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...”

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...”