A Stranger Shade of Black Part 4

“You must know we've been tracking your movements for over a year, Strange.” Commissioner Gordon snapped as he put his identification back in his jacket. Behind him a dozen uniformed officers were poised for action at his faintest command and Hugo Strange appeared totally unphased. They were in his domain and he was behaving completely at home in the basement suite of the Inflatable Factory. Suited hoodlums were strewn across velveted sofas while women with improbably curves and vacant expressions served them drinks. In one corner a game of pool was underway, in another some men played cards, and a single lane swimming pool stretched the whole way down one side of the basement.

“Why, Commissioner, whatever do you mean?” Strange waved one hand dismissively. “This is just a facility for building mannequins. I swear everything is above board. Feel free to take a look around.” Gordon appeared to oblige, scanning the faces of everyone in the basement. He paused his gaze on each of the women in case any of them were Batman's cover, Mara Black. He had met the nannite created beauty just once almost a year ago, but she had certainly left an impression on him and he was sure he would recognise her if he saw her again. “If we do notice anything suspicious, however...” Strange continued, drawing the Commissioner's attention back to him. “You can count on me to alert you immediately. I imagine you need all the help you can get now that the Batman is absent.” Gordon opened his mouth to respond but both men were interrupted by the buxom figure emerging from the near end of the pool.

Batman felt the heavy breasts bulge at his chest as he pulled himself up the pool steps. His wet hair felt odd as it sprayed over his shoulders. The synthetic blonde fibres that had been sewn into his scalp just last week looked like the real thing but it was scenarios like this where the difference could still be felt. It had been what his mind had told him his body needed – an impermeable feminine perfection, just like the pink makeup that had been tattooed onto his filler shaped features. The eyes of the hoodlums were all on him, each studying the surgery enhanced curves that spilled from his silver swimsuit from every angle, and so he turned to where Strange was talking to a group of police officers. He saw Commissioner Gordon and while Batman knew he would not be able to will himself to communicate, his heart leaped with the possibility of being recognised.

Gordon sighed as he laid eyes on the last of Hugo Strange's mannequins. The ridiculous looking bimbo was not even worth a second look and he knew that trying to interrogate her on the possible location of Batman would be as hopeless as the rest of the mind-controlled women they had spoken to. He began to signal to the officers that they were leaving.

“Ah, commissioner,” Hugo Strange raised a finger. “On the topic of finding anything suspicious – there was one thing.” He whispered something to one of the hoodlums, who produced something from his pocket. “One of my executives found this in the factory. I haven't the faintest idea what it does or where it came from.” Strange explained, holding out the item – a small pipette-like device with a tiny cracked LED screen.

 

A Stranger Shade of Black Part 3

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A Stranger Shade of Black Part 2

 

Something was different – Batman could tell immediately. He had only had his nannite induced female body a short while and yet he already knew it well enough to know something had changed. But what was it? He studied his slender arms and then slowly raised his hands to his face. No that wasn't it, yet he felt...something – in the shrug of his shoulders, in the way his arms passed his chest... An idea formed and he swiftly grabbed the hem of his dress and pulled it up over his head in a single movement. His hands immediately grasped his breasts. They were different...larger...fuller... They were the change he had sensed, but was what had changed physical? Neurological? Chemical? Perhaps all three? He continued to massage his bust and alarm sparked deep in the back of his mind. Retrieving the nannite inducer from his discarded dress, a small pipette-like device with a tiny screen, he pressed it into his forearm. 'TRANSFORMATION BLOCKED – GENETIC TEMPLATE COMPROMISED.' Crap...

“Impressive, aren't they?” Batman's head whipped up to greet the figure that had just entered the room. Hugo Strange himself stood in the doorway, a grin plastered across his face. The nannite inducer fell to the floor and the display instantly reset so only the date showed. Batman was astonished to see that two months had apparently passed since he had infiltrated the Inflatable Factory. But how was that possible? It had been just a few days... “Well?” Hugo Strange prompted. “Do you like them?”

“What have you done to me?” Batman demanded calmly, allowing his arms to fall to his sides so that his new breasts were fully exposed to the villain before him. “And can it be reversed?”

“Reversed?” Hugo Strange chuckled. “My dear, there is nothing to reverse. I haven't done anything to you...not to your breasts anyway. You did that. I merely gave your brain a problem it desperately needed to solve. That's the fascinating part of this new project of mine. The transformation isn't imposed on the victim...sorry, subject – the subject's own neurological architecture demands the changes to accommodate the suggestions it has been receiving. That part was me admittedly...” Strange held up his hands in mock guilt. “But I assure you, my Dear, it was you who scheduled and went through with the addition of those splendid implants. The body is surprisingly cooperative. Give the mind a sufficiently convincing reality and the body eventually stops asking questions.” He paused and studied Batman thoughtfully, who was watching him like a hawk about to strike its prey. “May I make an observation? You're remarkably composed for a young woman who has just found out she is being mind-controlled into a life as a bimbo.” He looked Batman up and down from his stockinged legs to his long glossy hair and back again. “You've no doubt noticed the tattoos too and yet you say nothing. You are calculating. Fascinating! Most of my mannequins have begged for mercy by this stage..you just look like you want to destroy me. Well, you should know...” Hugo turned to leave the room. “The question is not 'can you stop me?' It is can you stop yourself transforming yourself before there is nothing of what you began with that remains. 'Mara Black', wasn't it? I think I am going to enjoy watching your journey!”

A Stranger Shade of Black Part 1

 

“You know it's unsettling – talking to you like this.” Commissioner Gordon took a sip of his scotch to settle his nerves. “In all the years we've known each other, this is the first time I have ever seen you without a mask. I've spent years wondering what you look like and now here we are. I just always assumed the circumstances would be...less complicated.” He gazed across the table at the beautiful woman sat opposite him. “So, Batman, why don't you introduce me to your cover?”

“I'm a reporter!” Batman replied matter-of-factly. He paused, two perfectly manicured hands clasping an unsampled glass of white wine while his eyes scanned the restaurant around them. Gotham's best and brightest were out in numbers enjoying fine-dining, oblivious to the fact they were in the same room as the caped crusader. Batman turned his head to check the entrance and then back to the door to the kitchen.

“Well, you're still doing the Batman thing anyway.” Gordon sighed. “The brooding staring... At least as a reporter you'll have an excuse when you start interrogating everyone.” He tilted his head trying to hide the fact he was drinking in his companion's high-cheekbones and delicate chin. “Looking like that, few people will object to your interrogation.”

“The disguise is functional.” Batman stated flatly. “It will serve its purpose. Hugo Strange has reopened the Inflatable Factory. Young women are going missing and reappearing months later with hugely modified appearances and strong suggestions of mind-control. Strange clearly has a facility somewhere – a large one judging by the number of women going missing, but as Batman I have been unable to locate it. That's why I have used nannite technology to temporarily adopt the persona you see before you. As 'Mara Black' I will be able to access information the Batman would not. The tech may be cutting edge but the mission is not – find facility, destroy facility, apprehend Strange, leave.” He turned back to the table. “And, Commissioner, you are the one who is staring.”

“You may not have noticed Batman, but everyone in the restaurant is staring.” Gordon chuckled. “These nannites of yours have done fine work. 'Mara Black' as you call her is certainly easier on the eye that the cape and boots. I suspect Hugo Strange won't need asking twice to make you one of his 'Mannequins'.”

“Hugo Strange is about to become Arkham's newest resident.” Batman narrowed a pair of perfectly plucked eyebrows. Make no mistake, I may look like this, but I remain as formidable as ever and I will stop at nothing to turn this Inflatable Factory into a crater.” He stood from his seat and pushed the full glass of wine into the center of the table. “And., Commissioner? Everyone is actually staring at you. They think you are here cheating on your wife!”

On Her Mistress's Private Service

 24/25

Detective Pam Larsson snapped her latex gloves on. “Tip came through this morning. Neighbor noticed a housekeeper who didn’t add up. New girl. Never leaves. Always dressed the same. Thought it was weird enough to call it in. Almost certainly one of the Governess’s.”

A uniformed officer led them inside. The homeowner, a red-faced man in a crisp polo, bristled. “This is ridiculous. That girl is my housemaid. Paid cash up front to an agency.”

Finn ignored him, eyes snagging on the figure dusting the mantelpiece. She moved slowly, deliberately, like a doll, her black uniform pristine. “Good afternoon,” she intoned hollowly. “May I refresh your tea?”

Lowering his voice, Finn stepped closer. “Miss… can you tell us your name?”

The maid tilted her head. Her painted lips twitched. For a second her eyes glazed, fogged over. Then, mechanically bright: “My name is Lydia. May I refresh your tea?”

Pam approached, inspecting closely. Faint puncture marks on her arms betrayed hormone injections. A brass necklace rested against her throat: Property of M.G. Pam’s stomach sank. She mouthed to Finn: Miss Governess. “Lydia,” Pam said gently, “who gave you that necklace?”

The maid’s porcelain smile cracked. “Mistress gave it. She said… to wear it always. To keep me safe.”

“Does Mistress visit you here?” Pam pressed.

Lydia’s lips trembled, her eyes flickered, then her expression snapped back into doll-like cheer. “Mistress is everywhere. Mistress sees through me. Mistress knows when I am good.”

Pam watched Lydia’s trembling hands, then looked to Finn. An idea — terrible but brilliant — formed. “We can’t use her. She’s too far gone. She can’t improvise. The Governess would see right through it.”

Finn frowned. “So what then? Surveillance? Wait until the Governess strolls in here with a shopping list?”

Pam flipped the brass tag over in her gloved hand. “We insert someone new. Someone she doesn’t know. Someone who can pass as ‘in training.’”

Finn’s jaw dropped. “You want me to become...that! And hope she comes knocking?”

Pam’s eyes never wavered. “Not hope. Plan. Dress you, condition you just enough to pass her tests, but with safeguards — hypnosis resistance, controlled dosing, signal trackers. You’re bait — bait she can’t resist.”Pam leaned closer, lowering her voice. “It’s the only way we get close before more guys disappear. You know it.”

Finn glared at the painted doll curtsying in the corner. Finally, he muttered, “You’d better not enjoy this too much.”

Pam smirked faintly. “Oh, I absolutely will. But only because it will work!”

Whatever Happened to Alistair? (More Than Capable)

 This is a Flashback Friday for More Than Capable.

“Alistair isn't here right now,” Glenda Patton spoke curtly into the phone receiver. “He's off living the good life, or as good as you can being terminally unemployed anyway... He's day drinking with his friends somewhere – all financed by me, his mother, of course. That boy hasn't had a job in years. I swear he'll be sponging off me until the day I leave this mortal coil.”

“Well, I am calling from an agency he worked for a couple of years ago.” A woman's shrill flustered voice came down the phone. “I believe it was a convention... Anyway, we have a major new client that we need to provide staff for and I am just going through a list of everyone associated with our past campaigns to see who is available. Only...” The woman paused uncomfortably. “Well, this is a little odd. I am calling people who worked this particular convention because our client has some rather specific requirements for their staff. It puts me in a rather tricky situation but employment law prevents me from openly discussing what they are – just to say Alistair isn't typical of the rest of the former employees I have called from this list...”

“Now listen here, lady!” Glenda snapped. “My son Alistair may be many things – lazy, entitled, not to mention frequently inebriated, but one thing he is not is a moron. If your client has special requirements, he is more than capable of meeting them as well as any one else on that list of yours. You stop your fussing and email me over the form for that job of yours and I will have my son ready to start next week!”

A week later and Alistair was attempting to force a determined smile onto to his face. The makeup helped hide his real feelings, but the name-badge that hung at his hip betrayed him by embarrassingly displaying his regular male appearance and a facial expression that better represented how he felt about his mother once again getting him a job where he had to dress as a woman all day. 'She-Hub' was a new tech franchise in town that had just bought all remaining stores from another failing company, and while they couldn't officially only hire women, their marketing gimmick was that everyone who worked in their stores looked like an absolute babe – even guys who had been forced to apply by their overly pushy parents.

Alistair tapped in the password on his tablet as he strode towards a group of guys eyeing up some gaming laptops. He could already tell they were the kind that would make jokes about his 'software' and ask how RAM he could take and he sighed knowing how much of his legs were showing from under the tiny skirt. Nothing had ever come of his basketball career but he still had the the long limbs that made the uniform look like little more than a belt. He reminded himself to take care when bending as these were definitely the sort of guys who would try to sneak a peek. For once he was grateful for the thick glossy pantyhose he had to wear. He smiled at the man who appeared to be the one looking to make a purchase and his stomach seethed with humiliation. He hated leveraging his sexuality to make sales but if he was ever going to land a job in this economy where he didn't have to wear heels, he would need the sales figures to back it up.

Career Progression Part 4

 

“I said a Vanilla Ice Latte, you stupid Piggy Bitch!” Sara screamed in Michael's face – the coffee container she had just sipped from in her hands. “This is a Vanilla Iced Frappe!” She howled as she flung the cold liquid straight in his face, leaving him to watch his former teammate now co-tormentor stomp back to her desk. Michael took a moment to close his eyes and try to calm his nerves. He knew he didn't have to worry about his makeup running – Steph had taken him to get permanent stuff applied the second the ink was dry on his new contract, but the ice cubes were unpleasant as they ran down the front of his dress.

“Don't just sit there, you Piggy idiot!” Steph yelled from the doorway of her office and across the open plan space where he was attempting to fulfil the team's drinks order. “Get me those papers from the copier. If I have to ask you again, we'll be adding more piggy parts to go with your nose and udders – maybe some ears...or a tail?” Michael shuddered at the reminder of his nose...or snout. He hadn't tried to take it off yet, wasn't even sure he could, but from the glee on his boss's face as she applied it over his nose that morning, he suspected it was at least semi-permanent. The boobs had been there longer – almost a week now, a silicone breast plate draped around his neck by Steph as she dressed him in his new uniform on his first day. He couldn't feel anything with them of course, but they looked real enough and right now the liquid seeping between them was cold enough he could feel it through to his satin underwear. “Now, Piggy!” Steph commanded and Michael turned towards the copier. Days earlier, Steph had gathered the team around it while introducing him as their new team dogsbody, or pigsbody, and then proceeded to force him to make photocopies of his own butt in front of everybody. Afterwards, he had gone around pinning up the printed sheets on every flat surface in the office so everyone could get a good view of his backside with Steph's name scrawled on it in red lipstick.

“I am so glad Steph got that job instead of you!” Sara was back and following at his shoulder as he crossed the office. “I just know you would have been one of those creepy bosses.” Michael felt her hand snaking under the hem of his dress – a new outfit Steph had supplied on his first day that pinched and squeezed him in all the worst places. Sara's fingers fumbled with the top of his underwear in a way that left him vaguely excited – at least until her intentions were revealed, a monstrous wedgy that lifted his dress up over his waist so that the entire office could see the tops of his panties pulled up to his armpits. He returned miserably and painfully to Steph's office with the papers in hand.

“Good news, Piggy!” Steph looked pleased. She held her hands behind her back and had a warm grin on her face. “It's pay day! You know what that means!” She pulled her arms into view and Michael gasped as he saw the large wooden paddle in her grip.

Career Progression Part 3

“So, what we're going to do now is record a video to support your application.” Steph spoke slowly and deliberately as if Michael was a total idiot. “Remember, it's still up to you what goes to Human Resources. I'm more than happy to forget all of this and send your search history instead.” She paused as if in anticipation he would opt for this though she knew full well he wouldn't. They were well past that. By now, Michael was clay in her hands for moulding. She had known this as soon as he allowed her to lead him between the cubicles of the open plan office still dressed in his ridiculous disguise. Sure, he had put on that outfit and had surely expected to fool his co-workers as well as his new manager, but when Steph attached a spare leash she had in her bag for her dog and led him past his colleagues on his hands and knees, it removed all illusion that Michael had any agency in his situation.

“What am I supposed to do?” Michael stammered from his position on the podium. Steph had taken them to a special room the company used for press conferences and creating marketing materials. It was equipped with a full camera rig and stocked dressing room, which she had gleefully raided to upgrade Michael's outfit. She forced him to change in front of her, replacing the old stockings with glossy new pantyhose, and the pink satin dress with a patterned pinafore style dress that rode up on his ass. Once she had added the wraparound ballet pumps and glitzy costume jewellery, she set about perfecting his makeup and adding a longer, darker, glossier wig. Michael felt like the kind of fantasy he had lusted over that had got him in this situation in the first place.

“You shut up and listen, you sissy bitch!” Steph scowled. “You do exactly as I say! Now take those prop roses and look into the camera. Repeat after me...” She adjusted the equipment to make sure it was pointed directly at Michael and recording. “I was born to be a sissy bitch.” She paused. “Say it?!” Once she was satisfied he had repeated what she said, she continued. “It is in my DNA. I am worthless. I am pathetic. I was born to serve, to grovel. My lips were made for my mistress's ass. Its taste is all I need to motivate me to perform her every wish.” Steph raised an eyebrow as if remembering what had taken place in her office. “I wish to remain in the company in this new capacity. I surrender all existing privileges and responsibilities for the sake of serving my mistress's backside as her sissy piggy slut.” Steph shut off the camera with a cruel smile.

“You're really going to send that?” Michael asked. “Please tell them not to show it to anyone.”

“Show it to anyone?!” Steph looked confused. “I don't care if they show anyone. Everyone will know exactly what you are when you are serving my ass for the next five years.” She watched his face break into confusion and then abject horror. “What? Did you think this was all a joke? A cheap way to humiliate you for trying to find dirt on me? Let me make something clear, Piggy. When I was hired, I was told I could hire whomever I wanted for my team in any capacity that I saw fit. That includes you. Your new life starts Monday!”

 

Career Progression Part 2

 

“Name of position applying for...” Steph read aloud from her laptop. “Sissy bitch,” she narrated as she typed. Sat at her desk, an old fashioned mahogany with a partition down the middle separating two stacks of drawers, she had kicked off her patent leather heels and was prodding her stockinged feet into Michael, who was now kneeling rather uncomfortably beneath the desk. Glancing down at the whimpering man, she stretched out a set of toes and forced them between Michael's painted lips and into his mouth. She smiled at the warmth on her big toe as he started to suck it. “What skills do you possess that make you ideal for this role?” She continued, and when no answer came she looked under the desk with a raised eyebrow and removed her foot from her sissy's mouth.

“Please...I'm sorry...” Michael began to titter but Steph immediately returned her toes to his mouth to silence him.

“I am truly pathetic.” Steph returned to typing at her keyboard. “No task is too degrading. I am ready to serve and fulfil any job my mistress assigns to me. I will do so in silence and without protest. I am spineless, weak and simpering.” Steph looked back under the table. “Isn't that right, you piggy bitch?” She removed her toes from Michael's mouth once more and extended them so that they were pointed straight up at the underside of the desk. The heel of her foot was now in his face and she offered it to him. “Tongue out!” She demanded, and after a second's hesitation, Michael obeyed. Once Steph was satisfied his tongue was extended far enough from his mouth, she began to move her foot slowly up and then down, giving him a long lick of her feet. “Next question.”

“Just let me expl...” But Steph's toes were back in Michael's mouth before he could finish the sentence.

“How do you expect to be compensated for you efforts in you new role?” Steph paused and tapped on the mahogany as she thought. “Ah, I need nothing more than the taste of my mistress's feet and ten swats across my bare backside while I am bent over her desk at least twice a week.” She typed and then looked curiously at Michael as if had been him that had actually answered. “Very brave of you considering I operate an open door policy in my office... Okay, one last thing. We need a photo to attach to your application.”Quick as a flash, she reached under the desk and grabbed Michael's ear, pulling him out. “Look into the webcam, sissy.” Completely broken, he obeyed but Steph was not impressed. “I am not quite feeling the urge to please.” She confessed. “Perhaps we need some method acting!” Michael was now out from under the desk but still on his knees and Steph rose from her seat and loosened the belt of her pantsuit. “Your photo needs to convey how much of a kiss-ass you are!” She explained as she lowered her pants and turned around. Michael puckered his lips but hesitated and Steph grabbed him by the back of the head and forced his face deep into her ass crack, slowly grinding up and down on it. “Now that's the level of bitch we need to come through in the photograph!”

Career Progression Part 1

 

“Did you really think I wouldn't know who you were?!” Michael froze in place as the office door swung open. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?” The woman he recognised from the Zoom calls as Steph glared at him from the doorway. Technically, this was her office and she was his new manager but he still thought of her as his stand-in – just someone keeping the boss's seat warm until management came to their senses. “You on the other hand,” she snapped. “I know all about you! And I bet I know what you are doing here too!” Steph strode towards his and suddenly his disguise was no longer a disguise at all. As she marched upon him in her towering leather heels and smart pantsuit, he felt every inch as pathetic as she surely saw him. He cowered, raising one pantyhosed foot above the other and the pink satin dress rose too so that it barely covered his pantied ass. In that moment he felt weak and pathetic and completely at Steph's mercy.

“It's not what it looks like...” Michael managed to force out the words. What did it look like? The new Regional Manager, a position that he had considered himself a shoe in for, had just walked in to find one of her employees snooping around her office dressed as...what?! A sissy?

“Is that wig from you collection?” Steph sneered and drank in the surprise on Michael's face. “Look, I might be an outside hire, and frankly I am seeing why this company went in that direction considering the pathetic specimen that were my competition, but since taking on this role I have been doing my homework. I have done background checks on everyone on my new team, including you Michael, you little shit.” Michael's stomach dropped as he realised where this might be going. “That included a full sweep of your activity on our company laptops. It seems you have some rather peculiar tastes in the kinds of websites you visit when you are supposed to be working. Piggysissies.com was a particularly memorable example.”

“You hacked my computer?” Michael looked outraged, even under the layers of makeup. “You can't do that!”

“It's not 'your' computer you moron. You might be working remotely but it's still company property – and given you fall under my authority, at least for the time being, the laptop and everything on it is my responsibility.” Michael's anger quickly melted away and was replaced by a look of horror. He was about to get fired. He new it. He had come into Steph's office looking for something, anything, to use against her and get the job that should have been his all along and it had backfired so badly that she had all the dirt on him that she could ever need. “Now, my stupid little sissy, we need to have a conversation with HR...but it is your choice what we say to them. Either we show them how you have been using our company property and spending you time on the clock...or we present to them a proposal for how you should be putting your particular skills...and passions to use.” Michael trembled before her, knowing he really didn't have a choice at all.

Lara Lake's Last Lament Part 3

 23/25

The conclusion to my Mannequeen story for a while. The first two parts were earlier in the season but you can find all my Mannequeen caps in order on my index page

By the time Lara realized she was moving entirely on autopilot, it was too late to stop. Each sway of her hips, each tilt of her head, each soft, gasping laugh was no longer an accident but an instinct implanted by the bodysuit’s design. She felt the heat pooling lower, a tightness around her chest, the subtle stretch of the synthetic skin shaping her curves into impossible perfection.

Her reflection in the mirror no longer belonged to the sharp, calculating detective she had once been. Every movement seemed exaggerated—hyper-feminine, deliberately seductive, utterly alien. Her body would betray her before her mind could command it.

Four months had passed since that night in Wesley Tanner's mansion. Four torturous months where she had lived as the Mannequeen's plaything – her taunting voice all the time inside her head as her body was cavorted around like a marionette at her captor's whim. The bodysuit didn't just control her – it WAS her. It was her every time she stood on a street corner, every time she got on her knees, every time she was reduced to a moaning cum-filled mess.

“Do you ever wonder...” came the voice in her head as she gyrated one night for a room of men at a bachelor party, “...if I am even still controlling the bodysuit at all? Maybe I don't need to any more? Maybe you've just truly become the whore I crafted you to be!”

Her hands drifted again, smoothing over the sash on her chest, down her the tops of the fishnets at her hips, under her tiny skirt trailing along the curve of her thighs. She gasped, a tremor of both horror and arousal passing through her. Her reflection in the mirrored ceiling was mesmerizing: the familiar eyes of Lara Lake trapped behind a body that was no longer hers, every feature exaggerated, perfected, primed for display.

And yet, despite the thrill, a shard of her old self screamed inside. She saw it in the reflection—fleeting, fleeting—but she also saw the golden-haired woman’s smile, approving, triumphant. Resistance was futile. She was still conscious, still aware, but the Mannequeen had her now, and there was no turning back.

“So, which one are we taking home tonight?” The voice was back as Lara gripped the shimmering stripper pole tightly and gazed out at the cheering punters – lights from the retro disco ball falling over them like snow. “One!? Sorry, I jest. Just thinking of the mess those drunken idiots are going to make of you puts be in a comedic mood.”

Lara breathed heavily as her body continued to betray her, and the mob reached fever pitch as she slipped a hand inside her panties.

Whatever Happened to Kirk? (Director's Cut)

 A Flashback Friday to the recent caption Director's Cut

“And that's when you say 'Oh, Grandma, what a big dick you have!'” Lorna explained with a deadpan expression. “And Grandma will reply, 'All the better to fuck you with, my Dear!'” Kirk wasn't sure if his blushing would be visible on the bodysuit but his cheeks burned all the same. Everything else about the bodysuit certainly felt like it was the real thing. Putting it on again had been like stepping back into a bad memory – one where he was double penetrated by two behemoths called Lance and Steve. Still, if this was how he got to see Lorna again, so be it...

“Grandma says that?” He asked dumbly, and this time he was sure his confusion was clear on the suit's face. He looked enough like a bimbo as it was...

“No...” Lorna rolled her eyes. “The Big Bad Wolf says that while dressed as Grandma. Haven't you ever read Little Red Riding Hood? Well, Little Red Riding Slut is basically the same except instead of eating Grandma, the wolf screws her doggystyle and cums on her face in the previous scene. By the way, I should have asked, you're cool fucking a guy in a wolf costume, right?” Lorna stood with her hands on her hips and looked the bodysuited Kirk up and down. Gone was the school-girl outfit from his last experience and in its place was what amounted to little more than lingerie and a red shawl. She sighed “What am I asking? Of course you are...”

“I guess...” Kirk stammered. And why not? He had come this far to be close to Lorna. What was another ten inches? Even if those ten inches were protruding from the groin of a man looking like bigfoot. His last experience in Lorna's studio had come as a result of him suspecting she was cheating on him. He had put on the bodysuit and sneaked in only to find she wasn't hiding another man after all, but rather a secret career as a porno director. However, his clingy behaviour hadn't stopped there and Lorna had soon grown frustrated, ending their relationship and telling Kirk to stay away from her. It was only as their romance was ending that he realised how much he needed to be with her. He tried calling but she blocked his number and when he knocked on her door, she threatened to get a restraining order. Then a week later as he was half crying half masturbating, he happened to see Lorna's name in the credits of the porno he had been watching and he realised there was still a way he could be around Lorna. It would just come with a cost.

“Remember...” Lorna ushered him towards the set and nodded to the prop basket of apples in his grasp. “The shiny ones are covered in lube. You will put one of those in your ass when you rub one out in the forest before entering Grandma's house. Don't forget to put it in with the stalk facing out so the Woodsman can pull it out before he fucks you. If you get it wrong, we'll have to start over. I'm sure you have it in you but our fans can tell when a gape has been pre-stretched.” Kirk shuddered. Hearing Lorna talk like this had left him turned on, which was probably for the best, yet he hated what he was about to do to be around her, to let himself be degraded like that...it was hard to justify – though he knew he would...

The Priestess

 22/25

The longer Lincoln stood next to the bar waiting for the rest of the drama club to return, the more he was sure he had been had somehow. The ruffled dress he wore was not particularly short yet he felt completely exposed and while the pantyhose had protected his legs from the cold winter air, they had done nothing to shield him from embarrassment. The rest of his outfit consisted of a sheer top with velvet cuffs to match the dress, a leather purse and painful leather heels. All of it plus the wig had been courtesy of the college drama club's costume closet and had been his fellow clubmates' vision of the Priestess – the card he had drawn from the tarot deck earlier in the night.

It was apparently a club tradition. At the end of the first college semester, all club members, no exceptions, would draw from a tarot deck blindly and whatever card they selected would serve as the basis of their outfit for the final big night out of the semester. Lincoln had of course drawn the Priestess, not only that but he had drawn it upside-down which, club rules stated, meant he had to remain in costume not just for the club party, but the wider college party that occurred immediately afterwards.

He had begged for a redo but Jean-Paul had pulled the deck away and clapped his hands gleefully while Harriet had beamed at him and started dabbing his face with an enormous makeup brush before the rest of the club had even finished having their turns. His peers had taken great joy raiding the costume closet for the perfect outfit and Lincoln had turned white upon seeing some of their offerings. They had pulled and primped and powdered him until he was barely recognisable in the ensemble he now found himself dressed in as he stood at a local bar.

Of course, none of the others had drawn their cards upside-down, and so when the club party ended at nine everyone else ran back to their dorms to shed their significantly less humiliating costumes. The Lovers, the Fool, the Hermit – all mild when compared to the embarrassment of attending the biggest night of the college semester in full drag. And now he was alone...

Lincoln thought he saw a familiar face slide through the revolving doors of the bar and relief flooded through him. Finally, he would no longer have to stand alone looking like a girl trying to get picked up. His heart went cold as he realised the person he recognised was actually one of his class professors – a department head no less. Lincoln didn't want to admit to such an esteemed figure who held at least a piece of his future in his hands that he was here in full makeup and a dress on some silly drama club lark.

“Well, hello there sweetheart,” the greying lecturer shot him a sly wink. “Buy you a drink?” Lincoln tried for a sweet smile and nodded demurely, his purse clutched defensively before him as he wished for the Earth to swallow him up.

Whatever Happened to Felix? (Trigger)

'Trigger' was my most popular ever story and was bound to get a Flashback at some point...and maybe more ;D The first four parts are on my index page but I will link the rest their shortly. Until then, just put "Trigger" in the site's search bar.

“You know...” Felix began as he leaned into the mirror to put the final touches on his lipstick. It wasn't a new shade for him, far from it – the soft red offsetting his long blonde hair and smokey eyes was by now his signature look, but it was the first time he had combined it with the suede corsetted dress and lace-up gloves and he was pleased with the results. He had been the eye-candy for Zoe's hypnotist show for eight years now – not that Zoe wasn't stunningly beautiful in her own right, and it was a constant battle to live up to the sexiness promised by the show's huge posters on the marquee. He pursed his lips in a sultry gaze. “I have been thinking...”

“Oh, how I hate it when you do that...” Zoe approached from behind and wrapped an arm around his cinched waist. “Think, that is.” The backstage dressing room was cramped and strewn with rejected outfit options and they could hear the excitement of the crowd building for tonight's show through the wall. “I didn't release your inner bimbo all those years ago for you to go all Confucius on me. I much prefer this side of you...” She used her thumb to turn Felix's chin and direct his mouth to her own for a deep kiss. Finally, when it was over, she smirked at her partner's hopelessly smudged lipstick.

“That's just it...” Felix continued pensively. “I remember you once telling me that the reason you were able to hypnotise me to be your...me, was that deep inside I wanted to be a bimbo all along. But, what about the people in our show? Last night you made a guy think he was ostrich. I am pretty sure he wasn't secretly a giant flightless bird...”

“Oh, my Sweet,” Zoe cackled wickedly. “You're thinking about it way too literally. I simply appealed to the repressed femininity in you. I didn't summon some kind of bimbo gene. And, you're right, that guy last night wasn't actually an ostrich, but he was naturally clumsy and awkward like a giant bird might be. It's subtle. There is a skill to reading people. I am watching the audience all the time, and when one of them comes on stage, I need to figure out what suggestions are going to take best.”

“Do you see more like me?” Felix asked nervously. “Bimbos...guys you can feminise?”

“Oh, my Dear Felicia...jealously is not a shade that suits you.” Zoe said plucking the lipstick from his hand and beginning to reapply it. “There's no-one quite like you. But...” She paused thoughtfully. “I admit, there are other ways. A guy doesn't necessarily need to have a hidden feminine side. You can get him in a dress by appealing to other things...like with the ostrich. Guilt for example – spot a guy clearly harboring some guilt and you can hypnotise him into thinking he deserves to be humiliated. Even better if the person he wronged is there in the audience with him. Those are the ones where it is fun to leave the trigger in place...” Zoe bit her tongue, realising the implications of her words. “That isn't what I did with you by the way.” She caressed Felix's cheek lovingly having completed fixing his makeup. “How about I show you tonight? We can find a guy in the crowd with a dirty little secret, and then make him pay with his dignity!”

The Apprentits Lost Tapes Part 6

 21/25

Celia had been blissfully unaware the whole time the throne had been completing its transformation. She had screamed in exaltation, bucking and grinding even as her ass was reshaped to bursting point, and moaned through her freshly inflated lips as the robotic arms continued their work. And then she was gone – wheeled away like the rest of them, onward to their new lives as whores and playthings. Only Angela remained, still strapped to her throne, silent but for the metal piercings thrumming away on her newly exaggerated tits and between her legs.

“The cameras are off now.” One of the latex clad members of Femnonymous announced without emotion. “We are done here.” No 'congratulations', Angela noted. No 'you are the winner' or 'thank you for helping set all this up and then foiling the escape attempt' – just 'we are done here'. Other amazons were gathering now too, yet none of them made any movement towards freeing her.

“So, that's it?” Angela stammered, her eyes flitting from one rubber suited figure to the next. “I can go home?” That was the least they could do, she thought. They should be rewarding her.

“Not quite...” The first woman said coolly. “You've been very useful, Angela. You were useful before the island. You were useful while you were here. And now...you will be useful after the island. We have a new assignment for you. One we think you will be very good at. Once a mole, always a mole, right?” The woman began to circle her. “We expect you to fill this role perfectly, and if you don't, there's always the chip to push you in the right direction.” Angela's blood ran cold. She had assumed she had been spared the compliance device given to the rest of the producers. “Of course, to complete this new task, we need to make sure you won't be recognised. You need to be perfect. Fortunately, we have just the thing...” Angela screamed and thrashed as countless robotic arms flowed out from beneath the throne to do Femnonymous's bidding...

Ten years had passed since her final transformation, and Angela was perched on the arm of a leather couch awaiting her husband's return from work. She knew it was a big day for him and he would be expecting a celebratory fuck and so she was dressed appropriately. The finale of the Apprentits Lost Tapes had been watched by millions and the Network had been resurrected. Bryce Murphy would be coming home a happy man – a happy, horny man who wanted nothing more than to pound his kinky young wife.

Bryce was predictable by now – they had been married nine years after all. But maybe he was predictable all along, and that was why Femnonymous had so easily crafted Angela into his future wife. But then again, he was a spoiled rich guy who made his fortune, and got off on, transforming gameshow contestants into glorified sex objects. Maybe the transformation of Angela into the ultimate sex object had been enough... The throne had crafted her into a walking wet dream and the compliance chip had done the rest, pushing her towards Bryce in a busy strip club – her enormous tits already out and the metal piercing thrumming busily. She had blown him and professed her love for him with the same collagen pumped lips that night, and after a whirlwind two months of 'romance' and debauchery, they had married.

The mole was in position and to make sure she stayed in position, the chip dictated that she be the perfect wife to Bryce. For ten years, she had been everything for him. Not only had she cooked and cleaned and kept their house, but she had been his own personal whore. Even a man of Bryce's sexual appetite was constantly amazed by what Angela was willing to do to keep him. She was almost permanently dressed in fetish wear such as the latex lingerie she now wore and would attend events with him wearing visible buttplugs or the occasional ballgag.

Their physical relationship was a nonstop zoetrope of new positions and sex acts that eventually involved Bryce bringing home other women to help fulfil his fantasies. One weekend he brought home Angela's former colleague and friend, Mandy, now a senior executive at the Network. She hadn't recognised Angela, of course, who now looked like a completely different person – her slim build now a curvy caricature, her small face now pouting and wild, and her formerly brown hair now long blonde and wavy – all thanks to the throne. Angela had joined Mandy on their knees as they sucked off Bryce in unison and Angela couldn't help but think this could have all been avoided if she had just got on her knees at a long ago Christmas party.

Bryce also got into the habit of taking her back to the strip club where they had first met and having her perform with the girls there. His favourite was a guy who had been a contestant on the Network's own Apprentits and had been transformed into one of the strippers when he was eliminated. Bryce loved watching him fuck his wife. It was as if his ultimate fantasy was seeing the man whose life his gameshow had ruined by turning him into a bimbo cuckold him with his own bimbo wife.

Ten years, thought Angela, ten fucking years. Ten years of degrading herself for Bryce fucking Murphy. Ten years of her clit vibrating. Ten years of threesomes with her best friend turned mortal enemy. Ten years of hell courtesy of Femnonymous's grand fucking plan of which she still had no knowledge. The chip was the only thing keeping her on their side now. Without it she would turn on them in a second. She wasn't with Femnonymous, nor the Network, nor Bryce, nor Mandy, nor the other producers, wherever they were... It was just her, and it was nearly her time...

“Angela!” A voice soothed in her head, and she realised it must be the chip. Femnonymous were using it to communicate with her. “It's time! The next phase starts now!”

Whatever Happened to the Husband? (And Now for Something Completely Sexy)

 This is a Flashback Friday for 'And Now for Something Completely Sexy'.

“Howdee, Folks, and welcome back to 'Digging for Gold'!” The endlessly charismatic Britt Bunting beamed into the television camera. “The show where you the public bring me your family heirlooms, your garage sale finds, or just the contents at the back of your junk drawer and I might just make you an offer for it. Remember, anything I don't buy will go to auction at the end of the show and all you lovely people at home will get a chance to be a golddigger just like me!” She drew her painted lips wider to show off a set of perfectly whitened teeth. “On today's show, we have Wilma! What treasure do you have for me Wilma?” The host turned to face her guest and the tall doll like figure that accompanied her.

“It is an old bodysuit.” Wilma gestured towards the glassy stare frozen on the figure's face. “I have been led to believe it is a classic and that only a small number of these were ever made. I put two and two together and figured it might be worth something. It's been in my family, and I suppose you could say my family has been in it, going on ten years now.”

“Well, Wilma,” Britt began in a sing-song voice. “Your instincts are in fact spot on. If I am not mistaken this particular model is a special edition produced by UltraReal Bodysuits in the mid-2010s called the...ahem...Stepford Slut 2000. A number rather higher than how many were actually produced. However, I don't believe these garments are from the original product.” She finished, indicating the latex bodysuit, suspenders and corset the bodysuit had been dressed in.

“Oh, no, that's just something my brothers were into a while back.” Wilma grinned. “Guys can be such perverts!” She said, swatting the bodysuit's rubber covered backside. “The hair is done differently too – a bit more feral than the pigtails they had me putting her in during their sexy schoolgirl phase...”

“I see...” Britt blushed and glanced nervously at the camera. “So, I take it that the bodysuit is still fully operational?”

“I should fucking think so...” Wilma snorted. “My good for nothing husband has been inside it for the last nine years. The only reason she's not moving right now is because she's in standby mode so we can do this interview. Otherwise, she would be trying to blow your cameraman right now. I'm sure you know this but the Stepford Slut 2000 turns its wearer into a wanton cum whore. Since my brothers got married and stopped banging her, she just sits around all day masturbating. It's annoying. She keeps stealing my hairbrush.”

“Right, well, I'm afraid if your husband is still inside there is no way we can accept him...er her into our auction today.” Britt stammered, urgently trying to get the camera crew to move towards the next waiting guest. Once the fated bodysuit and its wife/owner were well out of shot Britt turned back to Wilma and slipped her a card. “If you still want to sell, give this number a call,” she whispered. “There is an auction for everything – especially where your husband's...desires are involved...”  

The Apprentits Lost Tapes Part 5

 20/25

Angela and Celia watched in silence as the bimbofied form of Martin was wheeled away after his transformation on the throne. Each of them wondered what fate awaited him after he left the island – both their thoughts eventually drifting towards more selfish fears of way lay in their own futures. Once Martin was out of sight, two pairs of strong latex gloved hands grabbed each of the women and they were dragged forward towards the area where their former colleague had been transformed. To their horror, they saw there was now a second throne positioned facing the first. Was this it? They each feared as they were strapped in place. Was Femnonymous finishing it right here? Were they cutting their losses after the failed escape had surely ruined their farce of show and bimbofying them both, right here right now? And yet, once they were secure, the Amazons dressed in vinyl stepped back, leaving Angela and Celia to stare each other down. Angela narrowed her eyes – she hated this woman. She was an ambitious company girl...just like Mandy had been. Given the chance, it would have been Celia blowing Bryce Murphy for a promotion.

“You bitch!” Celia spat. “You whore! We were getting away! I know what you did! I don't know why, but I know what you did!” Angela ignored her and instead looked around for any hint she may be let free. They couldn't transform her, could they? Not after everything she had done... This only seemed to anger Celia further. “Is that it? You think they will spare you? Get real... You're going to get giant plastic tits like everyone else!” No sooner had the words left her mouth when Angela felt a whirring beneath her as the throne she sat on whirred to life. Two tube like arms deployed from below her and attached themselves to her bare breasts. Panic surged through her as an odd sensation, a weird thrum of building pressure, pushed into her chest from each of the appendages. They were inflating her like a balloon, she realised in terror. She was getting a boob-job in real time. She watched helplessly as her breasts swelled larger and larger until finally the arms detached themselves leaving her with a pair of cartoonishly large new tits.

“Holy shit!” Angela gasped and saw that Celia was staring at her with equal surprise but more than a little amusement. As she tried to come to terms with what had just happened, she noticed a light above Celia's chair extinguish and corresponding one light up above her chair. An idea flashed in her mind – was this how they were going to choose the winner? A game of 'Mercy'? She decided to test her theory. “Celia!” She hissed. “I'm sure yours are going to be even bigger!” Again, as soon as the words were said, the arms re-emerged – this time from Celia's throne. Angela watched wide-eyed as they attached themselves to her opponent's breasts and inflated them to absurd proportions. When they retracted, Celia was panting for breath but the light was again above her head, and she seemed to have noticed.

“So, that's the game, is it?” The ambitious young producer fixed Angela with a steely glare. “A good old game of chicken?” Celia seemed to take a moment to think before adopting a smug smile. “Those juicy new tits of yours – I think they need some decoration, They need piercing with something that never stops buzzing...never lets up...” Her eyes narrowed spitefully. “Your clit too while we're at it.” Angela desperately struggled against her restraints as the arms returned, along with a third that came from between her legs. Realising escape was futile, she instead tried to pull back from the devices that were each tipped with what looked like a needle. It was as if she was trying to pull herself down into the chair, but of course it was no good. At least the throne was fast. It was painful yet within seconds, the needles were retreating and Angela was three piercings richer. A steady thrum emitted from each of her private parts and she found herself unable to catch her breath. Heat was enveloping her – starting from her brand new enormous breasts and from between her legs and spreading across her entire body. Each of her exhalations was a tiny gasp...a tiny moan, as the little toys hummed away.

“Uh...” Angela cried softly, looking up at Celia to see she was grinning. She needed to end this now before that bitch got more of imagination. But how? Angela racked her brains for everything she knew about her opponent but she just kept coming back to that first day on the island when Chris and Jason had double teamed her after they had all got a dose of the aphrodisiac. Angela had won that game for her team by giving all their doses to Hannah. That was it?! “Celia, you're about to get as horny as you have in you entire life...as horny as Hannah was...” Angela thought hard – she needed something more. “...and every time someone touches you, it drives you even wilder!” Celia's eyes bugged but the syringe was in her arm before she could even move, and then they were rolling into to the back of her head. She was shivered and bucking, only the whites of her eyes visible for what seemed like an age. The light above Angela's throne had moved to above hers, but with her opponent unable to speak it was above Angela again, who was glancing from the bulb to her shaking opponent. She smiled. “Tickle her!” She hissed and watched on as Celia writhed in screaming ecstasy.

Lying completely still was near impossible now, but Celia new she had to if she wanted her reward...her dessert. Hell, she would be the dessert. The restaurant called her a human food dish. She could be ordered by rich private parties where her body would be adorned with foodstuffs and eaten off of – rarely with fingers. Today it was a selection of sugary treats. Donuts lay of her inflated tits and restless pussy and they were already driving her wild. Time didn't matter to her much any more and yet she was impatient. Someone bit carefully at the treat between her legs and she felt her legs buck involuntarily. She needed them to get past the foreplay quickly. She needed to be fucked. The donut on her left breast was removed and a gentle hand guided her up from lying down. A tall man stood above her, the donut hooped over the base of his giant erect cock. He beckoned for her to eat and she started in from the side, only for the compliance chip to correct her. The man smiled broadly as she opened wide to deepthroat her way to the donut, just as one of the other guests started to part her backside. Her body was in heaven but her mind was in hell.

Whatever Happened to Alex? (Making the Band)

 This is a Flashback Friday for 'Making the Band'.

“I'm thinking there has got to be a better way than this...” Alex gasped from under the bone clenching tightness of the red latex dress. He hated how familiar the sting of its hem digging into his thighs felt and his sweat was pooling under the shiny material and forming a juicy cocktail with the half-gallon of lubricant required to get him into it. A half-gallon of lube and nine years of bad decisions, he thought miserably. “What about a different direction? I heard denim is in right now... Anything that doesn't make my tits look like tomatoes...”

“Remember what I said...” Lucinda, his long suffering assistant shook her head dismissively. “If I am going to help you with this...with your comeback, we are going to do things my way.” She was playing with the camera trying to line up a shot. As the only person who knew the truth about Alex's identity, she was his assistant, photographer, marketing person and now apparently, his torturer. “Don't forget, the world sees you as the fourth member of Money Shot, and for good reason. The other three girls have all gone on to have successful solo careers because they have two things you don't – musical talent and personality. We need to lean into the things you do have on your side – nostalgia and sex appeal. The latex look was what introduced Money Shot to the world. It's their signature. And somehow, after all these years, you're still hot as hell!”

“I have personality...” Alex protested weakly, readjusting his pose because his heels felt like they were destroying his feet, causing Lucinda to scowl at him.

“You aren't listening!” Lucinda snapped a picture. “You don't need it. You know Andrea in accounts? Dull as a dictionary, and still every weekend without fail, she fluffs up her tits, rolls a skirt halfway up her arse, and has guys lining up to buy her drinks. We don't need to pretend you are interesting. You can't polish a turd but you can shine the shit out of latex, and for everything else, we have autotune, and those boobs you've kept hold of for some reason.”

“Fuck's sake. I couldn't even afford to get the implants removed.” Alex groaned. He couldn't believe he needed the money badly enough to resurrect Alexandra of the briefly world famous girl band 'Money Shot'.With all the beauty products he had needed to buy, he was even more in debt than when he asked Lucinda to help him. Now ten years older, it felt like he needed twice as much of everything to look half as good.

“My plan is fool proof!” Lucinda said. “We put these promotional shots on social media, record a couple of covers, leak some tabloid rumours about you dating a YouTuber or starting an OnlyFemmes...” She grinned as her boss's collagen enhanced lips formed an 'O'. “Relax! You won't actually have to start an OnlyFemmes. At least you won't as long as we can sell the songs. It wouldn't hurt though if those tits look as good in the flesh as they do through that dress...”

Odds and Pairs

 

“Are you going to get it over with then?” Oliver muttered under his breath so only his friend could hear. “Are you going to kiss me?” Tom was inches from his face though neither boy could bring themselves to meet each other's gaze. Oliver had one hand intertwined with the blonde hair of Tom's wig and the other gripped the red solo cup of Dutch courage the girls had charitably provided.

“Why do I have to lead?” Tom grumbled, biting his red painted lips nervously. “You got us into this mess with all that 'odds are in our favour' nonsense.” Like his buddy he was still coming terms with being stuffed into a strappy top and hideously short skirt that showed off the lace panties he was now wearing.

“Well, you haven't hooked up since we started college either. I was just trying to get us some action. I saw a bar full of girls dressed to the nines looking all flirty and thought it looked like a good shot.” He wanted to take another slug of the vodka but felt trapped in place by Tom's hot breath on his cheek. “How was I supposed to know it was a lesbian party?”

“Because they were coupling up all over the place. There were two girls rubbing each other off in a paddling pool. Couldn't you have just enjoyed the view rather than shouting – 'Are you all lesbos or something?' Now thanks to you, we are going to hook up at college – with each other.”

“Do you guys do anything but chitchat?” One of the girls from the group encircling them heckled. “And you wonder why we prefer women...” There was a rumble of female laughter. There was about sixty girls surrounding them in total – more than enough to overpower two big mouthed freshman. Stripping them naked and throwing them in the paddling pool had been their first idea, though the two women fingering each other in the shallow water hadn't appreciated having two nude guys launched at them. The calls to feminise them hadn't started from anyone in particular – rather it was a growing rumble of enthusiasm. There were no shortage of girls volunteering their clothes from the drunken crowd, but it was when using the raffle prizes was suggested that things really got out of hand.

“We better do this soon,” Oliver whispered. “If we don't, they're going to buzz us again.” The buttplugs had the indignity of having lights and even in the shadowy bar, they stood out from under the boys' panties like fireflies. Seeing them being pulled from their packaging had instigated such terror in them that about ten girls had been needed to hold them down to insert the well lubed toys. Their resistance died the second they were in as Tom and Oliver were turned to putty by the violent throbbing that felt like it might split them in two. That's when the fun really began. “Here goes nothing...” Oliver pulled in his friend for a kiss.

“Why are you using tongues...?” Tom tried to splutter but he couldn't get his words out so deep had his friend pushed himself inside. The crowd began to cheer and whoop and someone activated the plugs again. Both boys buckled at the knees in tandem and fell against each other as hundreds of eyes watched what was happening beneath their tiny skirts – quivering lights poking from their asscheeks and their steadily hardening cocks pushed together in between their embrace.

The Apprentits Lost Tapes Part 4

 19/25

The full Network and Femnonymous story is listed on my index page.

A trail of dismantled cameras led the way through the brush to the jetty where they had originally arrived on the island. Martin had clearly done his homework and prepared accordingly, and Angela would have been impressed were she not absolutely set on foiling their escape plan. Every now and then, the beam of a highly powered flashlight would cut through the darkness near them and the remaining three producers would fall into a state of hushed stillness. Angela knew she could yell and wave her arms whenever she liked, and they would be found immediately, but she couldn't guarantee how that would play out next. What if Femnonymous just continued the contest after recapturing them? She couldn't risk both Martin and Celia knowing she had betrayed them. Surely as their mole, Femnonymous were rooting for her to win, but they wouldn't undermine their entire operation to protect her.

“Hurry up!” The naked form of Celia hissed noticing Angela studying the latest of the unhooked cameras a little too hard. Angela scowled – Celia giving her orders back in their old lives had been bad enough, and now on the island it was somehow even more grating. Martin, the eternal professional, put a finger to his lips and beckoned for both women to keep going. Angela fell in beside him as they continued through the dark jungle.

“So...” Angela tried to sound casual as if she weren't playing double agent as part of a daring night time escape from the island compound of gang of latex clad vigilantes systematically transforming them one-by-one into Barbie dolls with some kind of hi-tech dentist chair. “Got anyone waiting for you back home?”

“Actually, yes!” Martin's face seemed to brighten. “I think you two might know each other. She was a producer too when the Network just started getting big. She's a lot more senior now though.” Angela stared at him while he continued to talk, trying to keep her face neutral. “You do know Mandy, right?” Martin watched her expectantly and finally she nodded. Mandy had been close...close enough to stab her right in the back. And now here she was... Trapped on an island with her boyfriend.

“So, you and Mandy, huh?” Celia said a few minutes later along the trail. “How did that come about? She's senior management – not trying to sleep your way to the top, are you?” There was a clear barb in her voice but Martin didn't seem to notice and the two fell into a conversation about office politics and work relationships, not noticing that Angela had slowly started to fall back from the group. Once she was ten feet back she paused in the shadows next to yet another dismantled camera. It was about a foot from the ground and designed to get a low angle shot. From what Angela could see, it was fully intact – the power source had simply been disconnected. Checking that the others were still walking on ahead, she took the wire between her fingers and plugged it back into the main body of the device. A small LED screen booted up and began to display a percentage bar that crawled agonisingly slowly towards completion. Cursing her luck and not wanting to be left behind, Angela abandoned the camera and scurried after the other producers.

“We could use this!” Martin was standing over a small boat with an out-board motor floating off the side of a jetty. “But it doesn't seem to have fuel.” Celia was scowling with her hands on her hips. “Sorry, I know I should have checked before dragging you out here.” He said apologetically.

“Fuel?” Angela repeated dumbly, a cruel idea forming. She thought of Mandy watching from home as her boyfriend was dragged off to be bimbofied. God, she wished that golddigger was here with them,,, “Uh, I think I saw a canister of fuel back there!” She pointed back the way they had come – back towards the camera she had just switched back on. Moments later, Martin was bounding back up the trail. He stopped and began scanning the brush for the non-existent gasoline. Suddenly, he froze in place. He had just seen the blinking LED on the now functioning camera. Mere seconds passed before the night was pierced by several high-powered beams of light and about a dozen latex clad Amazons emerged from the trees. Two gripped Martin and forced his arms behind his back. Right before a kind of electrical riot stick was brought to his still naked body, his eyes locked with Angela's and a look of understanding passed between them. Angela smiled softly before she too was restrained.

The office was chaos around Martin. He had been here a month and he still didn't understand what work was being done. He didn't even know what language was being spoken. Whatever it was, it looked stressful and involved a lot of men sitting in cubicles shouting angrily down the phone. He only understood what the compliance chip told him. He was the relief girl – perfectly crafted by the throne to be exactly the kind of motivation the men needed to keep picking up those phones. Today he wasn't wearing a skirt, just as the chip had instructed, and his brand new bubble butt was parted by a tight black pair of satin panties. When they were particularly frustrated, the men would look up at his ass and lick their lips, or if he was facing the other way, his pussy. Whenever this happened, the chip would instruct him to respond with a coy flirtatious smile and he would comply. As the day progressed, he unfastened his blouse, one button at a time, to show them ever more of his tits. Eventually, he would be topless but that didn't need thinking about yet. The day was still young. Eventually, one of the men could whoop with glee at the end of particularly successful phone call and get to bend Martin over the desk while the others watched – a preview of what they could be rewarded with if they kept working hard. Eventually, Martin would moan with ecstasy as the same lucky worker thrust into him as the chip demanded he enjoy the experience. But, it was still early in the day... That would all come, as too would Martin, but for now he could just stand there in those uncomfortable heels and fantasize about what he would do to Angela if he ever saw her again...

Whatever Happened to the Babysitter? (The Last Time I Babysat)

 This Flashback Friday features the unnamed babysitter from my 3 part story "The Last Time I Babysat". You can find Part 1 here.

The air felt thick with baby powder and once again my diaper was clean and soft on my ass. No more red skin, no more painful chaffing – just blissful fragrant cushion. As always, I was stuck motionless on my back, the muscle relaxant having done its job, and I had all the time in the world to examine my predicament. I wished my legs hadn't been splayed akimbo. My right foot was up by my hip and that was going to get uncomfortable quick. The silk stockings, as soft as they were, would bite into my legs in this position and I might even lose feeling. What's more, the clumsy pose had caused my frilly nightgown to ride up and expose my diaper. No-one was here to see me but for some reason it added to my feeling of debasement. My arms lay helplessly either side of my head and I started to drool without my pacifier in place. Would my diaper leak with my legs spread like this? I dreaded how Daddy might react if I made a mess of my cot...

The fact that Christina and Rebecca no longer lived in the home they had left me tied up dressed as a baby had come as a hammer blow. But nothing could have prepared me for the revelation that had come next. Naturally, I had assumed I had been left in a family home, and that their imminent return to find me bound in my own filth would lead to the cops being called and ultimately my public humiliation as I was carted to the station in a dirty diaper and baby clothes. Except, none of that happened. Instead, the man I would come to know only as 'Daddy' came home.

Lying motionless on my back amongst an army of stuffed toys gave me a lot of time to think. The first thing that clicked was the size of the cot. It was far too big for an actual baby. The next penny to drop was the guy's seemingly endless collection of adult baby clothing and diapers, and ultimately I concluded that the girls had left me tied up in the home of some creep with an adult baby fetish. Seeing me bound and waiting for him when he came home must have felt like all his Christmas's come at once. Other details seemed far more sinister – like why did he have a supply of muscle relaxant on tap? And the biggy – why was he keeping me here?

Daddy takes care of me to the finest detail. I always have fresh clean clothes as soon as I mess myself, which happens more than I would like to admit – muscle relaxant isn't great for self control. He strokes my hair, even though it is a wig, while he feeds me my bottle and never forgets to burp me after. I often drool at this point and he is always ready to carefully fix my lip gloss.. He is weirdly talented with a makeup brush and this is another detail that sends shivers up my spine. And that's it. He is otherwise kind and tender. He will softly spank my butt if I mess too much but I think he knows it isn't my fault.

As I stare at the mobile circling my head, I wonder how I will get out of this. Daddy obviously has no plan to let me go. I have lost track of how long I have been here, and no-one knows where I am except Christina and Rebecca, and I doubt they have been looking out for me after what I did to them. They got their revenge – even if they have no idea just how much revenge they got.