Pre-emptive Measures Part 2

 

Daniel padded over to the glass wall of the hotel balcony and found that he couldn't help but walk on his toes, so much had he become accustomed to walking in heels. He caught a flash of his reflection in the divider and almost didn't recognise himself. With Alice's guidance, he had become skilled with the makeup brush and his new diet had crafted a slender figure that fit easily into outfits such as the semi-transparent pink negligee he was wearing.

The sun beat down over the luxury resort below and the ocean stretched off to infinity ahead of him. He imagined Raphael out there somewhere on a yacht baking in the sun in a tiny string bikini. It was typical, Daniel thought bitterly, they had worked together to sell LoanRanger inside trading secrets and it was always Raphael that got to swan off to the exotic locations and rub shoulders with the money – even now. Not that he envied him in this instance.

“I bet your pal, Raphael is out there somewhere,” Alice spoke from behind him as if reading his mind. “I can just see him lying there as some pool boy rubs lotion into his big silicone tits while he desperately tries to think up ways to sell our products to the rich businessmen on board.” Alice laughed cruelly. “Guys like that only respond to one thing... Maybe the answer is to provide them with more of it. You'd look great in a g-string bikini, Daniel. Once we have given you the ass for it, anyway...”

“No...” Daniel could only groan with despair. He raised the bottle of Champagne to his fat pink lips and took a slug. He knew the other foot was about to drop. Alice didn't just bring him out here to make idle threats, she wanted something, but if the alternative was being pumped with silicone and thrown on a yacht to be a billionaire's plaything, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear her offer. She had paraded him around this resort for two days now and he still had no idea why. What was she waiting for? She had all the evidence of his collaboration with Raphael by now. She held all the cards, so when was she going to play her hand?

“You will make a very good toy, you know Daniel?” Alice said softly. “For someone...” She approached him from behind and placed her hands on his shoulders. They felt surprisingly strong on his sunkissed skin. “You should know, you're getting the full works either way – tits, facial reconstruction, an ass to die for – but you still have a choice. Option one – we do the surgeries and take you bikini shopping. You will be lying on a sun lounger giving a billionaire a handjob faster than you can say 'Pamela fucking Anderson'. Option two...” she pushed back his long grown out hair so she could whisper in his ear, “we give you a long comfortable recovery and you and I continue to visit exotic locations like this one together from time to time. The choice is yours...but don't keep me waiting. I don't like to wait once I know what I want!”

Pre-emptive Measures Part 1

 This is a continuation of my LoanRanger series. All related captions are on my index page.

Alice leafed through papers from her position in the LoanRanger boardroom, using a fountain pen to check each document line by line before adding her signature to the bottom of the page. To her left sat Vivienne, the company's owner and CEO since the hostile takeover from her ex-husband Saul.

The sound of the office door opening caused both women to look up to see a slender figure entering the room holding a folder. She had long dark hair that cascaded down her back and wore a tight fitted blouse over a flat chest with a pink micro-skirt and glossy nylon pantyhose. The woman walked over to the desk and put the folder down in front of Alice before placing both hands down flat seemingly in an effort to take the weight off her towering heels.

“That will be all, Daniel,” Alice said with a dismissive wave and they watched the feminised man totter out of the boardroom.

“One of yours?” Vivienne raised an eyebrow to her legal council beside her.

“No...” said Alice thoughtfully. “Daniel used to be Raphael's assistant. You know, the scheming Sales Manager who was taking bribes in exchange for insider trading tips, and is now the jiggling platinum blonde with the great rack who takes trips on private yachts wearing micro-kinis to court new clients? We caught Raphael through using a private investigator to audit our expenditure, but he never turned up anything on Daniel. Except, now I am thinking...”

“Now, you're thinking if Daniel really didn't know anything about what Raphael was doing, why did he just come into our boardroom dressed like Erin Brockovich?” Vivienne finished.

“Exactly,” said Alice. “I think he knows something. And for some reason, he thinks we know he knows something, but he also thinks that if gets hair extensions and throws on a pair of heels anyway, we won't look too hard for what that is.” Alice placed her pen down and looked at her boss. “What Daniel doesn't realise is that I am not the kind of lawyer that is going to be satisfied with a couple of socks stuffed into a bra. If Daniel really does know something, and I am betting he does, I am going to find out what that is and when I am though with him, Daniel is going to have substantially bigger assets to be extorted...if you catch my drift...”

Under the Influence Part 8

 16/25

Brody stuffed yet another pillow into its case and cursed under his breath as one of the stupid acrylic nails his sister had glued to him caught on the coarse fabric. Finally freeing himself, he swore again and tossed the pillow onto the bed. He had spent countless hours humiliating himself, all the time putting money in Claire's bank account, and yet in a way, this was somehow worse. Not the least of his problems was the ridiculous uniform he had been given to wear. Sure, it was befitting of the role he was fulfilling, but it was not befitting of his body. He may have slender curves and soft skin from the hormones his sister had been feeding him, but he still maintained his average male height and as a result the flimsy skirt of the maid's outfit flipped over his pantied ass every time he raised his arms.

The meagre money he had stuffed into his purse upon escaping from his apartment had barely covered two nights in a hotel, leaving him absolutely nothing for the guys' clothing he craved so much. Two days of hiding in his room passed excruciatingly slowly. The only times he dared slip outside was to get his fill of the breakfast buffet and he spent the entire time scanning the dining hall in fear of spotting a leather-clad dominatrix, whip in hand, stalking her prey. Still, the large purse he had brought with him came in handy as he was able to fill it with pastries to keep him full for the rest of the day. No-one suspected the delicate blonde woman in the gaudy dresses of trying to steal food.

By the time checkout arrived, Brody still didn't have a plan and desperation set in. That is how he became the newest member of the Rest-Eze Hotel's housekeeping staff. Management agreed to let him continue to stay in his room as long as he spent the day cleaning and preparing bed linens. It wasn't clear if that was the only job available, or if the leering manager just wanted to see what the blonde creature with glowing skin and plump lips would look like as a French Maid, but one thing was for sure – the flimsy uniform he was given simply wasn't up to the task.

Brody threw a duvet cover over the bed and the familiar swish of the dress exposing his ass instantly made him regret it. The phone tucked into his apron vibrated and he removed it to see he had a message from his sister. Probably she wanted to know where he was hiding. To his horror the screen simply read “REST-EZE HOTEL, MAIN STREET”. Another one popped up instantly. “WHAT YOU THOUGHT I DIDN'T EXPECT YOU TO MAKE A RUN FOR IT AT SOME POINT? I PUT A TRACKER UNDER ONE OF YOUR NAILS.” And then finally, “I ALSO POSTED A LINK TO IT ON YOUR ONLYFEMMES PAGE. JUST IN CASE.”

Before he could scream, the door flew open and a sneering figure blocked his exit. Brody stood there in heels dumbly, the duvet still in his hands as Lady Radius snapped the riding crop into her palm.

Whatever Happened to Britt? (...is You!)

 The original caption of this story is here

“That Bitch!!” Britt groaned removing the remaining wrapping paper from the present. Bearing a big bow and a tag with his name, the gift had been sitting innocently beneath the tree with the rest of them. No-one could have guessed what it really was – a grenade filled with with red velvet and fur. An explosion set to go off and ruin Britt's life all over again. How could she do this to him? After all these years... After all he had been through to get here... All his hard work... He allowed the dress to slip through his hands to the floor knowing it would inevitably encase his body before the end of the night. “Melanie, haven't you had your pound of flesh already?” He put his head in his hands.

Ten years ago Britt had experienced a Christmas countdown like no other. His girlfriend, Melanie was away at college and he had organised to shower her with twelve days of gifts to prime her for romance during the holiday break. In return, Melanie had arranged a countdown of her own. Starting with a self-help hypnosis course named 'Be the Perfect Partner with the Guru Self Hypnosis', Britt had been unsuspectingly subjected to hypnotic self-feminisation and Melanie had followed up this initial 'gift' with all the tools Britt needed to complete his own transformation. And why? Simply an elaborate way for Melanie to break up with him and see other people.

It had taken almost an entire year of intense therapy and subliminal suggestion for Britt to break the pink satin chains the course's addiction had trussed him with. Session after session of humiliation to unpick his obsession with becoming the alter-ego Melanie had forced upon him. He had become a joke to family and friends who couldn't fathom that his new compulsion was anything other than a fetish. Even years later, an unfortunate cue, the wrong kind of trigger, and Britt would relapse once again and his feminine side would emerge. He would gather up the cosmetics, the underwear, the wigs that his alter-ego had stashed in places he would never find, and his feminine side would emerge once more. Evidently, Melanie knew all this.

In was hours later and Britt found himself in the park. He was vaguely aware that what he was doing was against his will and embarrassing, but he had slipped into the velvet dress all the same. He had pulled up those long socks and put on the fur hat, waxed his body and painted his face in total obedience to his long dormant programming. It was snowing and he held his hands out to catch some flakes, aware of the picture of beauty he must be painting. As much as he got good at fighting his female urges, he couldn't deny that when they got the better of him, they did a sterling job.

“There you are!” Melanie stepped out from between the trees. She was older now but still stunningly attractive. “I always liked this side of you. I was just too young and stupid to know what I had. I am so glad I can still bring out your feminine side. I think I am going to be seeing a lot more of it from now on!”

The Purest Gift Part 4

 

By the time Laurence had completed a working day in Esme's shoes, not to mention her body and vibrating panties, he had come seven times. His underwear was soaked and chaffed his ass at least as painfully as Gloria's catsuit had. Every time he felt the heat start to grow in his loins, his cheeks flushed with humiliation and though he averted his eyes from his co-workers, he knew they knew. Is this how Esme had felt every time? She had a world class business mind and he had treated her like nothing more than a toy. He hadn't made her wear a buttplug – that seemed to have been some kind of transference from his experience as Gloria, but like the actress, he had used her shamelessly. Laurence wasn't sure if this was all real, but the guilt sure was.

“Well done, Laurence!” The waif's voice reverberated in his head. “You have faced your guilt. You have cleansed yourself of the pain your past actions have caused. You are pure once more. You are now ready to receive the Gift!” Laurence's heart thudded in his chest as once more the walls swirled like the filmed edge of a bubble and began to close on him. When they washed through him, the world went black.

Laurence regained consciousness to find himself outside in the hot sun. He looked around himself at the yellow rock and realised he was at the entrance of the cave, where his adventure had began. Raising his arms to check for cuts and bruises, his breath caught in his throat. They were soft and slender and slightly sun-kissed. A gold bracelet clasped his narrow wrist. Frantically, he assessed the rest of himself. He was still in Esme's body. Gone was the humiliating office attire and in its place was an elegant figure hugging white dress, but her curves remained – her pinched waist, long limbs and round breasts all remained.

“Congratulations on receiving the Gift!” The ethereal voice beamed down on him with the sun. “Your absolution! You are forgiven! You are pure once more! No longer will you carry the crimes of the pain you caused others – for you have faced them and come out the other side...transformed!” Indeed, when Laurence searched his feelings and thought about what he had done to Gloria and Esme, he felt nothing. He felt no guilt, no pain...he was cleansed...but he was also a woman! He looked around wildly for...what?! Anything! This couldn't be the gift!? It just couldn't!? “What's wrong?” The voice asked. “Don't be ungrateful, Laurence! Forgiveness is the greatest Gift a man can receive. But it is not one given lightly. Your transgressions were particularly cold and so you needed a reminder to stay pure...a permanent reminder. There is one more thing...well, two actually!” The voice paused and Laurence yelped as he felt the cold steel of a buttplug growing inside his ass, splitting his newly pert backside in half, and on cue, panties he didn't even know he was wearing started to vibrate furiously. “If you ever slip from your purity,” the voice continued, “I reserve these two reminders to keep you so. These are my gifts...to myself.” The waif's laughter floated away on the breeze.

The Purest Gift Part 3

 

It took Laurence what felt like an eternity to traverse the snowy countryside. He didn't know if time existed in this place, whatever it was, but his ass rubbed raw by the latex catsuit and invaded by the steel of the buttplug definitely acknowledged its passing. This is what Gloria had endured that day he realised as he approached the lodge where they had spent the night. And how had he rewarded her? By demanding she suck him off in front of the fireplace and never calling her in spite of the promises he had made to enhance her acting career. Shame washed over him and not just because of the degrading situation he found himself in.

“Your cleansing is going well!” The ethereal voice whistled with the swirling snow. “But there is more to be done!” Laurence realised that the sky seemed to be closing in on him...like a bubble shrinking. Soon it was just above his head and then it engulfed him covering his face and he suddenly remembered how he had finished on Gloria's face on that day he just experienced. Unknown to her, it would be their goodbye.

When the world reappeared Laurence found himself bending forward, barely holding his balance. He was back inside at least – somewhere he recognised in fact. It was his offices back in Manhattan, noisy and bustling with people. He was face to face with a filing cabinet and he was overbalanced because he was wearing a pair of towering heels. The steel of the buttplug was still clenched between his ass but it felt different somehow. He felt different, and not because he was no longer wearing the ridiculous latex outfit. A chill breathed against the backs of his thighs – a gap left by the different materials of his dress – the polyester of an obscenely short skirt and the nylon of a pair of stockings. At once he knew who he was.

Esme was his office manager. She was hugely overqualified for the role, boasting a phD and an IQ pushing 150 but he had promised a future that included a boardroom position to obtain someone of her exquisite beauty to run his office. Once she was onboard, he had gleefully moved the goalposts to test her ambitions, insisting on scandalous office-wear – skirts that failed to cover her sculpted ass, lip-fillers and.... Laurence crashed into the cabinet as the vibrating panties suddenly activated. He clutched the metal gasping as the underwear buzzed relentlessly, teasing his body to its limit. A moan escaped his lips and he imagined the busy office stopping to watch his debasement. The trigger, he knew, was in his desk drawer. He had kept it near him for almost a year until Esme had finally tired of waiting for the promotion that would never come. She had been a genius and he had used her as a toy.

The panties went up a gear and Laurence was barely able to stay standing. He wanted to sit but feared inadvertently driving the buttplug even further up his ass. Instead, he clung to the drawers with his ass stuck out and only half-covered by the tiny skirt, grunting through gritted teeth as the entire office watched his first female orgasm.

The Purest Gift Part 2

 

“To be worthy of the Gift, you must be pure! To be pure, you must face your past transgressions!. You must endure... Will you endure. Laurence?” The voice echoed and expanded into a hollow whistle, and Laurence's bubble expanded with it. Growing until it filled the cavern, it seemed to paint the walls with sky and the ground with snow until with a shrill pop, he realised he was outside.

Laurence scanned the horizon of endless farmland covered in snow. He knew this place. He'd been here years ago. Switzerland... Suddenly, he realised why his reflection in the bubble had been so familiar...Gloria!

Laurence tried to move forward and almost fell head first into the snow. The skis attached to his feet having not been there seconds before, felt alien and only the poles that had appeared from nowhere in his hands, saved him. There was a squeaky crackle and the shiny material of his snow-suit rubbed painfully across his body...up his legs, over his ass...his breasts. No, this was wrong!? How could he be Gloria?!

Gloria had been a young tv soap actress Laurence had a brief fling with years before. She had been a whirlwind of energy and ambition, but she had also been desperate...insecure. Laurence had told her he could use his power to open doors for her. All she had to do for him was...

The details of the trip to Switzerland formed in Laurence's memory. The latex ski-suit he had picked out for Gloria – him insisting she be completely naked underneath. She had done as he asked of course and Laurence had ignored her forced smile to stare at her ass all day as she uncomfortably shifted from one ski to another. Laurence's mouth went dry as he remembered the other thing he had insisted on.

The steel buttplug made him feel fuller than he had ever been in his life. It was if were being split in two. He groaned low and feminine and steam blew from his pink lips. He had made Gloria ski 20 miles in nothing but a latex catsuit with a plug jammed up her ass, and never given her the fame she wanted. And now he was Gloria? Was this the cleansing the waif spoke about? Would he have to make the same journey? He tried to push himself forward over the white powder and it was immediately apparent that he was far weaker that he was used to. Gloria's slender frame held a fraction of the strength of his toned body. He managed five meters before dropping his poles to the snow and putting his hands on his rubber clad knees with exhaustion. As he did so, the buttplug shifter awkwardly in his ass. Holy shit, the Gift better be worth it, he thought gritting his teeth.

The Purest Gift Part 1

 This is a commission I did for DeviantArt

Noone knew what the Gift was – yet everyone knew it was worth having. They knew it was worth sacrificing everything to find it. The legendary treasure hidden somewhere in the caves just outside the Italian village of Femini attracted thousands of would be adventurers from around the world every year. Each desperate to be the one to discover the mythical artefact and reap its priceless rewards. Yet the caves that held the supposed prize were expansive and treacherous and many an experienced explorer had plundered their depths and never been seen again. Even still, every year that passed brought a fresh wave of heroes hunting fame and fortune.

None came more determined than Laurence Dodd – a billionaire playboy adrenaline junkie who rarely encountered a desire he couldn't buy or an obstacle he couldn't steamroller. The Gift was one of such rare treats that eluded him and so his need to acquire it had grown into something of an obsession.

Laurence's latest attempt was his most determined yet. Despite, plunging himself into the caverns alone, he made good progress over a number of days through the depths. He was no stranger to using people or exploiting assistance to get what he wanted, but he took no chances when it came to searching out the Gift. He could think of nothing worse than being made to share the treasure or worse, the recognition for finding it.

In spite of his progress, the caves had been a rough mistress and by the time Laurence reached a wide underground opening on the fifth day of his excursion, he was covered in dirt and bruises, bleeding from numerous places including one of his ears, and almost out of both food and drink. Upon noticing that the latest cavern was full of large bubbles floating out of a small rock-pool of glowing turquoise water, he thought he was hallucinating. It didn't help when the ethereal form of a waif of a woman appeared in one of the bubbles and started to speak to him.

“You must be tired,” she said softly, “you must be determined to have persevered this far. You must really want the Gift.” Laurence's attention peeked at the mention of his quarry. “But are you worthy of the Gift? You must be pure! You must be cleansed of your transgressions! You must be tested to see if you are worthy, but first you must be cleansed! Shall I cleanse you, Laurence?” The bubble rose above him and he nodded. Even as his head continued to bob, another huge bubble floated towards him and encapsulated his body. Instantly, the dirt, the bruises, the cuts and blood, all vanished and his skin was washed smooth. It became soft. It became feminine. Laurence saw his reflection in the surface of one of the bubbles and a beautiful woman stared back. He thought he recognised the face but his mind was swimming with the shock of what was happening. “Good!” The waif stared at him from her bubble. “Now you are ready to be tested!”  

Under the Influence Part 7

 The rest of this story so far is on my index page

By now, Brody had many regrets. He had after all allowed himself to be blackmailed by his sister into becoming her own personal Youtube Barbie, and worse, his subsequent revenge plot had backfired badly and he now found himself the subject of a nationwide sissy bounty hunt where every domme in the country believed he would be paying them 10k to make him their slave. What was it the OnlyFemmes post said? No safewords, no mercy? However, more than any of that, in that moment, he regretted clicking on Lady Radius's profile.

Claire's post complete with his name and address was still fresh on his screen, but already hungry dominas had begun licking their lips and posting comments on the bounty post. One mistress, Lady Radius, seemed particularly keen to claim her rewards and thinking she couldn't be all that bad, Brody clicked into her OnlyFemmes profile. It was that bad! The images were only on the screen a second but it was enough to scar him and spark him into action. Endless screenshots of helpless feminised sissies...metal and leather...chains and whips...throbbing dildos...bulging eyes. Brody shuddered. He had to get out of here now.

Quickly, he threw off the frilly dress he had put on to use his computer and looked for something more inconspicuous to wear. Catching sight of his undressed body in a mirror, he was reminded of how soft and curvy he had become from the hormones he had been taking to try to pass as Claire and his desperation to find appropriate clothing became all the more desperate. Of course, he had mailed all his own clothes to his sister as part of the blackmail but besides this, most of the outfits Claire had selected for his influencer career were ridiculous and over-the-top. The best he could find was a smart white blouse and and leather skirt he had been made to dress in for a work-wear video and so he pulled them on and stuffed a handful of other clothing into the biggest purse he had. Seeing that his grown out hair had become loose and his makeup smudged in his panic, he tossed some cosmetics into the bag, climbed into some heels and headed for the door.

Brody had tried on hundreds of outfits for thousands of people through the supposed 'comfort' of his webcam but not since his tormenting night promoting 'Ripped Gene's' had he been outside en femme, and even that wasn't during daylight. Now, exiting his building, even knowing how convincing his transformation was, he felt horribly exposed. Knowing that an army of mistresses were out there desperate to make him their bitch only exacerbated things. Clutching his purse in one hand, he peered out from behind a stone pillar at the crowds of people going about their daily lives, no idea what to do next. He suddenly realised that he had not put any panties back on after his revealing webcam show and a breeze crept up his flowing skirt and around his hormone shrivelled manhood. Whatever he was going to do, he couldn't stay here and he certainly couldn't go home. Friends and family obviously weren't an option in his current state so he needed to lay low while he figured things out. He had a little money so maybe he could stay at a local hotel for a few days while he ordered some men's clothes and turned himself back to his normal self. There's no way he could regret that...right?!

Whatever Happened to Jared and Rory? (Sissy vs Sissy vs Sissy)

 The full story including the original Sissy vs Sissy is on my index page

The water was warm. And there were bubbles...lots of bubbles – enough to cover their naked bottoms. These were about the only positives of bath day – truly the smallest of small mercies. Jared and Rory sat in the tub facing each other – each a living feminised reminder of the other's predicament.

Anna had removed their underwear bottoms but left their bras on, Rory in black and Jared in white, as they were effectively redundant but for furthering their humiliation, and had taken great pleasure in leading them to Aunt Clarissa's bathroom on their hands and knees via matching dog leashes she had fixed round their necks. The size of the bath meant that both boys were forced to kneel in the water so she made the best of this by making them lean all the way back while she scrubbed at them with a large sponge. Relief had flooded their faces when she had revealed they could remove the buttplugs for their wash but the tiny cock cages remained on and Anna had smirked wickedly at seeing the boys' imprisoned dicks strain against their restraints as she took her time rinsing their bodies. By now they had spent a maddening amount of time in chastity and her touch was clearly too much for them to handle. She tried to imagine their shame and frustration at having their bodies betray them for the very person responsible for their degradation and grinned even wider.

“Maybe we need to start milking you...” Anna said thoughtfully as she adjusted the cat ears atop Rory's head and almost burst into laughter at the sudden hopeful expression in his eyes. “Or maybe you should milk each other...” The expression turned to anger and then quickly to shame. Anna parted the bubbles and cupped Rory's groin as if it were a wounded kitten. “We can't keep our precious sissies with blue balls can we?” She raised one eyebrow and leaned close to the horrified sissy's face, keeping her hand wrapped around his genitals and smirking as she felt their futile bulge. Without warning, Rory gave a sudden shudder and shot out a leg, catching Jared on the hip. “Well, that wasn't very nice!”

“I'm sorry!” Rory stammered. “I didn't mean to – it was an accident!”

“Nevertheless...” Anna shook her head and stood back from the bathtub. “I think it is important you make amends!” She giggled at the sorrowful gaze Rory offered his friend, knowing it wasn't for what he had done but for what was to come. “I think you should show how sorry you are with a big apologetic kiss!” Rory stared at her hesitantly. “And if you don't, well, I am sure Aunt Clarissa will teach you some tenderness this evening.” Anna grinned triumphantly as her two obedient toys slowly lent in with their lips parted.  

Rules of Disengagement Part 3

 

And so Michael and Sara were reunited, alas with a brand new dynamic to their relationship. As unable to satisfy her as he had been as a man, he was more than equipped to do so as her sissy. Sara was not a natural dominant even though she knew the sight of Michael's humiliation made her tremble in ways he had never managed before, and so Steph was more than willing to train her sister how to embarrass, debase and degrade the man in her life. She no longer lived with them, but she was always on hand to lend her advice, her firm hand across Michael's backside or even her used panties for his afternoon snack.

And what choice did Michael have? The circumstances of his housing situation hadn't changed and he was glad to have Steph out of his home – at least most of the time. Sara didn't detest him as Steph did. She even loved him again in a weird way. But things were not as they once were by any stretch of the imagination. The dress had become his uniform and Steph had supplied a collection of equally humiliating alternatives. Michael never did find out what became of his actual clothes. He was able to move out of the basement and back into the bedroom but even that wasn't the blessing it might have been. As Sara got better at being dominant, it just meant that his submission was more complete, his fiancee able to play her games with him all night as well as during the day.

It was on such a day that Steph visited her sister to give a graduation of sorts to her apprentice. Michael was in his familiar cotton dress, his butt throbbing from an impromptu after breakfast spanking Sara had decided to dish out and his hair itching underneath his wig. Soon it would be long enough that he wouldn't need the wig and Sara had promised to use her big wooden brush on it instead of just his backside.

“He is yours! He must learn to recognise your taste!” Steph was explaining to Sara. Both woman stood before Michael in watching pencil skirts that had been unzipped at the back to expose their pert arses. Both had removed their panties and Michael's cheeks were bulging like a hamster to hold them in his mouth. “Merely sniffing will not do – it will not be enough. If he is to be your sissy, he must inhale you fully. He must breathe you deep into his lungs.” Steph ordered Michael to lie on the floor, explaining that the sofa was too good for him, and told Sara to stand over him. She did so before slowly lowering herself onto Michael's face. Once her bare ass was firmly straddling him, she released herself and let out a long loud fart. He wanted to cough and spit out the panties but she remained mounted atop him, holding him in place. Another fart followed, and another and another and Michael thought he might suffocate. He felt hands pulling at the waistband of his panties and realised in his darkness that they must be Steph's. His cock was pulled free and hope rose in his chest briefly until he heard a soft click as something tight and hard was fastened around his genitals. “Now he is truly yours!” Steph whispered triumphantly as Sara sat back to press her ass down as she ripped a final and longest fart right up Michael's nose.  

Rules of Disengagement Part 2

 

In the weeks that followed, Michael did not leave his basement. It was a prison – its locks the shame of his new costume. Steph brought him food twice a day and a change of panties every morning – always something humiliatingly satin or silky or ruffled. He didn't see Sara once during this time and he began to wonder where she thought he was. Had Steph fed her sister some kind of story? And what had become of his clothes? He imagined his gaoler selling them, or worse, burning them. On the eleventh evening of his sentence, Steph descended the steps to his basement with a red wine dilation in her pupils and a wicked grin on her lips.

“Get on your knees you stupid dope!” She spat and watched him struggle. The heels of the Mary-Janes made it awkward to get down and the best Michael could manage was a crouch with his gloved hands on his stockinged knees. Steph rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You can't even do that, can you? It is no wonder my sister doesn't want to marry you. At least she saw sense eventually...” Michael gave Steph a meek sidelong look from his crouched position. She stood with her hands on her hips, her dark hair tied into a tight bun over an even tighter scowl, and a figure-hugging pencil skirt wrapped around her long legs. Without warning, she too crouched, and without giving Michael even a glimpse of what was beneath, she reached up under her skirt and worked her underwear down her legs. She lifted first one patent leather heel and then the other to remove the black satin thong and then kicked it over to Michael.

“Ah...” Michael sighed with resignation and began to lift his cotton dress to remove his own larger frilled panties to complete the trade.

“No, you idiot!” Steph shook her head with exasperation. “They aren't to wear. They are your reward for being a good little sissy. I want you to sniff them. Breathe in your mistress!” Michael hesitated, his cheeks glowing bright pink before finally he retrieved them and brought the used panties to his nose. He sniffed exaggeratedly. “Good!” Steph sneered. “Now put them in your mouth!”

Michael obliged. They tasted sweaty and stale and he was forced to breathe through his nose. Once more, shame consumed him as he gazed back at Steph, who was smiling back triumphantly. A minute passed and then she strode across the room to where he was still crouched. Turning on her heels, she bent forward and clasped the zipper at the back of her pencil skirt, pulling it up to reveal her bare backside. Before he could react, she grasped the back of his wig laden head and thrust his face between her ass-cheeks, ripping a long squeaky fart that he was helpless to inhale due to the thong stuffed into his mouth.

“Michael!” He heard the surprised voice of Sara from the direction of the basement stairs. He could see nothing but Steph's crack but he knew she had seen everything. “Why didn't you tell me this was what you were into? Things would have been so much easier!”

Rules of Disengagement Part 1

 This is a three part commission I did for DeviantArt

To say Michael's life was entangled with Sara's was an understatement. In the four years they had dated, they had not only got engaged but Michael had given up his rented condo to move in with his fiancee, and they even shared a bank account. So when their steamy relationship eventually blew cold, it was not as simple as moving out and starting over. Michael had nowhere to go.

Sara no longer loved her ex but she wasn't cruel. She allowed Michael to keep living in her basement until he found his own place, but there were conditions. Her sister Steph would be moving in immediately to take over Michael's share of the rent when he eventually left and to act as something of an umpire between the feuding former lovers, albeit one that was obviously biased in favour of one over the other. Steph's name quickly replaced his on the lease, and Michael found himself subletting from two women who held his shelter entirely at their mercy.

Steph made no secret of the fact she hated Michael. This was not a new thing. Right from the inception of his relationship with Sara, she had despised the way he looked down his nose at her as a divorcee. It was as if she was a broken toy, unwanted, a cast-off, and the moment she moved in with Sara, she made haste to settle the score for this and the way he had treated her sister. A week into her residency, she descended the steps to Michael's basement with a garbage bag in her hand.

“Right, listen up you worthless dork.” she scowled, tossing the bag at Michael's feet. “Sara might be a bleeding heart, but I sure as shit am not. You have two choices. You can either gather up all your crap, put it in that bag and leave right now, or you can stay, but what is in that bag there becomes your new identity for as long as you are still in this house.” She watched as Michael picked it up and spilled out its contents. Out fell a blonde wig, a cotton dress, patterned pantyhose, layered panties and a pair of platform Mary-Janes, and open fell Michael's mouth. Steph watched him try to process what she had just said then added. “If you don't choose one of these, I tell Sara you tried to grope me and she throws your ass out anyway!”

Michael didn't really have two choices. Having nowhere else to go and no access to his own money, his only option was to become Steph's plaything and she knew it. Over the next few hours she took her time transforming him, first ordering him to pull on the pantyhose and the underwear followed my the dress and shoes. Steph reserved the honour of placing the wig on his head for herself, thereby completing his new look. Michael caught his reflection in his floor to ceiling mirror and humiliation immediately washed over him. He looked ridiculous.

“Good,” Steph nodded, “now put your old clothes in the bag. This is what you will wear from now on. We'll start your training tomorrow!” With no choice but to comply, Michael began to gather his shirts and put them in the trash bag.

Chick Roulette

 14/25

Louis didn’t even bother putting his dick back in his pants as the scrolling symbol on the screen signalled Mugshot was finding another random member to connect with. The trick was keeping whatever unsuspecting chick it partnered him with online long enough to get a few strokes off. If he was very lucky, they would be the kind of wild slut who already had their tits out. Whoever was the other side of his screen when he finally shot his load, won the jackpot.

Louis was using the roulette function of the popular video chat platform ‘Mugshot’. Users were paired up randomly in a kind of digital speed dating until either party elected to move to the next person. To Louis’s disdain, this was almost always quicker than his exhibitionist tendencies wanted.

The scrolling circle disappeared and a username appeared in the top right of the screen – Delilah101. A gorgeous blonde girl appeared before him and Louis began to jerk off furiously.

“Well, hello there, SlutSlayer69,” she winked flirtatiously. “Aren’t you an eager beaver?” She placed one long pink fingernail between her teeth and Louis braced himself to glaze his keyboard. But, moments before lift-off, the recipient of his lust gestured her hand from right to left, the Mugshot prompt to move to the next connection. However, Delilah didn’t disappear from the screen. Instead, the scroll wheel appeared over the image in the bottom left – the insert that showed Louis’s webcam. When an image returned, it no longer showed him grasping his erect cock, but rather a blonde bimbo bursting with silicone encased in a fishnet bodysuit. “That’s better!” Delilah winked, and then she too disappeared.

“Whoa!! Nice rack!!” The hill-billy on the screen exclaimed and Louis’s mouth dropped open in surprise. The swollen pout of the babe in the corner of the screen also widened and he realised he was no longer gripping his stiff cock. He glanced down at his now flat crotch covered by a flimsy pair of red panties. A belly button piercing winked at him from just above them. Using a shaking manicured hand, he waved to dismiss the red-neck, only for him to be replaced to by an equally leery neck-beard with three chins. Shame washed through him and his hands shot up to cover the quivering jugs on his chest.

When he swiped again, he found himself doing so over and over as each drooling horny guy was replaced by an equally gross alternative. The few female pairings he got snorted and swiped themselves to send him to a new partner. Panic surged within him. He had to find Delilah again. Just when things started to feel hopeless, a DM popped up from the toolbar. “If you want your little friend back, I suggest you give some of these punters what they came for!”.

Louis grunted in self-disgust but when the next man appeared on his screen, he obediently grabbed both of his breasts and massaged them clumsily. And when directed to do so, he slipped one of his long fingernails into his panties and began to softly stroke himself. Any arousal he felt completely dissipated on seeing the guy shoot his load, but he was quickly replaced by another guy and another set of humiliating instructions. Over the next two hours, Louis performed stripteases, simulated blowjobs on a cucumber, rubbed oil on himself and even spread his ass-cheeks wide apart as guy after guy came over the human embodiment of a wet-dream Delilah had turned him into.

“I guess you’ve earned this!” At last Delilah101 returned to his screen. She swiped once more and both the main screen and the webcam insert showed the scrolling logo. Even before the image returned, Louis felt the comforting sensation of his penis in his fist.

“Holy shit! A hot shemale!!” His new partner gasped as Louis stared at his throbbing dick poking out from a hole in the fishnet bodysuit.

What the Hell Happened to Hugo? (Not an Exact Séance)

 Original caption is here 

“So?” Hugo took another step along the cracked tiled corridor before stumbling awkwardly once again in the leather six-inch heels. “Do you think it could be somewhere around here?” He asked. “Any of this look familiar?”

“How should I know?” The voice in his head scowled. “It's your stupid house – is it too much to ask that you walk around it without falling over and making me look like an invalid?” Hugo winced at the scathing female hiss in spite of its incorporeality. “And, by the way,” it continued, “this might be your stupid house, but that is still my body...in spite of everything. I would appreciate it if you didn't dress me as a complete slut every time you take me out!”

“Huh?” Hugo dropped the woman's delicate chin in confusion and stared down at the vinyl dress he had spent twenty minutes squeezing his adopted body into that morning. It's sheen was as alien to him as the soft female skin with the strange drawings on it that he also now wore. “Madam,”he prompted, “I do apologise, but I have been dead 300 years. I have never seen anything like this shiny material before in my life or death. I just assumed it was a modern luxury, not as it seems, a symbol of promiscuity. May I ask, why do you own it if it brings you such shame?”

“I am not ashamed of it!” The voice snapped with venom. “It is for...special occasions – certainly not for 500-year-old dead dudes to play dress-up in their favourite haunted house.” Her tone was shrill – sounding out all of the eight years she had been trapped as a passenger in her own body after a Halloween séance had gone awry. “Look, let's focus, shall we? When I summoned you, I read from an old piece of parchment. There was another stanza on that document and I dropped it somewhere in your stupid house. Finding that parchment could be the key to me getting my body back and you returning to the after...hey! Would you kindly stop playing with my tits!?”

“I apologise, Madam,” Hugo stammered. “But they really are majestic. In my day, sculptors would have travelled from far and wide to capture them in clay. You would have been quite the attraction.”

“I am not an attraction!” The voice pouted. “And while we are on the subject, could you please stop with the masturbating? I might not be able to feel it, but it is still humiliating. It is still my freaking body.”

“Madam, again I apologise.” Hugo protested. “I now realise that doing it in the market was an error. I truly did not intend to alert those guards. Would now be a more appropriate time? I do think it might help stimulate our memories.” Fighting to hide his excitement, Hugo pushed his slender fingers under the top of his latex panties and closed his eyes.  

Space Booty Part 3

“Okay, so let's go over the plan?” Captain John Broad looked conspiratorially at Kara his First Mate. They were stood in the corridor outside the captain's quarters that was now being claimed by the pirates as their own. “I go in there, distract them with my...charms...maybe dance a little, get naked...and then what? Snatch one of their phasers? Slit their throats? Grab the keys to their vessel and run for it? Or will you and Ally burst in when they least expect it?”

“May I suggest reverse space cowgirl?” Kara grinned as what was once her captain stared back blankly. “I mean, it's great for getting nice and deep and the reduced gravity will mean those big strong pirate men will have no problems bouncing you up and down like a beach ball on Pluto. If you think you were horny in the cargo hold, trust me, you are in for a treat. Although, I suppose I am not sure where that new pussy actually leads to...but I can make an educated guess...”

“You mean...?” John looked back at her in horror – a pair of bunny ears flopped pathetically atop his tangled hair. Kara and Ally had spent the last half an hour preparing him for their plan – one which the captain had assumed had involved their escape. They had dressed him from a menagerie of outfits in a crate that had accompanied the bodysuits in the hold, and intentionally selected the most demeaning, humiliating one they could find – a skimpy latex bra and thong set complete with a translucent excuse for a skirt. The captain turned to face her, his eyes hard and his breasts floating around in their flimsy cups in the reduced gravity. “You ungrateful bitch...after everything I have done for you... Well, if you think I am just going to go in there and debase myself, you...”

“Oh?” Kara raised an eyebrow as she produced a tiny device from her pocket. She smirked as the captain's sentence trailed off into a long orgasmic scream. The bodysuit was state-of-the-art and its perks were near instant. Just one click of the key-fob and there was sweat on his brow, a tremble in his lips and a buckle in his knees. She clicked it once more for good measure and the voluptuous creature in the bunny ears had to steady herself on the ship's wall while grunting like a pig. “I take it your resistance is already broken,” the First Mate nodded. “Good thing too – the pirates are sparing us and our ship and taking you instead. We've assured them that you can satisfy their every need, and if you can't, they've got plenty of these things.” She pressed the device again and the captain's body bucked wildly – his hands clamoured desperately for the crotch of the bodysuit but they shook so much with ecstasy he couldn't part the slit in the crotchless panties. “You told me I had to sleep with the captain to get ahead,” Kara shook her head, “and that's what I did... But now it looks like it is your turn...only you have two captains to please. And if I were you, I really would try to please them. If you don't, you will probably find yourself sold to some space brothel in the outer colonies. So...” Kara opened the door to the captain's quarters with one hand and clicked the device once more. John doubled over with a loud moan as his First Mate spanked him hard across his bare ass and pushed him inside. “Go get 'em, Tiger!”

 

Space Booty Part 2

 

Captain John Broad stood trembling in the dark for what seemed like hours while pirates plundered his ship. His feet throbbed atop the towered silver boots and in spite of the synthetic skin covering every inch of his body, he felt naked in the latex mini-dress. It was as if it was his own skin on show, his breasts pressed down by the vinyl material. He even felt weaker as if the bodysuit had somehow cast upon him the strength of the delicate space whore to match his appearance. He dared not move but curiosity gnawed at him. Did this thing have a pussy? These things were sex-toys, right? Presumably they were fully functional... Unable to resist any longer, he slipped a delicate hand under the hem of the dress.

The moment his fingers touched the smoothness between his legs, a shot of electricity rippled through his body. It was like licking a nuclear battery...with his dick! His eyes rolls back in his head and the nipples of his new breasts instantly went as hard as icecaps. What the actual hell?! Even as the sensation started to fade, he found himself reaching once more for his synthetic clitoris and a volcano erupted inside him. All sense left his mind and he pulled the skintight outfit over his head to get uninhibited access to his borrowed sex organ. “Ohhh fuck me!!” He moaned loudly.

The doors to the cargo hold shot open to reveal the First Mate and the Navigator flanked by four enormous men painted with glowing tattoos holding phasers. They surveyed the contents of the hold with unimpressed faces. “Sex dolls?!” One of them snorted. “Is everything on this ship worthless? You don't even have a captain we can ransom over to the space authority... Good thing you two aren't bad looking or this would be a complete waste of time.” He brushed the cheek of Ally the Navigator affectionately with one of his huge hands.

“Wait!” Pleaded the First Mate with desperation in her voice. “They aren't just sex dolls. They are highly sophisticated companion robots for long journeys into deep space. They are 100% compliant and can take care of all your needs. Watch this!” She grabbed a latex negligee from an open box and threw in front of where the captain stood naked, prone and terrified. “Number 24689, clothe yourself!” She commanded with cold authority as if talking to a machine. Captain Broad tried to comply with rigid obedience but the outfit was tight and inflexible. Finally, after minutes of stretching and pulling it was on his sore body and he sat cross-legged on a stool just inside the room. The rubbing of the struggle had once more incited the fire inside his loins and a soft groan escaped his lips.

“I see...” The lead pirate chuckled with clear interest, watching the panting Captain struggle to keep his hands from between his legs whilst perched on his seat. “And are they all like this?”

“They are,” nodded the Kara sagely, “but this one is fully calibrated and more than capable of satisfying all of your wildest dreams!”

Space Booty Part 1

 This is a three part commission for DeviantArt

The irony of the phallic shape of the space rocket SS Invader was not something lost on the ship's Captain John Broad. A merchant vessel by design, it traversed the galaxy carrying the captain, his small crew of two and their contraband cargo of bootleg toys. Captain Broad was the only male passenger of the small space faring ship as being overpowered by a mutinous crew was not something he wanted to contend with and in deep space.

“All quiet on the Western front?” He barked at Ally the Navigator as he passed her in one of the ships corridors, pausing to leer at her chest. Decreased gravity did wondrous things to breasts. The girl was slender and top heavy and he knew she was bright beyond her rank – not that it would help her career much if she continued to refuse to sleep with him. “I trust we are on course to reach Port Malice on schedule with no delays? It's not exactly Times Square out there in this part of the solar system.”

“Actually,” the Navigator checked an electronic screen on her wrist, “it seems we have hit something of a distraction. There is a small craft out there with their SOS beacon lit up. They're asking to board and bartering for fuel to get them to the next way station.”

“Captain!” Kara, his red faced first mate thundered into the corridor. She was pretty but dull witted and owed her rank to the fact that unlike Ally the Navigator, she had agreed to screw him. “It was a trap! We're being boarded! Pirates!”

“Pirates?” Captain Broad's face went white. He had heard plenty of stories of ranking officers being forced out of airlocks into deep space. “They can't find me! You need to hide me!” The two women seemed to freeze before him. “That's an order!” He yelled. Kara reacting quickest, grabbing his hand and leading him in the direction of the cargo hold away from the rocket's airlock. When they reached the hold door, his subordinate entered a code and the door open with a hiss. Countless humanoid figures stood before them. “Sex-dolls?!” The Captain cried with disbelief. “What am supposed to do with them?”

“They aren't sex-dolls,” the First Mate explained. “They are bodysuits. They are quite popular with the kinkier lifeforms in the galaxy. But more importantly, you can hide inside one while we figure out an escape route for you.” John hesitated for only a second before starting to strip off his clothes. The bodysuit fit him like a glove, sucking at his skin with almost vacuum like force to the extent the synthetic material felt like part of his body. Finally, he stood up and threw the long hair of the bodysuit behind his shoulders, struggling to balance in the high-heeled silver thigh-high boots. A latex mini-dress clung to his freshly borrowed curves and he had to brace himself with both hands on the hold walls to contain the overwhelming new sensations washing threw his body as a result of the device that now enveloped him. “Hold tight!” Kara's eyes were almost popped out of her head as she looked him up and down. “We will get you out of this! Just stay here and keep quiet! You don't want pirates to find you looking like that!”

Content and Contentment

 13/25

Matty glared at his tablet screen with disgust. One of the OnlyFemmes chicks he subscribed to was a guy!? What the hell?! Is was called OnlyFEMMES for a reason?! Not only that, she…he had put some kind of bounty up asking for people to sissify him. Matty took one last look at the most recent post and wanted to throw up. Sissify…that?! Why not hire someone to paint the sun yellow too…

He quickly unsubscribed and thought about all the times he had jerked off to that profile as bile curdled in his stomach. He needed to act fast to top up his masculinity and now he had an empty spot in his roster of digital side-chicks.

Quickly, he pulled up the chart of most popular creators and pulled up the highest ranking one he wasn’t already following. A profile for a girl simply known as “Emi” filled the screen and the image of an elegant latex clad beauty with severe bangs splashed across the top. All other pictures on the profile were greyed out until you subscribed so Matty was unable to tell precisely what kind of content she produced, but already he was enthralled by her swanlike grace and powerful slender figure. He pressed subscribe and was presented with two options - $8 “Be a voyeur”, $10 “Emi will make you Content”. It was a no-brainer, he thought selecting the second option. As his membership status changed to Pending, he turned his tablet off wondering just how content the content Emi made him would make him.

Matty didn’t have to wait long to find out. He awoke in the early hours of the following morning to find himself completely naked and his bedsheets pulled back. A latex gloved hand fondled his exposed cock, squeezing gently to bring him around. “What the f…” he groaned groggily, his eyes following the rubber arm gleaming in the moonlight up to a sternly framed yet gorgeous face. “You…” he was cut off as the hand suddenly tightened its grip turning his words into a yelp. Its partner appeared from the darkness and snapped something metal around Matty’s genitals.

Things moved quickly after that. Matty immediately recognised the intruder as the woman he had admired from his tablet screen the previous day and his body tried to respond in kind, yet his budding erection was thwarted by the confines of its cage. Emi had set up a camera tripod and opened a small black trunk. His heart hammered as he realised what “Emi will make you content” had really meant. When he opened his mouth to protest, Emi calmly pulled out a small keyfob and pressed it. White hot electricity shot out of the device between his legs, instantly silencing him.

Matty was powerless as Emi removed items from the trunk and forced him to put them on. Anything less than complete obedience was countered with pain. First came a pair of white satin panties that hugged his stinging testicles like clouds. Next came a French Maid’s outfit that fit him like a glove and an extra high pair of stiletto heels. Emi took her time carefully applying makeup and dressing his hair up with a ribbon, sparking him every time he moved or caused her to make a mistake.

When her work was finally complete, Emi looked around the room. Appearing satisfied, she removed the camera from its tripod and used a suction mount to attach it to the ceiling in the corner of the room. She turned, her trunk held under one latex clad arm, blew Matty a kiss and left.

Exhausted from all the zapping of his tortured genitals, Matty scooted on his backside to rest against the sofa and look up at the camera. He had a nasty feeling what those greyed out images on Emi’s OnlyFemmes page would show paying subscribers. He also wondered if the paying ‘voyeurs’ had any kind of access to the device cradling his crotch. Nausea washed though him as he remembered he had paid for a six-month subscription. Six months of this?! He kicked off the heels in frustration and white heat enveloped his genitals.

What the Hell Happened to...? (Over My Dead Body)

  The original caption is here

She found me after the funeral. I’d been pretending to mourn beside people who would never guess the truth, when I felt her hand — dry, soft, and deliberate — rest on my shoulder. “You wear it well,” she said, her breath faintly sweet, like decayed fruit. I dumbly looked down at my black latex dress – Dana's black latex dress.

I wanted to run, but Dana’s legs betrayed me, rooted to the spot as if they remembered her better than I did. “You did this to me,” I hissed.

The old woman smiled. “I saved you. You were dying without purpose, so I gave you a new home. You should be thanking me.”

I almost laughed, but the sound caught in my throat. “You put me in her. She murdered me.”

Her eyes glittered. “And yet here you stand, breathing through the hands that ended your life. A perfect circle. A second chance. But the circle must close again, when the time comes.”

Before I could ask what she meant, she turned and slipped into the mist like a wisp of ash, leaving the scent of damp earth behind her.

That night I dreamt of my body — or rather, the one that used to be mine — clawing at the inside of its coffin. The sound was muffled, desperate, rhythmic, like fingernails on wet wood. When I woke, the sheets were torn and my hands bled. The soft curves of my new body were wet with perspiration under a pair of Dana's silk pyjamas. How could I possibly go on like this?

I didn’t dare sleep again. I padded into the bathroom where I had removed the mirror, as I had done with every other reflective surface in the apartment. I couldn't bear to catch sight of myself from the corner of my eye. Every time I had, that moment where Dana had bore down on me knife in hand flashed in the back of my skull. However, I did have a sliver of silver that I kept handy for when the curiosity got too much. Such as now.

Dana’s reflection looked back, a face full of makeup that I had not bothered to wash off after the funeral, her features twitching as if she were trying to wake up beneath my skin. I whispered, “Are you still in there?” The glossy red lips in the mirror curled into a smile that wasn’t mine.

Now I understand what the old woman meant. Salvation was never about saving the soul. It was about recycling it.

And I can feel her coming back — clawing her way up to finish what she started – but not from the dirt, from inside of me...

Ace at Bass

 My Gloria Honeypot captions are in no particular order but they now have their own section on my index page

“That's it, Babe, just lean your arse back on the sofa and strum the guitar a bit. That's it! Lovely!” The record company scout barked orders at Finn and the photographer simultaneously – his grating British accent spreading around the penthouse apartment like a rash.

“It's a bass,” wanted to scream. “It's a fucking bass.” Not that there was any love lost with his instrument. He wanted to throw that cursed thing through the 47^th floor apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows even more than he wanted to do the same to the indomitable Mr. Gilbert. Yet, it sat glued to his grasp as it always did – inseparable from its prize.

Looks will get you a long way in the music industry. Even before what followed, Finn was an attractive specimen. His slender build and delicate features captured the attention of women every time he took the stage. It didn't matter that he couldn't play for shit and that the rest of his band only kept him around because his ability to draw in the local ladies was 90% of what got them booked. Two songs of him fumbling awkwardly around with his bass and you could bet your life a pair of panties would be thrown. Now the panties are already on stage, Finn thought bitterly...

The problem started when Finn made the foolish decision to try to improve his musical skills. Like any bad workman, he blamed his tools, and set out in search of a new bass. Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly had seemed like as ideal a place as any – its endless shelves holding a menagerie of treasures to be discovered. The bass guitar had hung from the back wall and Finn had bought it without even a test drive.

He did actually improve at bass. However, the instrument wanted so much more. He couldn't explain why, but he felt compelled to have it with him at all times – or maybe it was the other way around. Yet, the bass was not just satisfied with a dedicated player, it demanded magnificence. Finn didn't remember when he started to wear the makeup, or to wear mini-dresses while he practised. He didn't even remember when he started the hormone treatment. His instrument demanded perfection of its craft and it was sculpting the musician it wanted to play it. By the time he got the breast implants, lip fillers and hair extensions, his bandmates were too caught up with all their new-found male fans to care. So, what if Finn was a woman now. He was hot and that was making them money. They didn't see that their bassist had been enslaved by his cursed instrument.

“We're almost finished here,” Mr. Gilbert waved his hands. “I almost have everything I need to the team and make my recommendation. Almost...” The man started to unbuckle his pants. Finn felt the bass hum in his hands and he knew then it would have him do whatever it took to get to right to the top.  

This Caption Sucks

 This is a commission I did for DeviantArt

There was an almost PTSD nature to the way Paul balled up the silky hair behind his head in re-enactment of twenty minutes earlier when he had given his first ever blowjob. The guy was in the shower now – he could hear the spray from the hotel bathroom and the sound of running water made him suddenly desperate to wash the taste of cum from his mouth. He had swallowed, of course, and that was a shame that would live with him forever even if we was able to escape from the prison of this female body. There was a chance he could forget the feel of the satin thong as it chaffed his bubble butt with his own juices, there was even a chance he could forget the guiding hands on the back of his head and the streams of clumped mascara from his bug-eyes. But he would never forget the shame of feeling another man's seed dribbling down into his stomach.

“They won't all be that gentle, you know?” The gentle feminine sneer came from the corner, and by now, Paul knew better than to ask how June had managed to get into a locked hotel room. For someone who could transform him into the curvy beauty whose body he now occupied, teleportation or astral projection or whatever trick she was using was probably child's play. “Some will use your pretty little mouth like the fleshlight it deserves to be. They will drive their cocks relentlessly into the back of your throat until you gag and crush that cute little button nose into their pubes until it feels like you are breathing their sweat. That's if they want you from the front. Some will be more creative. Has your nose ever been in a man's asshole? If you are a super lucky little bitch, he might eat you out while you drain his balls...not that you deserve it!”

Paul bowed his head, unable to meet her stare. The resolve to resist the urges of his new body formed and then quickly crumbled as he once again tasted the mouthful the man in the shower had given him. If only he could keep his mouth shut. If only he had kept his mouth shut... June was the new office junior at his firm, and on her first day he had asked her out. She had politely declined, so in a spiteful rage, he had spread rumours she was a slut. When June found out, she had shown him exactly what she was – a powerful witch with a cruel temper. With a snap of her fingers, she had transformed Paul into a walking wet-dream – a form he would keep for one week. Unfortunately for Paul, that time reset every time he gave another man a blowjob and June had nastily given him quite the appetite for doing just that.

The shower clicked off and the large man who had shared the bed exited the bathroom. Paul felt a guttural pang of disappointment at seeing the towel wrapped around his waste. The shame was back and he glanced to where June had been to see she was now gone. It didn't matter. He knew she knew and that she was probably enjoying his humiliation all the same. The hunger was already returning, pushing the shame into the back of his mind. This was truly going to be the longest week of Paul's life.

The Capitalist (Bimbo Note)

 12/25

You can find the rest of my Bimbo Note captions on my index page

Azalea loved visiting the racetrack. She didn’t give a damn about horses, but it was full of rich idiots doing careless things with money. It was the perfect place to dress up, push her tits out and take home some lovesick dope with an overstuffed bank account to buy her a new fur coat or some leather boots. Half the time she didn’t even have to let them put their dick in her – a few strokes of the wrist was enough to get these fools to shoot their loads and become smitten. After all, they didn’t bet on horses because they believed in delayed gratification…

Azalea didn’t like to gamble, she liked sure things, but seeing men place their bets was the easiest way to tell who had cash to splash and who didn’t, and so she obliged. It was a sunny Saturday and she was leaning at one of the provided stations filling out a slip. She was betting her usual – the track minimum on the favourite. A well-dressed man with a moustache at the stall next to her appeared to glance over her shoulder and scoff. At first she thought he was looking at her tits, but no one scoffed at her tits, so she surmised that her wager was the source of his derision.

“Alright then stud. What have you got?” She scowled. The man held up his betting slip and Azalea saw that he was planning to bet a thousand bucks on a rank outsider. “Well, good luck with that…” she snorted noting to herself that she didn’t care if he bought her a tiara, no way was she bringing sexual gratification to that weasel face. They both placed their bets with the teller and went to watch the race.

Twenty minutes later and Azalea was waiting for her prey by the betting office. Few punters had opted for the apparent no-hoper ‘Sod’s Chance’ and the moustachioed man was one of only a handful to come and collect winnings. Seeing her, he grinned smugly, holding up his betting slip just as she had hoped he would. She made a mental note of his name written at the top of the slip. She would be making a physical note very shortly.

It didn’t take Azalea long to spot her latest creation. Most women who came to the track were in groups – Prosecco sipping bachelorette parties, who, while often slutty, did not resemble the kind of airhead that the Bimbo Note produced. She saw her target standing alone staring blankly out at the track – big plastic looking jugs bursting out of a figure hugging jacket and a large purse bulging with stacks of bank notes sitting at her feet. Azalea walked over and scooped up the purse before any would-be thief could do the same, and gave the babe a squeeze on the backside.

“Come with me,” she cooed, “enough of those boring horses.” The woman looked at her blandly as she surveyed the people around her. A Rolex peeked from a jacket sleeve. “Here we go!” Azalea guided her over to an expensively dressed man while expertly inching down the zippers on her new bimbo’s jacket and her own catsuit to reveal maximum cleavage. “Hey there!” She bit her lip seductively. “How’d you like to take home a sure thing? You can ride this one all you want…” Azalea snaked an arm around her waist, “…and she doesn’t care where you finish!”

Whatever Happened to Rhys? (Black Friday)

 The original caption is here

Rhys found himself playing with his hair again. The long locks were dry from the sun and had loose ends from the humidity – just as real hair would. This was the longest he had ever worn the bodysuit and he was still finding things to be astounded by. Just the fact he was tottering down a Hawaiian beach in a bikini, turning the heads of surfers as he passed should have been enough – yet the way the sun beat down on the synthetic skin, the way it produced sweat that trickled down the small of his back leaving tiny tickling trails as it went all the way down to the perfect ass that had parted many a Black Friday crush over the years.

This is the least I deserve, he thought as he sipped a rum cocktail from a hollowed out pineapple. This was his just desserts for donning this ridiculous bodysuit every November to retrieve whatever trinket his sister desired this year. He didn't care that he had to enjoy it as a woman. Luxury was luxury.

Ten years ago Rhys had broken his sister's leg in a drunken bike prank gone wrong. Confined to the sofa with her limb in plaster, she had demanded that he put on a ultra-realistic female bodysuit she somehow had and brave the Black Friday crush to purchase a console game she was desperate for in lieu of revealing the true cause of her fractured leg to their parents. To this day, Rhys couldn't even remember what the game had been.

It certainly hadn't helped his memory that his sister had not called it one and done when it came to his new alter ego. Rather she continued to hold the bike incident over him like a dangling guillotine and made it a tradition to gleefully drag out the bodysuit every year for him to put on in place of his dignity. New phones, consoles, even an air-fryer one year, they were well into their twenties by now and due to the challenges of modern life, both still living with their parents. Rhys didn't know what his Mom and Dad would do after all these years if they found out what he had done to their daughter, but for the sake of the roof over his head, he dared not find out.

And then there was this year... His sister had sent him out as usual, this time to buy some super-light weight luggage for a girls' trip she was planning in the new year. He had gone to the checkout, the familiar feeling of shame behind his eyes as the shop assistant scanned the items...and then her face lit up. Rhys had won some kind of promotional prize from the company selling the luggage – a winter sun vacation to Hawaii.

The cocktail tasted extra sweet as Rhys thought of his sister. It was her passport that was tucked into the zip of the luggage that had won him his escape and she would likely find out what he had done when she took her own vacation in the new year. But, hey, what she going to do? He considered, grinning across the surf. Blackmail him?