep down his spine. The studio lights flickered. For an instant, Roger saw something quite different in the monitor: an old black-and-white photograph of Bridgette in the very same dress, standing on a stage beneath a glittering chandelier. She was smiling, but her eyes were fixed on him. A voice whispered inside his head. Thank you, darling. I've missed this.

What the Hell Happened to Bryan? (Straight to DVD)

 By popular demand, this year's Halloween Flashback Friday is for Straight to DVD

Bryan awoke to the smell of candle smoke. He was tied down to a large stone plinth in what looked like an ancient study. Disturbing paraphernalia lay around him and a sinister-looking goat skull was framed on one wall. Hooded figures chanting in a language that sounded suspiciously like a reversed audio track marched around him. He looked down at himself. He was still the girl from the first movie, only now he seemed to be dressed in a blood red corset than cinched tightly around his waist and a matching set of lingerie. Who directed this shit... he groaned.

The head druid raised a crooked staff. “The moon demands a bride! The old gods demand blood!” The druids chanted louder. A ceremonial dagger glittered in the head druid's hand. Then an arrow buried itself in his shoulder.

“Get away from her, you mouldy bastards!” A woman smashed through the room's large stained glass window, landing between Bryan and the cultists. She wore leather trousers, a fitted green corset, and a sword at her hip. Her dark hair whipped around a face that belonged on a fantasy-adventure poster. She dispatched three druids before dropping one hand to the groud and swinging her hair back in what Bryan recognised as a superhero pose. “Can you stand?” she asked, slicing through his restraints and he dropped to the floor, instantly losing his balance in a pair of towering red stilettos and sprawling backwards over an impossibly old wooden desk. The woman glanced at his heels. “Seems like your wardrobe is troublesome!” She quickly grabbed Bryan's corseted waist and pulled him with strong arms back against the plinth before kissing him passionately. He blinked with surprise as her fingers began to unpick the fastenings at the back of his outfit. The woman smiled. “I've waited my whole life for a girl brave enough to face the old gods with me.” The moonlight deepened. Music swelled. She pushed him onto the altar, and the camera began a slow, suggestive fade.

“Eurgh!!” Bryan was once again aware of the girls watching the DVD. “This sex scene is so forced. It's so transparent it's just to get guys watching the movie. Mind if I skip?” She asked her friends just as Bryan was thinking he minded very much.

There came a cheerful electronic chime and the scene jumped forward. Bryan was standing beside the heroine in the centre of a burning stone circle. His hair was dishevelled and his corset was slightly crooked. Both wore the unmistakable expressions of people who had enjoyed themselves enormously. He dropped open his bottom lip in a mix of frustration and disappointment. A thunderclap shook the house. The head druid emerged in the room's doorway, enormous now, his antlers crowned with blue fire. “THE BRIDE IS MINE!” Bryan and the heroine fought back-to-back, blades flashing as the druid summoned fire from his fists. Just as the creature raised his staff to crush them both, a familiar figure vaulted over the stone plinth..

“Miss me?” The tuxedoed man from the mansion flashed them a smile. He struck the druid across the face with a silver candlestick. Moments later, the three escaped into the moonlit forest. The tuxedoed man swept the two women onto his hips, carrying them effortlessly while the ruins collapsed behind them and a soaring musical score boomed in a frenzy of furious electric guitars.

“Hell yeah!!” The girls chorused from the sofa.“That sequel was even better! Third one's going to be wild. I hear that's the one where Haley and our mystery man finally get it on!”  

All In

 

Paul looped a thumb around the loose bra strap that had fallen off his shoulder and moved to pull it back into place. He paused as he realised every figure crowded around the monstrous dice table was watching his every movement. There was something in their eyes that he recognised – a not quite hunger, not quite lust, more a kind of desperation than anything else. He had seen it in his own eyes plenty of times. It was the look visiting the casino gave him – the look he got from gambling knowing that a big pot of winnings was in reach – the look he got when there was a prize worth winning. Paul shuddered, knowing that for each and every one of the figures watching him, he was the prize that had intoxicated them.

No-one knew for sure when the casino on the edge of town opened. It just seemed like it was there one day. As dark and uninviting as it was, it was still a beacon to Paul's brand of degenerate gamblers and the masses were soon queuing up for their fix. Each new member was given the standard chip and pin card for loading their gaming credit along with a mysterious black wooden poker chip – an anatomical heart carved intricately on one side. 'Your soul,' a female clerk had explained humourlessly as she handed it to Paul upon his first visit. 'Wager it wisely.'

Paul had chuckled nervously at those words but had kept the chip in his pocket all the same. In his frequent visits to the casino, he would see the occasional black chip pushed cautiously onto tables and thus concluded they did actually hold some value. This was in stark contrast to Paul's own fortunes, as night after night, he returned home from the casino in the early hours with nothing left in his pockets but for the black chip.

Finally, one night at a poker table he had gained a foothold in a game – amounting a modest collection of winnings. A woman at the table in a long dark robe continued to push for bigger and bigger pots and in spite his good luck in the draw, he was unable to match her raises. On one particularly good hand, he held pocket aces but had nowhere near enough chips to match the bet. 'I think you have one more chip,' she had taunted and he anxiously brought out the black 'soul' token. Two minutes later, the woman revealed a flush and hungrily swooped up his chip.

That had been seven days ago. In one week Paul had learned what it truly meant to gamble with ones life. The woman possessed him now and could craft him as she pleased. She made him into the delicate blonde creature with a snap of her fingers and led him from table to table on a leash. Eyes followed him everywhere – stares reserved for someone who had gambled it all and lost everything. And now, as be sat on the enormous dice table amongst the chips and cash, it was he who was being wagered. The stares were hungry – players who clearly wanted him for more than a pet to be led around on a leash. And judging by the number of black wooden poker chips on the table, they were willing to risk everything to have him...

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...”