Birthday Blushes Part 3

 

“Oh look...” Steph tutted softly after Michael had finished his fifth consecutive set of push-ups. “You've got yourself all sweaty! I guess I had forgotten the effect I have on you!” She nodded to Sara to help him to his feet and then tenderly removed the ball-gag. Michael felt the air rush from his mouth like a deflating balloon. Steph smiled sweetly and planted a small kiss on his smudged lips. “Good thing we brought plenty of changes of clothes. We don't want you feeling all gross for your Birthday surprise, do we?” She said this in the purse-lipped baby voice that had been a staple of the early stages of their relationship.

“No...” Michael was still gulping in air. His skin prickled with suspicion. He knew this side of Steph – the fake niceness, the forced sympathy... She had something up her sleeve and it was sure to be humiliating for him. Still, her gentle demeanour remained as she carefully began to remove his sweat soaked dress. She motioned for Sara to help and the two women carefully relieved him of the pink dress and matching panties. If this was his present, he hated to admit that it was worth it – the two women touching him tenderly and cooing. Their soft hands aroused a hope in his manhood, yet he urged it still. He couldn't risk angering them – not yet. Once he was totally naked, Steph reached once more for the bags they had brought with them.

“From one Birthday suit to another.” Steph chided as she pulled out an expensive looking dress with a silver trim. “Now, come here so we can get you ready for your surprise.” There was a forcefulness in her voice. She might not have been calling him 'Piggy' or 'Sissy', but she was still firmly in control. Sara pulled a fresh pair or panties up his legs before Steph wrapped the dress around him, careful not to rip of crease it. Next, they sat him down and re-fixed his makeup with soft yet uncompromising hands. As they painted his lips with a shade that matched the dress, Michael realised that he was as powerless to resist as he had been with the rubber ball stuffed in his mouth. “Final touches...” Steph muttered as she swapped the blonde wig for another from her bag – this one with a flowered hair clip that also matched the dress. She stepped back to admire her work. “Perfect!”

“I guess...” Michael's head was racing. He knew this wasn't the surprise – he was merely ready for his surprise, and while the tenderness the women had treated him with had been pleasant, he didn't think he was going to like what came next. His thoughts were still going round as Steph took him by the hand and began to lead him towards the door – his front door. At the threshold, she passed him off to her sister so that she could place a bouquet of flowers in his arms. Her cold eyes met his as she threw open the door.

“Happy Birthday, Sissy!” She screamed. Michael's eyes took a second to adjust to the scene outside his house, but he recognised some of the faces immediately – his friends, his work colleagues, his neighbours, the adult members of his family – the word 'surprise' stuck in their collective throats. “I present to you my Piggy Birthday Sissy!” Steph called out to the gathered crowd. “In his true form – now he never has to hide who he really is ever again.” She kissed Michael on the cheek and put her lips to his ear. “Or, who he belongs to...”

Birthday Blushes Part 2

 

“One...” Michael wheezed as he lowered his upper body to the floor. “Two...three...” With each push up, the blonde hair of his wig pooled on the wooden tiles before being lifted once more to cling to increasing sweaty the face. The new dress the girls had forced him to wear was made of some awful synthetic material that trapped in his body heat and made him gasp with exertion.

“Fucking hell!” Steph snorted. “You even do pushups like a bitch!” She nodded to Michael's nylon clad legs that were planted knee-first on the floor. “No wonder you were never able to satisfy me. A real man would do pushups on his toes.” She watched with curiosity as Michael pushed off his knees and onto his toes. Steph raised an eyebrow. “Did I say you were a real man, sissy?” She grinned as Michael looked back at her, obediently dropped back to his knees. “That's right!” She sneered. “You are my sissy piggy bitch!” She nodded to Sara, who once more swatted his pink pantied ass with a paddle that had been in one of the bags. “And as my sissy piggy bitch, you are going to count your pushups like a sissy piggy! I want you to snort, piggy! You're a stupid birthday piggy and I want you to snort all the way to ten!”

“One...” Michael started again, but his efforts were met with a ferocious glare from Steph and she signalled for Sara to smack his ass once more. The next time he lowered himself to the ground he did so with a quiet grunt and checked back over his shoulder to where Steph watched on unimpressed with her arms folded. For the second pushup he added a little snort and for the third and fourth he embellished a little squeal. He felt absurd and the heat in his body was starting to rise again.

“Predictably pathetic...” Steph sighed. “I suppose I should have expected as much. Sara, pass me that bag!” She demanded of her sister and upon receiving the small pink package, she withdrew what looked like a rubber ball with a strap on each side. “I have had enough of listening to you. Fortunately, I have this!” She strode towards Michael with the gag held out before her and placed it in front of his face. He tried to turn away but Sara immediately began to strike his butt with the paddle. His painted lips parted in pain and Steph took the opportunity to insert the ball. With a strap in each hand, she pulled them hard around the back of his head until Michael felt like his eyes would pop out. His mouth was being forced wide open by the rubber ball inside in and he had to concentrate to breathe through his nose. At last Steph fastened the gag. “Now let's try this again...in silence! To ten, my sissy piggy bitch!”

Again, Michael lowered himself to the wooden floor, his arms growing sore and saliva drooling from the black rubber ball in his mouth. As he came back up, Sara once more smacked him hard across the ass. He looked back over his shoulder again and saw that Steph had returned to her original position to watch – a cruel grin cracking her face. She was enjoying every second, and so Michael knew in spite of everything, he needed to keep going...

Birthday Blushes Part 1

 

Michael leaned toward the mirror and made a V-shape with his hands, framing the underneath of his face like the bottom half of a heart – the blonde wig sat atop his head forming the rest of the shape. No-one was watching, yet he felt compelled to press out his painted lips in a kiss. His eyes glazed and dropped to the rest of his body. He was dressed as he had been instructed – or at least the best he could muster. He didn't have a huge selection of female clothing to choose from, but the tartan bra and skirt had been underneath his bed since last time Steph had been over to play her games.

The Birthday card from his off-again, on-again, off-again girlfriend still lay on his bed. He couldn't actually recall what their current status was and he was ashamed how little he cared to remember when he read her handwriting on the envelope. He knew this was her way of saying she wanted to play with her toy, and he also knew he would forever be her willing plaything. She loved to degrade him and while being humiliated like this was far from the top of a list of his favorite things, it was how he could get what he wanted – to be near her. She might even touch him – not with her hands or mouth, and not in any way a normal observer might deem as being erotic, yet her punishments would be enough to carry him in his pleasure later on. Knowing this was enough to make him feel worthless – yet his obedience was never in question.

Steph's card was crude in its execution. Clearly intended as a store bought card from a husband to his wife, it had been vandalised so that the words 'To My Wife' had been crossed out and scrawled over with 'To My Sissy'. The accompanying image had once featured an elegant woman in a wedding dress with her bridal lingerie flirtatiously visibly from beneath the outfit. Steph had glued an image of Miss Piggy from the Muppets over the woman's face. There was no well wishes, no greeting – only a declaration that Steph would be around at 6 and that Michael 'better be ready' or there would be 'consequences'.

There was a hammering at the door and Michael swallowed hard. Steph had her own key and didn't need to be let in, yet she knocked anyway. It was a test – a check on his obedience and also a way to force him to come to the door dressed as a sissy. He would need to risk being seen by the outside world this and it both terrified and thrilled him.

“There's my birthday bitch!” Steph smirked as he threw open the door. Her eyes were glazed and there was alcohol on her breath and about a half dozen shiny bags in her arms. “I brought a party guest. I don't care if you mind.” Michael flushed at the sight of the woman who followed his girlfriend into the house. He recognised Steph's sister Sara, but she had never seen him like this though he assumed Steph had spared no detail in telling her how pathetic he was. “This won't do!” Steph tutted after appraising his outfit. “You're going to have to do much better if you want your gift...”

Topless

 11/25

Tino finally baulked – unable to maintain his balance on the uncomfortable six-inch heels in the Sicilian August sunshine. His regret was instant and he cursed softly between plump painted lips as the hot metal chassis of his master's car sizzled the backs of his soft thighs. He reached down a manicured hand and massaged the skin just below the hem of his figure hugging mini-dress and gazed up at the mansion before him – his master's house.

“Gino, prepare the car!!” a hoarse commanding voice called down the driveway. A suited man lazily trimming a hedge leapt to attention and started to trot over towards where Tino was slowly baking in the hot afternoon sun. The man paused to hear his boss's follow up order. “And I will be taking Tina out with me!”

Tino's skin crawled at the sound of his new name. It was not the name of a person, but a mere possession. He had once been the heir to his father's legacy – the future head of the family and all it ruled over. He had been promised a life of luxury and power, and instead, he got...this?! He glanced down at his large breasts bubbling out out the top of his tube dress.

His father had been a proud and ruthless man who made many enemies – none more vicious than Fabio Rossi – the leader of a crime family just as powerful as Tino's father's. The two organisations had gone to war and when the Rossi family ultimately came out on top, Fabio swooped in to claim his spoils. Stripped of all their former glory, there was nothing Tino's family could do as he was whisked away.

Nobody saw Tino for months after that. Fabio commissioned an army of surgeons, usually reserved for enhancing the prostitutes who worked for him, to transform Tino into a mockery of his former rival – a voluptuous caricature of a Hollywood idol complete with full pouting lips, round bouncing tits and an ass more than capable of filling the revealing dresses Fabio forced him to wear. Since his big reveal as Fabio's new 'girl', Tino was routinely driven past his old family home to cruelly parade to his father what had become of his son.

“Which car do you wish to use, sir?” Gino called back up to the house.

“On a day like this? The convertible!” came the instant reply. Tino's heart sank in his new silicone chest. The convertible meant only one thing – Fabio wanted to screw him in the backseat outside his old home again to taunt his father.

Whatever Happened to Paul? (Sharking)

 This one is such an old one - Original Caption

Paul hated Fridays. Ladies' night was always extra busy in the club and Johnny the Shark expected him to bring home the goods. The women's bathroom, where he would spend most of his night, milled with traffic and the walls were lined with mirrors giving Paul a reminder of what he had become from nearly every angle.

Success can be dangerous. Eleven years ago, in this very nightclub bathroom, Paul had successfully collected an assortment of clothing from his sister and her friends and pulled them on in one of the stalls convincingly enough to evade Johnny the Shark's goons waiting outside. However, Paul's escape was short-lived. He still owed money and when Johnny caught up with him, he was armed with rumours of how exactly Paul had got away that night. The Shark had grinned a predator's grin as two of Johnny's men held Paul in a chair and explained exactly how he was going to be making back the money he owed. Success can be dangerous if you prove you can successfully hide out convincingly in a women's bathroom to a loan-shark looking for a way to sell drugs at the club on Ladies' night.

“I thought I would find you here!” Paul didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. He could see Amy's reflection in the mirror, an amused smirk plastered on her face. She had been one of the girls that leant him clothing to escape all those years ago, but, still, he had never liked her much. She was smug and mean and even suspected she was the one who told Johnny how he had slipped by his men. Paul slid his flask of bourbon into the tight bust of his dress just above a heart-shaped cut out. In his platform boots he towered over Amy, but she rounded him with the confidence of a lioness stalking a gazelle. “I was hoping you had a little something for me?” She smiled. “Well, I know you have a little something...” She winked at his crotch that was barely concealed by the impossibly short skirt of the dress where his nylon clad legs stretched from beneath. “But, I think you know what I mean...” Paul rolled his eyes and felt a fresh wave of humiliation as he saw how catty it had appeared via his reflection. He tried to give Amy a stern look, but with his thick painted lips and heavy makeup, it just looked like a pout. Finally, he gave up and reached a handful of French-tipped nails into the other bust of tight dress and pulled out a small ziplock bag of pills to give to Amy. He held out his other hand for payment. “Oh, I don't think so...” The girl exclaimed in mock surprise. “Unless, you want me to tell those beefy security guys outside what you're doing in here. Trust me, girl, you don't want to be on your knees in here!” Amy glanced around the floor in disgust before accepting the pills from Paul's outstretched hand.

Paul watched her skip out of the bathroom with the drugs safely in her panties and he was alone again with his reflections. He started to play with his wig. He always did this when he was stressed en femme. It was degrading how Amy had treated him, especially given she had once been his sister's friend, but it was nothing compared to what Johnny would do to him if he couldn't come up with a good reason why he hadn't taken payment for some of his merchandise...

Lara Lake's Last Lament Part 2

 10/25

This is part 2 of a three part Mannequeen story. Part 3 will come later in the season and the entire Mannequeen series is in order on my index page.

“Isn't the Mannequeen supposed to be Detective Lake's case?” Detective Finn Collier asked as he continued to put up police tape around the upstairs bedroom in Wesley Tanner's mansion. The bodysuited figure of the house's owner was still writhing on the bed as they waited for backup to arrive.

“That's what I heard,” replied Detective Larsson from across the room, “but Vice have had their eye on Wesley Tanner for years on suspicion of sex trafficking. This could end up being an inter-departmental tug-of-war. From what I've heard, he might just have got what he deserved.” She opened the door to the en-suite and cried out in alarm. “Sweet Jesus?!

Detective Lara Lake was sat on a marble stool staring at her new bimbo-esque body in the bathroom's large mirror. She was blonde now, with huge full tits stuffed into a latex top. A throbbing resonating through the floor and into Lara’s bones. Her chest tightened, her hips shifted involuntarily, and a strange warmth pooled low in her belly. She tried to sit up, to reclaim her posture, but each movement felt heavier, more deliberate, and more… pleasurable. She tried to call out, to explain, but her voice just wouldn't come.

“Shh,” the Mannequeen's voice cooed inside her hesd. “You’re learning. You’re supposed to feel this.” Lara’s alarmed eyes darted to the two officers near the door. Their expressions were polite confusion—they assumed she was flustered, distracted, maybe even embarrassed. No one saw the subtle tremors running through her body, the flush creeping up her neck, the involuntary sway of her chest and hips. And yet, in this first stage, there was still a sharp edge of resistance—a fragile shard of Lara Lake that recognized what was happening. The officers outside would never understand. To them, she was just… embarrassing herself. But Lara knew the truth: she was a pawn, already in play, and every heartbeat was another step toward a fate she had once orchestrated for others.

She saw her reflection again, it caught her attention, and she froze. Even her eyes betrayed her—a hint of wildness, laced with longing and fear, shimmering behind the carefully blinked lashes. The transformation wasn’t complete, but it was unstoppable. She shivered, a tremor of anticipation, guilt, and arousal. With one final attempt Lara tried to communicate to the detectives and raised a hand to point at her mute throat wrapped in a twinkling choker.

“Does Wesley have a girlfriend living here?” Detective Collier asked his partner. “She seems to be intoxicated with something.”

“I have no idea,” Detective Larsson answered, “but I will get her processed.” She placed a gentle hand under Lara's arm and raised her to her feet on the high-heeled boots. “Let's go, sweetheart.”

“Relax,” the Mannequeen's voice whispered again in Lara's head as she was guided from the room by the female detective.“It’s only just begun.”

Whatever Happened to the Hot House? Part 2 (Hot House)

 

Harley tried to glide across the red carpet naturally but his gait seemed as forced as the smile plastered on his face. As head show-runner of the new hit reality show 'Hot House' it was normal that the paparazzi should gravitate to him – it was the annual television awards after all, and yet they buzzed around him for a very different reason. Hushed whispers were shared by the members of the press. Was this a stunt? Some kind of promotion for the new season of Hot House? Harley flushed as they snapped picture after picture, wishing for the carpet to transform into lava and swallow him whole – hideous outfit and all.

He could see himself reflected in their huge lenses. It was like a Christmas fairy had vomited all over him. The thick glossy pantyhose were only marginally less eye-catching than the glittering bodysuit that hugged and squeezed his figure into something he could never have imagined possible. His lips were painted to match his outfit and the rest of his face was caked in enough makeup to make his smile feel like it had been rendered in concrete. And yet, as he stood there a public spectacle, the national gossip rags getting their fill of a story that would no doubt run and run and further inflate the notoriety of Hot House, the nation's latest obsession, Harley knew that it was what was beneath the garish outer-layers of his outfit that was the source of his humiliation.

When Hot House ended prematurely, it had been Harley's idea to make a grab for the remaining contestants' social media accounts. And why not? It was right there in their contracts. The social media accounts would be returned to the show's winner upon culmination of the series – except the season didn't officially end and there was no winner apart from the company's shareholders. Rules were rules...

Keeping the socials for 'all' of the contestants was his downfall. He had thought some of them might come to his office to beg so when Emi knocked on his door, he thought nothing of it. When she poured herself into his lap, he drooled with anticipation of how far she might be willing to go to get her accounts back. He had been thrilled as she slowly stripped off his clothes, breathing softly in his ear as she covered his eyes and pushed his head back. He had moaned heavily in anticipation of ecstasy – right up to the instant he heard the antiseptic click of the cold metal device being locked over his scrotum.

From that moment, Emi had him by the balls – quite literally. Reacquiring her social media accounts had just been the beginning and she had set about transforming him into the sparkling creation that now simpered along the red carpet of the award show..

“Harley!” Someone shouted from behind the camera. “Are you aware of the clips of you Emi has just posted to her OnlyFemmes this evening? Some spicy stuff! Emi is claiming she is going to be running the new season of Hot House. Are you able to confirm? Will all the contestants end up looking like you? Harley?! How are you expecting to get contestants to sign up for that?!”