Whatever Happened to Lorenzo? Part 2 (Finding the Perfect Girl)

 

It's incredible what even a small town can achieve when its people come together. Located somewhere between Milan and Palermo, the (almost) entirely female town of Femini celebrated the marriage of their beloved Padre to his new bride, Donatella, the sombre funeral following the tragic passing of their patriarch on his wedding night, and now just weeks later, they were once again ready for jubilation. Giulia, the Padre's doted daughter was to marry her long time girlfriend, Lorenza, and no expense had been spared for the coupling of the town's princesses.

Lorenzo had worn some ostentatious outfits since Giulia took control of his wardrobe, but this one took the cake – which by the way was seven exquisite layers of rich chocolate and fondant. Made from a delicate blend of velvet and lace, it was in the town's traditional colours rather than white, and adorned with jewels and tassels. He had stood for hours being vigorously measured for it and only Giulia's smallest chastity cage had saved him from discovery. To top it off, he wore a diamond encrusted necklace that probably cost more than the home he had grown up in as well as an ornate tiara. So much expensive jewellery hanging from his body only made him more nervous – not to speak of the hundreds of excited eyes on him from the town's female population. After the sudden death of the Padre, they were all eager for something to celebrate again, and he was that something.

The mansion's ballroom had been prepared for the ceremony and Lorenzo anxiously awaited Giulia's arrival so he could get this over with. He knew the room full of women would be wondering why he was staring at his feet piled into a pair of towering open-toed platform heels, but he couldn't meet their gazes. They didn't know what he knew. They didn't know that tucked away inside his silk bridal panties sat a cock, shaved and waxed hairless and held securely in a cage. They didn't know they weren't here to witness the pairing of two equals – two women in love. They were here to see a meat purchase – the rubber stamping of his body becoming property of the Padre's daughter. Finally, after what seemed like hours of playing with one of the ballroom's crystal chandeliers, Lorenzo forced himself to look up – and immediately met the eyes of Donatella, the Padre's widow and new ruler of Femini. There was an ice in her stare – a steely determination...a sense of duty, and in that single moment, Lorenzo knew that crossing her would be as foolish as crossing the Padre himself. He would need to be patient if he were to escape. He would need to bide his time and endure whatever Giulia had planned – at least for the time being.

There was a collective gasp and the guests turned to the ballroom's entrance where the other bride had just arrived. Giulia stood in the doorway and Lorenzo's heart sank. Unlike, his elegant dress, she was wearing a tuxedo, her hair chopped short into a masculine fade. It was clear what role she saw for herself in their partnership. His mind immediately flicked to their wedding night and the consummation of their marriage, and he started to calculate how much wine he could drink before the evening was through.    

The Queen Maker Part 1 (Bimbo Note)

 15/25

Azalea lounged across her sofa, catsuit half-unzipped, a glass of prosecco in one hand and the Bimbo Note resting lazily on her lap. She was watching messages scroll down a tablet screen, half-smirking at a troll’s latest comments on her feed. “RyanJones92” Why did idiots do that? Include their real name in their username? She scribbled her troll's name in the Bimbo Note and imagined Ryan's new look – she closed her eyes and envisioned blonde hair, a gaping mouth, massive tits...probably stretching something obscene across a too small top. Azalea pulled down the zip of her catsuit and slipped her free hand deep inside the material to the warmth between her legs...

“You’re predictable, you know.” The voice was soft, cutting, and far too close. Azalea rolled her eyes and glanced up. There was Rook, sitting cross-legged on the back of the sofa like a cat, absently plucking petals off a lily that hadn’t been in the room a moment ago.

“Well if it isn’t Miss Goth Britannica. I was wondering when you’d pop back in. Jealous of my follower count?”

Rook ignored the jab, dropping another white petal onto Azalea’s shoulder. “You’ve been busy. Voyeur, celebrity, punter, wedding, boyfriend. Each one a tiny spark in the dark. Impressive...if your ambitions end at creating masturbatory aids.”

“Impressive?” Azalea snorted. “It’s genius. Have you seen what I did at the wedding? The bride’s mother motor-boated every bridesmaid.”

Rook gave a small, approving tilt of her head. “Inspired chaos. But your boyfriend? Panic. Clumsy. That’s how you end up in the Note.”

Azalea’s hand stiffened on the glass stem. “I’m fine. He was clingy. I cleaned house. End of story.”

“Mm. For now.” Rook leaned down, balancing her chin in her hands. “The Note is restless, Azalea. It doesn’t like scraps. It wants a stage. Not a single troll, but a whole amphitheatre. Not a gambler, but a system. The next move…it must be grand.”

Azalea smirked, but her eyes glittered nervously. “And what if I don’t feel like dancing to the Note’s tune? What if I enjoy my 'masturbatory aids'?”

“Then it will eat you,” Rook said simply, like commenting on the weather.

Whatever Happened to Lorenzo? Part 1 (Finding the Perfect Girl)

 This is a Flashback Friday for Finding the Perfect Girl but also has overlap with The Offering and its Flashback

The Padre was dead. The grand leader of Femini, a tiny town located somewhere between Milan and Palermo, had left this world behind. Their patriarch was gone, bested by a fatal heart attack on his own wedding night, and just like that, the townspeople were mourning the only man amongst them – or so they thought...

Lorenzo sat in his satin bridesmaid dress, his long hair still scraped back into a tight bun, pondering what to do next. Giulia, the Padre's daughter, and the woman who had claimed him as her own had spent hours dressing him for the ceremony, rubbing lotions into his smooth olive skin, carefully crafting his hair, and of course wrapping him in the elegant gown that matched her own. He had feigned indifference throughout, but he had never been able to fool Giulia. She knew he hated it – just as he had always hated being her plaything. She knew him like he knew the back of his own perfectly manicured hand. From the very first time he had sneaked into Femini, easily fooling many of the local women into thinking he was one of them, she had immediately seen right through his disguise, recognising his discomfort and seeing him for what he was – an embarrassed boy in a dress. So little had changed.

But, now the Padre was dead. The man whose retribution Lorenzo had lived in fear of for years was no more. But what did that mean, really? Was he free? Could he just leave? The Padre left behind a queen – his brand new bride, Donatella. Surely, any women that could tame the Padre must be fierce in her own right, and with the wound of the patriarch's death still fresh, and emotions running high, now could be a fatal time to anger her – especially as a man in a woman's world.

Lorenzo sat in thought as the material of his dress clung to his legs in the humidity of the evening. If now was the wrong time to run, then when? He hated being Giulia's toy – her doll, but he could stick around a little longer. She loved to humiliate him with the endless and extravagantly feminine outfits, constantly teasing him with imminent exposure, but like many of the women in relationships in Femini, she observed the chastity that came with her faith – and so Lorenzo did too. Alright, she did make him wear a chastity cage, but with the many beautiful female servants milling around the Padre's enormous home night and day, that was probably for the best. More often than he would like to admit, he even yearned for Giulia to touch him. He just knew that the day she did would be the day his debasement was turned up exponentially.

“There you are!” Giulia entered the courtyard where he was sitting, her matching bridesmaid dress flowing behind her. It was clear she had been crying, but she was as stunningly beautiful as always. “All of this has made me realise how short life is? We mustn't wait any longer, Lorenza. Let me make you my princess. Please tell me it's a yes!”

Sting Like a Butterfly

 14/25

“That's it Gino,” Detective Pam Larsson tapped a ballpoint pen against her chin approving. “Place one hand on the back of your head, feel that silky blonde hair between your fingers. Now part those cherry red lips. Wider. Excellent. That's exactly what it will feel like when you are servicing your boss. Minus his dick in your mouth of course!” She grinned as she watched her informant flush with embarrassment – his blushes visible even through the thick makeup under the safehouse lights. “Hey Finn, do you think it's worth darling Gino here practising being on his knees?”

Detective Finn Collier appraised the feminised man they had just watched their undercover team pour into the shimmering sequinned dress. It had been the final stage of a painstaking transformation process that had involved an entire team waxing, peeling and painting the terrified Gino in preparation of his infiltration of his boss's criminal underbelly. The notorious Fabio was the head of a dangerous crime family, and unfortunately for Gino, had a well know taste for women who had a little bit extra. “Let's stay on point.” Finn nodded. Unlike his partner, he felt some small sympathy for Gino. He may have worked for Fabio, but only as a lowly grounds-keeper.

“There has to be some other way!” Gino protested to the detectives. “Fabio, he will recognise me. He will kill me! All of this will not fool him.” He gestured to the sparkling figure hugging dress. “He is sharp – that's why he is the boss! Why can't I just wear a wire?”

“We've been over this, Gino!” Pam gave a bored yawn. “It doesn't matter if he recognises you – only that he likes what he sees. It might work in our favour if he does recognise you. Just think of it – the mob boss with a shemale fetish...looking for love...and what does he find? His loyal gardener has had a thing for dressing in drag this whole time.” She wiped away a mock tear. “It's beautiful. Truly Shakespearian. Twelfth Night at least... Besides, if you do wear a wire and for some reason in his company you enter a state of undress. He will absolutely kill you!”

“Remember,” Finn said, “this cover will get you into Fabio's inner-sanctum, at the party at least, but we don't need you to become our star witness here. We just need a thread we can pull to bring his organisation down. You get that for us and we honor your deal and the charges against you disappear.”

“And no stuffing evidence in your panties,” Pam interjected, “we don't need that falling out when Fabio gets you into a dark corner This is a mouth and ears job. The more that goes in your mouth, the more information will go in your ears.” She grinned as Gino's eyes went wide with fear and his lips parted into a wide 'O'. “Now you're getting the hang of it!”

Whatever Happened to Warren and James? (After the Sleepover)

Really sorry about skipping Flashback Friday last week. It was a rush getting Miss-Labelled finished and I ran out of time. Here is a Flashback for "After the Sleepover"

Over the years that followed, James and Warren's bus ride back into town after their failed spying on Jane's sleepover at her Dad's fishing cabin became the stuff of legends. It hadn't mattered that it was first thing on a Saturday morning, the number 10 had been full of people on their way to the town market and these days even grandmothers have smart phones. Pictures of the pair all trussed up in their prissy dresses soon found their way onto social media and rumours of how they ended up like that started to spread. There had been 12 girls at Jane's sleepover. All had seen the boys naked. All had seen the boys stuffed into panties so tight that their eyes watered and smeared their freshly applied mascara. All had seen them kiss each other before they were finally released into the wild.

Needless to say, James and Warren kept a low profile for a while. You would too if your hockey buddies started calling you 'Princess' during practice and girls would come up to you after class asking you to autograph a picture of yourself in a frilly dress with poofy sleeves. Still, time passed and people moved on. Slowly, the boys were allowed to forget their ordeal and returned to their old mischievous ways – at least until a hot afternoon in July over three years later.

“You all know who these guys are, right?” The girl sitting behind the driver glanced from the screen of her cell phone to James and then to Warren and then to her teammates seated in pairs on the remaining benches – her eyes wide with wonder. The boys didn't recognise any of the girls even a little. They had flagged down the minibus for a ride from a nearby town when they recognised the crest of their old high-school on its rear door to find it transporting a dance troop back home after a competition. However, the driver of the van, a young female dance coach from the local college had pulled to the side of the road when the boys began to toss a tennis ball to each other within the bus. “It's definitely them!” The girl grinned excitedly turning her phone around to her teammates. “It's the princesses!”

James and Warren weren't naked in front of twelve girls this time – it was only nine, plus a woman a couple of years older than them. The dance team didn't bother with truth or dare to feminise them like Jane and her friends had either. They just grabbed them and started pulling away their clothes, overwhelming them five to one. They had no problem getting the boys into the lacy competition outfits either, holding them down while their teammates pulled the fabric up and over their bodies. They were treating it like a kind of ceremony, repeating everything they had heard from the rumours – applying makeup, forcing them into the spankies designed to go under the dresses...making them kiss.

“Alright, off you get!” The coach pushed a button and bus's door creaked open. By now they were wearing matching costume wigs and towering high-heels that had been part of the competition outfits. The boys painted eyes shot wide in fear – they were still at least two miles from town. “Don't worry,” the driver smirked. “We aren't leaving you here. We do need those dresses back – as great as they look on you. We just want to watch you walk for a bit.” And so, James and Warren were left to totter along the country road in their heels while nine high-school girls leaned out of the windows of the slowly moving bus filming every moment with their cellphones. A car passed going the other way, honking loudly, and the boys each knew their notoriety was about to come back in a big way.

The Tribute (an Aiko Story)

 13/25

The park was crowded with people. The carnival was in town and the meadows were littered with fairground rides. Aiko spotted Liza by the carousel holding a big stick of pink candyfloss and skipped over to meet her friend, her pace only slowing at the sight of Liza's boyfriend, Jay, in tow. Still, Aiko smiled warmly and took a handful of the cotton candy. Liza's hand snapped to her wrist and something unsaid passed between the two girls. The balled up cotton candy blew away on the breeze.

“Do you see?” Liza grinned and pulled Aiko's attention towards the carousel. A single figure clung to one of the colourful horses on the otherwise empty ride. The creature was dressed in an extravagant lolita dress and a huge pink wig hung over a clearly sweating brow. “Do you recognise him?” Liza asked. “Not the boy himself – he was just someone I spotted taking cotton candy from little kids so I allowed him to 'steal' some from me. I mean the tableau. It is one of yours – from back in Japan. I saw it on your blog. You tricked a boy into stealing your candy on Valentines Day and put him on a carousel. Now, I have done it too – just for you!”

“For me?” Aiko gave a rare blush. She remember the boy back in Japan well – Rob. Seeing the new boy riding the horse, clearly in the throes of candy addiction brought back a wave of happy memories. “Oh, Liza...” she whispered and embraced her friend in a tight hug.

Carter watched the scene from his mount – his thighs trembling around the plastic saddle. He had already debased himself letting that girl powder him and stuff him into this ridiculous dress for another taste of that candy but he was sweating again – craving again. He feared what he would have to do next.

He didn't recognise the Japanese girl but her arrival couldn't be good. Two tormentors was surely worse than one. He just didn't understand why he had been singled out for such torture. He was a volunteer for crying out loud. Just taking tickets and stamping kids hands so they could go on the rides. That guy with the girl who had dressed him had demanded a freebee and he had politely explained the money was for charity. Then the girl had smiled sweetly and suggested he tried her charity and offered him some of her candyfloss. Why hadn't he said no? If he had, he wouldn't be in panties right now.

Carter watched the girls hug and found himself hoping the new girl also had candy. He noticed the other boy was also watching them – the one the girl had called Jay. Presumably he was her boyfriend – so then why was he staring so intently at the other girl?

Miss-Labelled Part 3

 

Roy tried unsuccessfully to blink one of the heavy false eyelashes from his eye as the room continued to swim around him. How had he got so drunk so fast?! He had never been a lightweight... He closed his eyes in an attempt to concentrate and made a throaty snorting sound. He couldn't even remember how he got back up to the hotel room...

“Hot!” Said an amused male voice, and Roy's eyes shot open. A broad chested man stood at the end of the bed, his shirt unbuttoned and his pants absent to reveal a partially tented pair of boxers. The man smirked. “You know, we've worked together for years, and only today do I feel like I am getting to know the real Topaz? You're full of surprises!”

“I am?” Roy groaned as became aware of two vital facts. Firstly, he was naked but for the lingerie set he had picked out to go under Topaz's slutty gym outfit. It was a complicated piece full of snaps and fastenings, was uncomfortable as hell and had taken an age to get on. Secondly, he felt hornier than he ever had in his life. Not the kind of desire he was used to as a man, where the need to fuck was focussed to a point on the epicentre of his cock – but rather a heat that burned from within him like the sun. It was drowning, melting and flying all at once. He started to gasp for air but it just furthered the feeling that his body was trying to turn itself inside out – or rather Topaz's body, and he let out a deep moan.

“Aren't I the lucky one...” The man grinned. “And to think I wouldn't even be here if Roy hadn't taken off so suddenly and the company needed to send a replacement. I mean, I'm sure that new job in France is a great opportunity for him...but no way will the perks be this good...” Roy groaned again and groped his tits. Somewhere in his foggy brain, he knew the man had just said something significant, but all he cared about in that moment was getting off. He began to rub his hot skin and the man took it as an invitation to join him on the bed. As Roy caressed his soft spray-tanned arms, he knew there was something he should remember about them... Something he'd done? Trying to think made his head hurt so he tried to move his hands elsewhere, instinctively moving towards his lace panties – only the man was already there. Together they pulled them down as far as they would go against the stocking straps. The cool air-conditioned hotel room felt amazing against the heat of his exposed sex and Roy felt himself start to drool. This didn't feel right, but he was helpless to deny his body what it needed. In the mistiness of his alcohol riddled brain, a sudden thought hit him.

“Where's Topaz?” He moaned, but the man wasn't listening. He only pushed Roy face down on the bed and with strong hands on his hips began to line himself up. It didn't matter where Topaz was, Roy soothed himself. He would have his revenge once he had sobered up. But already his thoughts were drifting away again with his desires. His body was thrumming. He was panting.

“You know? I would never have guessed you'd be into this.” The man said he pressed his cock on Roy's now dripping pussy. “I probably would have guessed you were a lesbian.” He slid into Roy until his balls slapped against Roy's bloated ass, smiling at the sounds of pleasure it ripped from its recipient. “It just shows, you never really know who someone is on the inside...”

Miss-Labelled Part 2

 

Roy gazed into the bathroom mirror of his hotel suite with a kind of manic glee. The waxy sheen on Topaz's face filled him with dark satisfaction and this was just the beginning. The idea had come to him as he had been sitting at the hotel bar on that first night contemplating how he would avenge his non-binary colleague once he got his body back at the end of the weekend. Mulling over the implied lesson of understanding what it meant for your outside appearance not to match who you were inside, it had struck him like a bolt of lightning. What if he didn't have to wait until he got his body back? He was at the biggest nutrition and cosmetic supplement convention in the country – he could make the body he had right now into whatever he wanted, and Topaz would have to live with it when he returned it.

The beauty stalls had been his first port of call. There had been countless stands performing procedures and giving out samples and within hours, Topaz's lips had been injected with filler to practically bursting point and their face contained more botox than a Hollywood retirement home. He even found a stall offering collagen butt injections – not even bothering to go into the privacy area, he hiked up his dress for the blushing nurse to pump a bumper dose of the fluid into his loaner ass. The best part was that the treatment boasted to increase in volume over a matter of months, meaning Topaz's ass would keep growing and they would never understand why.

Once Roy had Topaz's body looking considerably more slutty, he went in search of other ways to ruin their life. Unexpectedly, he found it in a section of the main hall dedicated to helping women going through menopause. Libidox was a brand new treatment that worked similarly to a birth control implant in that once injected into the patient's arm, it released regular micro-doses of hormones that in the case of Libidox increased the recipient's sex drive. It didn't matter that Topaz was not menopausal since Libidox operated on such a tiny dose that it only had a minor impact. However, Roy was able to find three separate stands offering the implant as a trial, and once the reps occupying the stalls swapped shifts, he went round again. It was only once he had 18 implants in various spots in his arms that he decided it might be unsafe to continue. He didn't want to kill Topaz after all – just release the slut from within. The best part, the micro-doses wouldn't kick in for around 24 hours, by which time he would have long vacated the bitch's body.

Roy knew he ought to feel ridiculous – bleach barely having left his hair and the spray tan hardly dry on his glassy stiff skin, but revenge was too sweet. It was the morning of the final day of the convention and he was about to introduce the world to new and improved Topaz. The outfit he had picked out from a stall selling alternative fitness wear was the final touch – shiny black spandex of the leggings squeezing Topaz's freshly enlarged ass like a ripe piece of fruit. In around 12 hours the hormone implants would start to kick in and the transformation to whore would be complete. By then, Roy would have his co-worker's body well on the way to being drunk to ensure whoever was wearing the 'Topaz' nametag was going to have a night for the ages – and it damn well wasn't going to be him...

Miss-Labelled Part 1

 

It was only the first night of the Annual Nutraceuticals Convention but already the hotel bar was filling up. Roy sat on a high leather stool, carefully folding one leg over the other so he didn't flash his underwear from underneath the micro-dress. His phone and a suitably feminine cocktail sat on the bar in front of him, along with the source of his predicament – a convention nametag on a lanyard with 'Topaz' printed in bold lettering.

“You've got tits for fuck's sake! You're a woman!” When Roy had yelled those words earlier that day at his co-worker, he never thought they would be repeated back to him just hours later. The Annual Nutraceutical Convention was the biggest event in the SuppTech calendar, so when Roy was selected as one of two representatives from the company to attend, he was beyond excited – not least because he was going alongside Topaz, his ultra-hot colleague. Naturally, he assumed the first rule of work conventions – they would sleep together before the weekend was over. Things hadn't got off to the best start, however, as when he tried to flirt and hailed Topaz the hottest woman on the sales team, with a displeased glare, Topaz had declared they were non-binary. “You're shitting me!” Roy had doubled down. “Topaz is a precious stone, right? Like Ruby...Sapphire...JADE!! Hell, I even dated a hippy chick at school called Moonstone!” Needless to say, Topaz hadn't been enamoured by his efforts.

Things only went downhill from there. Their awkwardly silent train journey to the convention was extended by delays and by the time they eventually reached the hotel, they were the last two to arrive – their name badges the only two remaining in the welcome area of the lobby. Roy hurriedly grabbed one of the badges and something akin to static electricity sparked through his body. He stood frozen for a second until he sensed someone standing next to him at the table. To his amazement, he turned and saw himself standing there holding a badge with “ROY” printed in bold. He glanced down at his own badge and while he saw that it did indeed read “Topaz”, it was the fact it was clutched between slender fingers that he did not recognise that held his attention. What the hell?! He muttered in Topaz's lilted voice. He reacted quickly, but not quickly enough, reaching desperately for the tag bearing his own name only for it to be held out of reach by his own body. He tried again but Topaz manoeuvred Roy's much stronger body expertly to keep him at bay before threatening to do something that would ruin his reputation forever if he persisted.

“You've got tits for fuck's sake! You're a woman!” The words, spoken in his own voice, went around and around in Roy's head as he sat at the bar. He would get Topaz back for this! Once he had his nametag...once he had his body back, he would have his revenge. He knew they were trying to teach him a lesson, buying the mini-dress and heels – with Roy's own credit card. Something about gender identity and being made to behave and appear different to the person you were inside. But Topaz had promised if he followed instructions, he would get the nametag, and presumably his body back at the end of the weekend – and he didn't need to learn a lesson. He already knew who Topaz was on the inside. They were...she was a bitch. Sure, he would need to spend the next 36 hours with tits – but he would have the last laugh...

Picture Perfect

 12/25

The shutter snapped closed with a click as another picture was taken, and Liam shuddered, knowing that another layer of what remained of his identity would soon be removed. The photograph would be perfect, of course – to the observing eye anyway. They would see a beautiful young women, her tongue stuck out playfully, round breasts pushed out in a cute red bikini, old fashioned camera clutched in one carefully manicured hand and pointed at the mirror – a vacation snap, maybe... To Liam it may as well have been a mugshot taken right before he was hauled off to prison for a crime he hadn't committed.

When discovered, the camera had seemed like quite the find. Like buried treasure, it was hiding between garments and various other knick-knacks on a shelf at the back of Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly, an new vintage store on the edge of town. As an amateur photographer, Liam had always wanted a film camera, and so the Canon seemed like the perfect find. He had grabbed it at once and carried it to the counter, where he had shoved some bills into the hands of a tall dark woman and, unable to believe his luck, taken his prize home.

Liam's luck hadn't lasted long. Once a film canister had been loaded, he took his first picture of the same thing any young photographer uses for their first snap – himself. As soon as the shutter closed for the first time, there was an odd jolt that travelled up his arm to his head. It was as if something had been transferred into him – a thought, an idea...a compulsion. He had instantly taken another picture. By the end of his impromptu shoot, he had used the entire file, and oddly in the later pictures he had been wearing lipstick.

But the camera hadn't been satisfied. With every new selfie Liam took, the need to look more feminine grew. It was not a want – he did not desire to be a woman. It was a need. With every photograph, the camera was compelling him to look more perfect...more female. Liam was merely its helpless model.

Lip-filler followed, as did hair extensions, but the camera wanted more. Liam found himself buying women's clothing, and then wearing it. When he didn't fill it out, the camera insisted its puppet get breast implants and start taking hormones that would reshape his entire body. In six short months, Liam was transformed from nerdy photographer to someone who looked born to be the other side of the lens.

Liam tried to put down the camera, but he knew by now it was no use. He felt one of his French tipped fingers needle the top of his red bikini briefs and then stroke the final remaining piece of his male form, albeit shrivelled by the rounds of hormones. 'Not that', he groaned to no-one, but he knew it was futile. His other hand reached out for his phone as if guided by marionette strings, and he watched in horror as it began to type “bottom surgery” into the search engine.

Whatever Happened to Brett? (Empathy Training)

 Original caption is here 

Touch ups! That's what Cynthia called them. Minor but vital corrections when the product wasn't quite right. Since his empathy training ten years ago, Brett had suffered through numerous of these touch ups and he was starting to hate how easily he could slip into character whenever his boss felt the need to punish his behaviour.

It was reaching the point where Brett felt the need to force his resistance to his female alter ego. It was humiliating that it had almost started to feel like part of him. That was why he was sitting up ramrod straight on the stool in the space Cynthia used as both her office and studio surrounded by photography and lighting apparatus. The leather leotard was a recent addition to his boss's wardrobe. Over the years, her tastes had shifted from shiny latex to other styles and Brett found that these always seemed to be extended to the collection of clothing used on him. The material clung to him as tightly as rubber ever had and he was restricted to short quick breaths.

“What you're feeling right now,” Cynthia told him sternly, “is something akin to what a bride will experience while she is cinched into her wedding corset. Maybe this will teach you to have a little patience.” She sighed. “With the amount of chances I have given you in your career, I would have hoped some of it may have rubbed off on you by now.” Brett would have laughed if it had been possible to catch his breath. She knew nothing of his patience. The countless humiliations he had put up with over the last decade knowing that the old bitch's retirement had to be just around the corner... And, finally, if the rumours he was hearing were true, it was finally here. “If it isn't too much to ask,” Cynthia continued, “do you mind trying to be professional for the next few minutes at least?”

The older woman whistled through her fingers and Brett sat up even straighter as the door to the studio began to open. The layers of cosmetics on his face resisted as he tried to adopt a neutral expression – Cynthia had really gone all out with the makeup this time. Brief panic flashed through him as a young woman, presumably another future bride, entered the room. The leather leotard was not only tight around his torso and he couldn't remember whether he had tucked, so he quickly wrapped one of his boot clad legs over the other – realising too late how humiliatingly feminine his pose was.

“Annabel, this is Brett. My brilliant but totally obnoxious wedding photographer. Without him, this company would not have had half the success it has had over the past ten years.” Cynthia paused just long enough for Brett to blush with surprise as the young guest looked at him with wonder. “However, without these occasional 'touch-ups' to correct his behaviour, Brett would have got us sued so many times that there would be no company. I suggest you continue them.” She stopped again to drink in the confusion on the photographer's face as his painted lips parted and his brushed eyes popped wide. “Brett, this Annabel, my niece. She will be taking over my role at the studio starting next month. I trust you will treat her with the respect you show me and not that you show our clients. To make sure, I will be showing her the ropes over the coming weeks...”

Birthday Blushes Part 3

 

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

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

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

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

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

Birthday Blushes Part 2

 

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

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

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

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

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

Birthday Blushes Part 1

 

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

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

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

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

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

Topless

 11/25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever Happened to Paul? (Sharking)

 This one is such an old one - Original Caption

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

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

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

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

Lara Lake's Last Lament Part 2

 10/25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Belle Ringer Part 3

 

Sometimes plans just play out perfectly. Todd wouldn't describe himself as lucky – he had just spent the last year being crafted into his sister's extremely feminine trojan horse after all, but the beauty pageant itself had been a huge success. Sure, he had spent the evening in a seemingly endless procession of humiliating outfits – his sister had been stationed backstage to help him change between rounds from the pink dress he had started in to a black one-piece bathing suit that left nothing to the imagination except his expertly tucked manhood, then another figure hugging spandex outfit for his pole-dancing performance in the talent round, and finally an outrageously sexy red dress that put end to any debate on whether Lauren had been adding hormones to his food throughout the year. Twelve months of practice at girlhood positioned Todd well in the contest and he could now walk in heels, twirl and flick his hair on instinct, but it was the talent round where things really came together.

Todd and Lauren's sabotage from the night before found the girl with the juggling clubs striking herself in the face during her performance after misjudging the flight of one the batons. By the time she came out for the final round, a heavy black welt had started to form around her eye. There were similar fates for the girls dancing with the hoop and the roller skates causing another girl to need crutches to walk out for the finale. In contrast, Todd expertly used months of classes to gyrate and twist suggestively around the pole. Of course, it was degrading and he wanted the stage to eat him whole every time he stuck his ass out, but at least he got through it unmamed. By the time it came to the judges' final decision, there was only one realistic challenge to his crown and it eventually fell on the town's mayor to split the decision. Todd actually squealed with delight as his lapdance from earlier in the evening came up trumps.

So then why after all that was he still wearing the sexy red dress from the final vote? And why, oh why, was he in the mayor's hotel suite? The time for Lauren to stand up and reveal their ploy had surely been immediately after the decision, when the crown sat on his head with the whole town watching. Yet here he was hours later with the winner's bouquet still clutched nervously in his hands having been whisked upstairs by the man he could now hear singing in the shower. Todd shuddered at the thought of his experience on the man's lap as the room's phone rang. Cautiously, he scooped up the receiver and heard his sister's voice. “Lauren,” he hissed. “Get me out of this. What are you doing?!”

“Hush!” She cooed. “Just let this play out a little longer. The town is already ours – their precious beauty pageant has just been won by my brother in a dress. But, I want that sleaze-ball mayor to pay personally. He tried to molest me and then kicked me out when I refused. I want my revenge and you will help me get it. Just get him in a compromising position and I will run in with a camera.” She hung up just as the mayor walked out of the bathroom with his gown open. Todd forced a demure smile as he wondered how far Lauren would let things go before she intervened. Based on the last twelve months, his hopes weren't high...  

The Belle Ringer Part 2

 

The club was unrecognisable from the night before. The long shadows and dark corners were gone and the whole room was now lit up like a carnival with streamers hanging from the ceiling and colourful balloons littering the dance-floor. Todd, on the other hand, still resembled the knockout blonde he had been yesterday. Lauren had picked out a cute pink dress for him made of a stretchy faux-woollen material with matching gauntlets and a soft-satin skirt. It was sickly in its sweetness and Todd had wanted to vomit the first time he saw it. Parading himself in front of the whole town while wearing it was certainly going to be an ordeal. He had mentally dubbed it the last dress he would ever wear before Lauren reminded him that the beauty contest would feature several costume changes. Still, he was nearly free. Finally...

“In there...” Lauren eased him away from the main festivities where the stage was still being prepared and towards a quieter room with few people and a bar. “There is still work to be done to make sure you win tonight...to make sure we win tonight... I have spent the last year turning you into hot shit, but remember, this is a beauty contest – and beauty is in the eye of the beholder!” She pushed Todd into the room and remained outside. He scanned the bar area's few occupants and immediately knew what he was here to do. A sick feeling formed in his stomach.

“Well, well, well...” An overweight man in a tie belched from a seat next to the bar. “If it isn't one of tonight's hopeful starlets! Why don't you come over here and take a seat? ”Todd recognised the man as the town's mayor and more importantly, one of the evening's judges. He knew any wrong move would ruin everything and potentially end in Lauren ruining his life with that video of him smoking weed. Reluctantly, he tottered over in his bejewelled four-inch heels, feigning shyness by playing with a lock of his bleached hair, and began to sit in the seat next to the man. “I'm sorry, I seem to have given you the wrong idea...” The mayor smiled coyly. “I meant here.” He patted his lap with his free hand. Todd smiled politely and before he could chicken out, he lowered himself onto the man. “Oh, this is very nice...” The mayor chuckled and pulled Todd deeper into his lap. He could feel the soft material of his skirt riding up and before he knew it, only the silk of his panties separated him from the man's lap. Two strong arms wrapped around his waist and something hard probed urgently between his asscheeks. “Very nice indeed.”

“I think I am starting to understand why you hate this town so much.” Todd muttered to his sister when he finally left the room. Shame at being so publicly degraded weighed heavy on him and a queasy feeling sat in his stomach. To think, after that, he still had to perform for the mayor and other judges like him. “I feel dirty doing that to get ahead. Hey, is that why you got disqualified last year? For trying to get an advantage like that?”

“No!” Lauren said coldly as she reorganised his skirt and brushed at his hair. “I was disqualified because I refused to do that...”

The Belle Ringer Part 1

“I still don't get it...” Todd muttered as he surveyed the darkness of the club around him, knowing that in just one more day it would be all lit up and he would be the central attraction. He played with a lock of his long blonde hair nervously. “If you hate this town so much, why do you want to win their annual beauty pageant so badly.”

“I see you are really getting into the dumb blonde persona...” Lauren sighed at her brother. “I'm not going to win their pageant – you are!” She chuckled as Todd blushed. It was truly something that after a year or this, she could still embarrass him. “I can't win. They banned me from competing, remember? But not you! Not my stupid pot-head brother. Just imagine how humiliated they will be when they find out that their tinpot bimbo parade was won by a guy. It will be the end of their stupid tradition! Even if you are hot...”

“But...” Todd began, but he had nothing. He knew by now when arguing with his sister was pointless. She had been preparing him for this for almost a year – a year of makeup, growing out and bleaching his hair, a year of walking in heels, a year of Lauren adding what he was sure were testosterone blockers to his food, a year leading up to tomorrow night. Lauren's creation was almost perfect – he was almost perfect - a cute blonde in a figure hugging white dress and legs to die for. He just needed to keep going for one more day and it would be all over. His year of hell would be over. All he had to do was make a spectacle of himself in front of the entire town. “But...what if I don't win?” He said finally.

“Oh, you're going to win!” Lauren replied confidently. “We both know how motivated you are. You hold up your end of this or that video I have of you and your friends smoking weed goes online and your college offer goes bye-bye. Besides have you seen yourself? Of course you have...” She waved her hand in a manner that implied Todd was hot and he blushed once more. “That said, we are here to remove all doubt.” She gestured to the nightclub around them. “This might be a club tonight but tomorrow its going to be pageant central and I just happen to know that a lot of the props are already here in preparation.” Lauren led him by the hand behind a curtain and sure enough there were boxes tagged with the names of several of the beauty queens. It quickly became apparent that they contained items relating to the talent portion of the show. Lauren immediately set about looking for ways to sabotage each of them – unscrewing part of a juggling slightly, bending a hoop, loosening the wheel on a roller-skate.

“Isn't that kind of dangerous?” Todd's heavily made up eyes flitted between his sister and the boxes.

“Not as dangerous as what will happen if you don't win tomorrow!” Lauren snapped. “If I were you, I would be more focused on your talent!” Todd blushed for a third and deepest time. Of course he was focussed on his talent. How could he not be? A year of pole dancing classes where you were the only guy left an imprint – even when everyone else though you were just another hot blonde in spandex...

 

Slot Shaming

 9/25

“Hey!” Gus spied the enormous figure of Bruno passing the open door of the surveillance suite and summoned him inside. Bruno sidled up behind his diminutive boss, who was perched on the edge of a stool like a budgie in front of a wall of monitors. Each screen depicted live footage of key areas of the casino's main floor. “Looks like Malone is up to his old tricks!” Gus tapped the central console. Bruno leaned in and then squinted, a puzzled look forming on his face. Malone was a notorious local swindler with a penchant for rigging slot machines, but the screen Gus was drawing his attention to showed an elegant young woman in a colourful form fitting dress sat at a row of slots.

“She's cheating?” Bruno frowned. His boss nodded and adjusted something on the screen's settings. The image changed and suddenly everything electronic within shot emitted a blue glow. “I see it.” Bruno exclaimed noticing the pistol shaped device in the woman's hand for the first time. “It's an electromagnetic trigger – exactly like the one Malone uses to stop the reels on the jackpot. But, I don't get it. Where is Malone? And who is the broad?”

“Watch.” Gus grinned like a Cheshire cat and dialled up the sensitivity of filter showing visible electromagnetic fields. Within seconds, the entire outline of the woman's body glowed blue like some kind of alien. “Do you see?” Gus asked. “It is some kind of realistic bodysuit device. That is Malone!”

“What the hell?!” Bruno's jaw dropped open. “But...he looks like a babe... Should I go grab him, boss?”

“Not yet,” Gus pressed his fingers together pensively. “First we send Bubbles.”

On the casino floor, Malone waved the magnetic device across the side of another slot machine and the siren of yet another jackpot rang out triumphantly. He grinned at the symbols all lined up and realised that this time he could see two of each. He blinked and then squeezed his eyes together. Even the facial muscles on this bodysuit felt real. It had been a convenient disguise - UltraReal bodysuits had vendors up and down the strip. Vegas was where people came to escape themselves after all. In his case, it was to escape his universally blacklisted face across every casino in town. He swayed on his stool and noticed for the first time that Bubbles the waitress had left him yet another gin and tonic. The high-roller treatment was nothing new to him, but that was seven now. Saluting his latest jackpot, he raised the glass to his plump lips as the room sloshed around him. A heavy, hairy hand fell onto his bare shoulder and spun him around. Through one half open eye he spotted a gold name-tag that read “Bruno”.

“Seems it's your lucky day!” the brute grinned cruelly. “Hurry!” He guided Malone up off his stool onto swaying legs. “You're due in the champagne room in five minutes. Lot's of horny guys just waiting for you to rub some of your luck off on them...”

Whatever Happened to the Hot House Part 1 (Hot House)

 The last time we saw Jared and the Hot House was in my four part series in Season 7. Here is a Part 4 but you can use the search functionality on the home page to find the rest.

All good things come to an end and Hot House was no exception. It wasn't that it stopped bringing in viewers – audiences were still lapping up watching Emi and her band of girls terrorize their five hapless sissies day and night. The problem was one of greed. The boys' torment made great television and yet the show's directors started to ask how they could make Hot House bigger and better – how could it make more money? The final nail was the news that the Network would be airing the lost Apprentits tapes in full and Hot House's lead showrunner chose to pull the plug so they could prepare a new show to compete. All of the show's remaining housemates were evicted early – with the show retaining the social media accounts of all of them, claiming them forfeited as a result of the show never properly ending. Essentially, there was no winner, so everyone was treated like a loser.

If Jared had thought things were tough the first time he left the Hot House, they were ten times worse the second time. Now, he had a pair of enormous breasts attached to his chest – the cost of re-entry when he had pleaded to be allowed back onto the show, and millions of people worldwide had seen him moaning like a common whore as Emi and her crew fucked him in the ass with their strapons. His implants had made him the house's favourite toy and the feeling was shared with the general public. Weeks after the show had officially ended, viral videos of him being ploughed from behind while the other sissies had their faces shoved into his tits flooded the internet. As you would expect, after their exit, there was no comradery between any of the sissies. None of them wanted to be reminded of their ordeal ever again. They wanted to disappear from the public eye and never come back. The tv show had kept their social media accounts and that was just fine. The difference for Jared was that he still had boobs – big ones.

With no income to speak of, desperation turned him to setting up a GoFundMe to raise money to pay for removal of the implants. His plight got plenty of public attention but next to no donations. Talk shows offered him air time to promote his cause but they insisted he do so as his feminised self.

“So...Jared...” The host addressed him as his eyes flitted over the studio audience. Everyone was staring at him. This was a mistake. Finally, his eyes settled on one of the cameras filming him. He could see himself in a screen attached to the device. The talk show's stylists had gone all out – glossy gaudy makeup made his eyes and lips look huge and the satin top he was wearing was squeezing his enormous tits to bursting point. The only thing that wasn't massive was the microskirt they had gleefully dressed him in. “So...” The host prompted once more to get his attention. “With a new season of Hot House on the way, and promising to be bigger and better, you must be getting some offers to return to the house? Surely, you have a figure in mind they would need to offer for you to join the Hot House for a third time?”