The Halloween Special

 

Though still shy of his thirty-fifth birthday, Roger Bentley's career felt like it was on the ropes. A stand-up comedian by trade, he had been scouted by a network executive and thrust into the public eye as host of a popular television sketch show. The ratings came and brought with it the fame and within six months Roger had become a bona fide star of Saturday Night TV. That was years ago now. Time had passed, tastes had changed, and Roger was a budget cut away from being unemployed.

It wasn't clear whether the stunt for the Halloween special of 'Saturday Night Car Crash' was a genuine Hail Mary to grab ratings or an engineered farce to create an excuse to fire Roger. What was clear was that the network's producers had decided they wanted to create a spectacle and the down on his luck presenter would be their marionette. The setup was that Roger would present the Halloween edition of the show as Bridgette Rivers, a well-loved, and long dead, star of the seventies cabaret circuit. Someone in wardrobe had claimed to have found one of her old dresses and this would form the basis of the costume.

Though Roger had little leverage to refuse direction, he had expected the gown to be an old ratty thing that he could play for laughs. He wasn't expecting the elegant jewel encrusted garment that had been expertly altered to fit his dimensions. Instead of an over-the-job drag transformation, he was subjected to a team of beauticians painting his face and scraping back his hair. As he checked his appearance before taking the stage in front of the television audience, he pondered whether he really had brought Bridgette Rivers back to life.

“Good evening and welcome to Saturday Night Car Crash! And what a spectacular evening we have in store for you, darlings!” Roger's opening line earned a generous round of applause. He flashed the camera a theatrical smile, then paused. Something was wrong. His voice had sounded nothing like his own. It was higher, smoother, with a curious musical lilt. He cleared his throat. “Well, that's bloody weird,” he muttered, only to hear Bridgette's unmistakable voice again. He glanced down at his hands. The fingers seemed longer. A peculiar sensation crept across his shoulders. His jacketless arms narrowed, his wrists became slender, and the bodice of the dress suddenly felt considerably tighter. He instinctively reached for his chest. The shape beneath the gown was changing, filling out the carefully fitted cups. His waist pulled inward, his hips pushing outward until the dress hugged a distinctly feminine silhouette. He stumbled, catching himself on the presenter's desk. His face began to tingle. His jaw softened, his nose narrowed, and the carefully applied makeup seemed to settle into a completely different face. He wanted to scream. Instead, what emerged was a breathless giggle. The audience applauded, apparently delighted by his commitment to the character. Roger looked down at his transformed body, then towards the camera, where the monitor showed a woman he recognised from the photographs in his dressing room. Roger felt a cold sensation creep down his spine. The studio lights flickered. For an instant, Roger saw something quite different in the monitor: an old black-and-white photograph of Bridgette in the very same dress, standing on a stage beneath a glittering chandelier. She was smiling, but her eyes were fixed on him. A voice whispered inside his head. Thank you, darling. I've missed this.

What the Hell Happened to Bryan? (Straight to DVD)

 By popular demand, this year's Halloween Flashback Friday is for Straight to DVD

Bryan awoke to the smell of candle smoke. He was tied down to a large stone plinth in what looked like an ancient study. Disturbing paraphernalia lay around him and a sinister-looking goat skull was framed on one wall. Hooded figures chanting in a language that sounded suspiciously like a reversed audio track marched around him. He looked down at himself. He was still the girl from the first movie, only now he seemed to be dressed in a blood red corset than cinched tightly around his waist and a matching set of lingerie. Who directed this shit... he groaned.

The head druid raised a crooked staff. “The moon demands a bride! The old gods demand blood!” The druids chanted louder. A ceremonial dagger glittered in the head druid's hand. Then an arrow buried itself in his shoulder.

“Get away from her, you mouldy bastards!” A woman smashed through the room's large stained glass window, landing between Bryan and the cultists. She wore leather trousers, a fitted green corset, and a sword at her hip. Her dark hair whipped around a face that belonged on a fantasy-adventure poster. She dispatched three druids before dropping one hand to the groud and swinging her hair back in what Bryan recognised as a superhero pose. “Can you stand?” she asked, slicing through his restraints and he dropped to the floor, instantly losing his balance in a pair of towering red stilettos and sprawling backwards over an impossibly old wooden desk. The woman glanced at his heels. “Seems like your wardrobe is troublesome!” She quickly grabbed Bryan's corseted waist and pulled him with strong arms back against the plinth before kissing him passionately. He blinked with surprise as her fingers began to unpick the fastenings at the back of his outfit. The woman smiled. “I've waited my whole life for a girl brave enough to face the old gods with me.” The moonlight deepened. Music swelled. She pushed him onto the altar, and the camera began a slow, suggestive fade.

“Eurgh!!” Bryan was once again aware of the girls watching the DVD. “This sex scene is so forced. It's so transparent it's just to get guys watching the movie. Mind if I skip?” She asked her friends just as Bryan was thinking he minded very much.

There came a cheerful electronic chime and the scene jumped forward. Bryan was standing beside the heroine in the centre of a burning stone circle. His hair was dishevelled and his corset was slightly crooked. Both wore the unmistakable expressions of people who had enjoyed themselves enormously. He dropped open his bottom lip in a mix of frustration and disappointment. A thunderclap shook the house. The head druid emerged in the room's doorway, enormous now, his antlers crowned with blue fire. “THE BRIDE IS MINE!” Bryan and the heroine fought back-to-back, blades flashing as the druid summoned fire from his fists. Just as the creature raised his staff to crush them both, a familiar figure vaulted over the stone plinth..

“Miss me?” The tuxedoed man from the mansion flashed them a smile. He struck the druid across the face with a silver candlestick. Moments later, the three escaped into the moonlit forest. The tuxedoed man swept the two women onto his hips, carrying them effortlessly while the ruins collapsed behind them and a soaring musical score boomed in a frenzy of furious electric guitars.

“Hell yeah!!” The girls chorused from the sofa.“That sequel was even better! Third one's going to be wild. I hear that's the one where Haley and our mystery man finally get it on!”  

All In

 

Paul looped a thumb around the loose bra strap that had fallen off his shoulder and moved to pull it back into place. He paused as he realised every figure crowded around the monstrous dice table was watching his every movement. There was something in their eyes that he recognised – a not quite hunger, not quite lust, more a kind of desperation than anything else. He had seen it in his own eyes plenty of times. It was the look visiting the casino gave him – the look he got from gambling knowing that a big pot of winnings was in reach – the look he got when there was a prize worth winning. Paul shuddered, knowing that for each and every one of the figures watching him, he was the prize that had intoxicated them.

No-one knew for sure when the casino on the edge of town opened. It just seemed like it was there one day. As dark and uninviting as it was, it was still a beacon to Paul's brand of degenerate gamblers and the masses were soon queuing up for their fix. Each new member was given the standard chip and pin card for loading their gaming credit along with a mysterious black wooden poker chip – an anatomical heart carved intricately on one side. 'Your soul,' a female clerk had explained humourlessly as she handed it to Paul upon his first visit. 'Wager it wisely.'

Paul had chuckled nervously at those words but had kept the chip in his pocket all the same. In his frequent visits to the casino, he would see the occasional black chip pushed cautiously onto tables and thus concluded they did actually hold some value. This was in stark contrast to Paul's own fortunes, as night after night, he returned home from the casino in the early hours with nothing left in his pockets but for the black chip.

Finally, one night at a poker table he had gained a foothold in a game – amounting a modest collection of winnings. A woman at the table in a long dark robe continued to push for bigger and bigger pots and in spite his good luck in the draw, he was unable to match her raises. On one particularly good hand, he held pocket aces but had nowhere near enough chips to match the bet. 'I think you have one more chip,' she had taunted and he anxiously brought out the black 'soul' token. Two minutes later, the woman revealed a flush and hungrily swooped up his chip.

That had been seven days ago. In one week Paul had learned what it truly meant to gamble with ones life. The woman possessed him now and could craft him as she pleased. She made him into the delicate blonde creature with a snap of her fingers and led him from table to table on a leash. Eyes followed him everywhere – stares reserved for someone who had gambled it all and lost everything. And now, as be sat on the enormous dice table amongst the chips and cash, it was he who was being wagered. The stares were hungry – players who clearly wanted him for more than a pet to be led around on a leash. And judging by the number of black wooden poker chips on the table, they were willing to risk everything to have him...

The Witch Switch

 

It is fair to say there were two things the Robertsons cared about very deeply in life – bringing up their children in a moral, wholesome environment, and putting on the best damn Halloween party year in year out. Every October, they would transform their house outside and in into a grotto for all things sinister and spooky and open it up for the whole neighbourhood. They took extreme pride in crafting the perfect Halloween experience and their two kids, Julian and Tilly, were players to be cast in their production.

The key to their annual scare-a-thon was planning. They mapped out every detail months in advance to ensure nothing was overlooked and their home was ready for frightening the bejeezus out of the local kids. This year, however, their increasingly rebellious teenage daughter was about to throw a spanner in the works.

“Over my grave are you wearing that!” Tilly's Dad went beetroot red as she showed him her costume for the first time. This Halloween they had cast her as a creepy witch but largely left the kids to their own devices to prepare their outfits. A decision their dad was regretting merely hours before go time. “No daughter of mine is dressing like a...like a...” he spluttered, fumbling for the right words as he glared at the ensemble of hot-pants and stockings.

“...a whore?” Tilly rolled her eyes as her father's temperature rose a few degrees shy of steam coming out of his ears. “You said be a witch – not Mother Teresa...though the shop did have a pretty sexy nun costume too...” She trailed off. “Dad, come one, you need me to wear this. Who else is going to be your witch? Julian?”

And so it came to pass – their Dad decidedly less offended by the idea of their son dressing like a prostitute than their daughter. Julian, of course, had little choice in the matter – the Robertson's Halloween crushing all resistance in its path in the name of their annual scare-fest. And with their reputation to live up to, they decided if their son was indeed going to be a witch, they were going to do it properly. Their Mom spent the last couple of hours before they opened their doors doing his makeup and styling a wig she had from a previous Halloween where she dressed as a zombie Marilyn Munroe. Tilly watched on gleefully as she squeezed into her brother's toy soldier costume. She had wanted to wear the outfit to impress a guy from school but this was even better. Seeing her brother brought down a peg like this was worth a thousand Halloweens worth of candy.

“Remember,” Mr Robertson hissed as he prepared to open the house doors to the legions of trick or treaters. “Julian, when they come over to your side of the room grab their wrist as they reach for the candy and pretend like you are going to bite it. At the last moment, turn it over and kiss the back of their hand. Make sure you leave a blood red lipstick print. If you need topping up, ask Mom.” He nodded in a way that was almost military-like. “And I better not see you break character for your friends from school – it will totally ruin the experience for everyone...”

Curing the Werewolf

 

We always had a dog while I was growing up, and the more I think about it, the more I think it is how it took me so long to realise I was a Werewolf. I think we all have those half-memory, half-dreams from when we were a kid – those nights where we woke but didn't quite wake up, a parent putting us on the toilet or the house making a strange sound that rustles us from our slumber but the spark of conscious thought only half-penetrates the twilight of our minds. For me, it was memories of playing with our dogs, wrestling them, chasing them, running with them in the pale moonlight – running on all fours. When I recounted these night-time adventures to my parents they would smile politely and then retell my tales at family engagements whilst sharing knowing winks with my relatives. It wasn't until I was about fifteen, an age by which I had long learned to stop telling my parents everything, when one night I was aware of helping my dogs out into my yard – there we climbed a fence to where our neighbours kept a pen of bunnies. The next day our dogs were taken away, but I still had the memory of that hunger I had felt once under the full moon for the first time. I still had the carcass of that bunny I had brought back to my bed as a trophy.

I never felt right about my dogs taking the blame for that night, yet a certain amount of dissociation from my night form was necessary to not be crushed by guilt as it would get worse...much worse. As I hit adulthood, so did the wolf inside me. The town where I went to college was struck by a spate of brutal animal attacks. Late night joggers and students returning from bars were set upon by what they described as a dog that walked upright like a bear. Local wildlife was blamed but I knew the truth.

Aware that it was only a matter of time before my hunger would result in someone's death, I went in search of a cure for my affliction. You can find anything online if you know where to look, and I found Genevieve – a self-confessed sorceress who specialised in relieving chimera of their dangerous bloodlust. By then, I was well past the denial stage of my werewolfdom and drove the five hours to visit her.

I was comforted by the fact Genevieve seemed to recognise something inside me as soon as she saw me for the first time. Maybe she had just seen a lot of were-people or perhaps she really did have an eye for it. In any case, soon enough she was sprinkling me with sage and chanting about exchanging monstrousness for beauty. I couldn't tell then if it worked, but I drove home feeling changed.

I never really felt different in my Werewolf form. I think it is because I grew up with it and internalised the sensations that came with being such a creature. The next time I transformed in the moonlight, I certainly felt the change. My body reconfigured, remoulded into a slender feminine form – long hair, breasts, a tight butt and long graceful legs. Parts of my mind folded to meet it too – I sought out clothing for my new body, sexy, shiny outfits that fit the contours and oozed desire. I glowed in the full moon as I prowled. And yet the woman that is my new night form has every bit of the animal instinct that the wolf did. I still have the hunger, but I no longer have the bloodlust. No, it is a different bodily fluid I lust after. And when I wake up, I remember everything...

The Sacrifice

 

The girls had made yet another pit-stop to freshen up their costumes and do some shots. Joel wasn’t sure which of them called the house they were in home but they were all milling about making adjustments to their outfits to blaring music. The abnormally warm Halloween that had made their barely-there costumes possible without risk of hypothermia was causing unwanted sweaty patches and running makeup so the titty-tape was out once more to make sure things stayed in place and Jennifer was again basically naked as she switched from a lingerie cat outfit to a lingerie witch outfit. A few of the girls glanced at Joel knowingly – Jennifer’s last quick change had resulted in him sprouting a visible erection and the rest of the girls screaming ‘do something about it’. It had been Bailey, a mummy without about a toilet roll short of maintaining modesty, that had done something about it, producing an eye-watering chastity device from her bedroom.

They called Joel their sacrificial lamb. They didn’t know him very well and had taken great delight in telling him they had chosen him for no other reason than his soft body looked about a bucket of testosterone short of a masculine figure. They had been planning ‘Hot Halloween’ ever since the weather forecast a week ago and knew the kind of unwanted male attention their costumes would attract. They needed a sacrifice, someone to act as a magnet for all the male lust and advances so they could enjoy their evening – and no way were they going to subject any member of the sisterhood to that.

Hence, they grabbed Joel, overpowered and stripped him, before transforming him into a kind of ultra slutty day of the dead princess bride complete with thick sequinned makeup, a tiny sheer tutu, fishnet tights and killer heels. And it had worked – walking out ahead of the girls, he had been groped by someone dressed as Freddy Krueger and had guys taking not-so-subtle photos of him all night. He was struggling to walk in the heels and fallen forward a number of times sending his round ass into the air with nothing but the tiny thong panties and the fishnets to defend his modesty.

Once Jennifer had changed into her skanky witch get-up, they headed for a local art museum that had opened its doors for Halloween, serving wine and haunted looking snacks. The girls had unabashedly told him they wanted to take photos for blackmail material for next year, but what could he do while outnumbered and dressed like an undead whore. As he posed in front of a painting for them, cogs turned in his head. It really had been hot and the girls makeup had been running all night – and yet they hadn’t once had to touch his up. Fear started to knot in his stomach even as he continued to pose. They sure hadn’t used any titty-tape on him either. Instead they had been passing around that red tube while they were getting him ready. He had thought it was lipstick but couldn’t remember any of them applying it to his mouth. All he knew for sure was this wig sure was itchy – and these heels hadn’t moved on his feet once…

Whatever Happened to Freddy? (Hotshot)

 This week's Flashback Friday is for Hotshot.

Everything feels enormous when your body is so small and delicate - doubly so for the few that got to experience being a man before the FemmeShot 1000 took that particular luxury away from them. Even his master's wooden desk felt like a stage - one that Freddy was expected to use to give his performance. Not that you could tell from the apparent indifference of the Chinese businessman that had called himself Freddy's owner for the last two years as he tapped away on his laptop. Freddy tried to remain silent so not to draw the man's attention in spite of the hot-pink latex catsuit that encased his diminutive body. His long dark hair cascaded over his shoulders onto the polished walnut and he closed his eyes to try to ignore the presence of the man slurping a latte as he answered his emails. If only he could blend into the very furniture he was perched on... Yet, he knew it was an act. How could the man forget he was there? Not with the soft buzz that now accompanied him everywhere he went.

Freddy placed one hand ahead of him for balance so that he could reach the other back between his legs. It was a modestly sized vibrator inserted into the pussy that the nanotechnology of the Femmeshot 1000 had given him, but everything feels enormous when your body is so small and delicate. His fingers brushed the black latex of his panties and he could feel the material was already filling with his juices as his new body betrayed him. Freddy stifled a moan and glanced to check if the man would react but his eyes never left his screen. Heat was smouldering between his legs now, forcing his breathing deeper and raspier. The conclusion was inevitable but he fought the urge to help it along with his reaching hand – and so the slow charade that he could resist cumming his brains out right there on the worktop continued as the man went on with his day. A secretary brought another coffee, tutting disapprovingly at Freddy as she did so, and then a little later the man took a long phone call with a colleague. Freddy was panting hard by this point and his master, finally acknowledged him, stroked his soft rubber clad ass gently like he was some kind of office cat. The end was nearing, his nails dug into the wood as he gasped the beginning of a long-delayed orgasm. Then, and only then, would the man stop his work to behold the spectacle. Fighting it for so long would only make the pleasure so much more intense. Freddy's elbows would buckle, sending his ass into the air and squeezing the toy between his legs even tighter. He might even drool a little, might say 'fuck' gently in that sweet feminine voice that his new body possessed. Dilated eyes would roll back into his head as he became almost feral with ecstasy. Until finally, it would be over. The businessman would clap reservedly before declaring it was his turn and then Freddy would be send under the desk to give pleasure while his master started on his afternoon emails. The man was unimpressive, but everything feels enormous when your body is small and delicate.

The ritual was daily, sometimes multiple times and sometimes it was all Freddy could do to stare at the shelves that ran along the man's office wall. They were full of pictures of the man with various people, some of them famous, and random paraphernalia. There was one item that held his attention more than the others – a small science-fiction looking pistol. It was a FemmeShot 1000, or maybe even a newer model – the exact kind of weapon that led to this daily humiliation. Freddy knew there was no going back for him, but one of these days he would seize his chance, and the businessman would learn what it was like to be small and delicate. 

Whatever Happened to Avery and Rick? (Assimilation)

 This Flashback Friday is for a two part Aiko story called Assimilation. You can find it under by Aiko stories on my index page.

“And to conclude the tour of your new dorm,” Zara, the older college girl turned to Talia, the freshman in tow. “I present to you our final room – the Playroom!” Talia stared on open-mouthed as her guide swung wide the door to reveal the scene beyond. This couldn't be real, she thought, as her eyes popped at the sight of the two prissy satin clad figures engaged in some sort of combination of a wrestling match and an embrace. “You may hear stories of our most infamous alumnus,” Zara continued. “Aiko was here before my time, but her legend here is immortal. And, of course, she left us the boys...”

“The boys...?!” Talia repeated dumbfounded, loud enough for the room's occupants to hear. The one wielding an ornate fan like a dagger glanced up at her, and through the layers of glittery cosmetics she saw something else...shame. The boy had hair that had grown out into tight ringlets and was being squeezed by a merciless looking corset. His legs jutted out before him from the chair he was seated on and were wrapped in silky looking stockings that ended in towering platform sandals. The other boy had so far avoided making eye-contact but faired no better. He had no stockings or corset but was wearing a crinkled hat that was tied beneath his chin with a ribbon along with lacy elbow-length gloves and short satin dress clasped at his waist. Both boys were caked in makeup and wreaked of flowery perfume.

“Avery is the one with the cute ruffled panties. Rick is the one wearing pearls.” Zara said in introduction. “They were Aiko's leaving gift to us. They are like our dorm pets...but so much better. Of course, once you're settled in, we will need to get you added to the feeding rota. It's candy, by the way, that keeps them like that. Hopelessly addicted, both of them. That's why they are like pink putty in our hands. We couldn't even trust them to feed it to themselves. We tried it once – they just ate themselves into a sweaty, horny stupor...” Talia watched them in bemusement. It was if they had forgotten the girls were there and had returned to what they were doing before the door opened – the weird groping wrestling – simpering slap fighting that made her cringe just watching.

“Okay,” Avery pushed out a glossy bottom lip in a pout and raised the fan up higher. “Never ever have I been dressed in lingerie with a buttplug tail, been put on a leash and led around the campus green!” Rick glared back defiantly for a moment before closing one of his manicured fingers into his fist,

“Well,” Rick retorted, grabbing one of Avery's outstretched stockinged legs. “Never ever have I ran a 5k in a tutu and ballet heels while all the girls in the dorm ran behind me whipping my butt with bamboo canes!” He stared at his friend, their painted faces meeting one another, but Avery kept all of his fingers up. “Oh wait...” Rick blushed. “Was that me too? I have lost track...”

Sisterhood

 This is my entry to a caption contest on DA

“Hiding in plain sight – it really is your only way out of this!” Sylvia had sounded so self-assured as she outlined her brother's (lack of) options, so much so that Frank was already wondering if he would have been better off taking his chances with Cherry and her friends as some of his other frat brothers had. Horrified shrieks cascading down the corridors of the Alpha-Pi sorority house quickly put paid to that notion, and he quickly turned back to his sister. More screams added exclamation points to just how perilous his situation was standing in Sylvia's doorway – and yet she had named her terms. Could he really do what she was asking?! She was his younger sister yet in that moment hold untold amounts of power over him – and it would be more, if he let her. He once more considered his options as a sustained howl of horror travelled from somewhere else in the house. Unable to meet Sylvia's eye, he nodded his agreement and pushed past her into her bedroom.

The Beta Tan Omega panty raid had began to go awry even as it started. Not that they hadn't done their homework – they had spent weeks scoping out the Alpha-Pi house, and yet when they climbed through an open window they found the sorority as silent as a trap. When the commotion broke, he recognised a girl he knew as Cherry and her friends grab Mark, their leader, and like a damsel in a bad horror movie, Frank took off up a flight of stairs. And yet, he had an ace in the hole – as he sprinted along the sorority corridor with blood pulsing in his veins past bedroom doors decorated with girls' names, he scanned for one in particular – Sylvia. His sister was a freshman and one of the newest additions to the Alpha-Pi sorority – she was also his ticket out of this disaster. He just hadn't expected such a steep price.

Almost an hour later, Frank emerged back into the corridor. The house was quiet once again and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest – somewhere beneath the clinging material of the metallic wraparound dress Sylvia had given him to wear. Fastened around his neck, it plunged down his front, past his crotch and back up over his butt like a leotard before wrapping around his waist like a miniskirt. He didn't even know how to begin taking it off. Sullenly, he stared down at his feet and got a sinking feeling as he saw the spools of white leather tied around his ankles to hold the platform sandals in place. His sister had even added the finishing touch of matching toenail polish. Come to think of it, she had added a lot of finishing touches – the purse, the watch, he already had long hair he'd been growing since starting college, but she had smoothed it flat with her straightening tongs. He had never known his younger sister to be so authoritative but she did hold all the cards. Yet how was he going to get all this stuff off?!

“Your initiation starts tomorrow!” Sylvia appeared behind him in the doorway. “I suggest you take one of those empty bedrooms. It is quite demanding – you'll need your rest!” Frank peered back at her in shock. “All new sisters need to undergo initiation.” His sister explained sternly. “Or,” she nodded down the corridor to where Cherry and some other girls were dragging a screeching blonde bimbo that was barely recognisable under a year's supply of cosmetics as Mark, “you can take your chances with Cherry... I think you might look good with huge boobs glued to your chest..

No Imitations

 There won't be a Flashback Friday this week because I am away on a trip and haven't had chance to write one, so I am going to give you something a little different. This is a Mannequeen caption I wrote back in 2016 and never posted for various reasons. Now that I have finished the current iteration of the Mannequeen story, I am happy to post it.

Fabio awoke face down on a piano, something akin to what his high school music teacher used to play, a million miles from the antique grand piano that stood in his ballroom. Pealing his face from the keys, he was surprised to find a weird smear left behind and alerted to the fact his face did feel a little strange, like his skin was coated in something thick and powdery, he sent his hands up to investigate. In was not what his hands found on his face that really scared him, though that was bad enough, but what his face found when his hands touched it. They were soft, small and slender and when he looked at them he saw that the nails had French tips. Things escalated quickly from there as he realised that these were the least of his problems, the greatest most likely being the pair of buxom bosoms that had conquered his chest. He checked between his legs. Scratch that…this was the greatest of his problems. In a state of panic he glanced around himself for any indication as to why he was now a woman but all he found in the otherwise bare room was the piano bench his new rounded ass was sat on and a metronome and small tape recorder lying on top of the piano. Seeing no other options, he pressed play…

‘Hello, Fabio. I want to play a game. I am the Mannequeen. I tell you this not because I am especially keen to get my identity out there but because recently my work has fell foul to that of a cheap imitation, a knock off, ‘the Cleaner’. I know you don’t understand why this angers me, after all you bear a far bigger resemblance to the maid, especially now you have tits. Like her, you build your reputation by defrauding others. For you it was a piano track that you stole from your brother and sold it as your own, making millions from its success. When he appealed to you, you used your new found wealth to appoint lawyers to squash his claim and then his reputation, leaving him nothing. Well, tonight we’re going to have a private little concert. You have been fitted with one of my cutting edge female bodysuits that unless unlocked with bond permanently to your skin in a little over twenty minutes. To unlock it all you have to do is play the piece of music you are famous for. It shouldn’t be too difficult for an expert musician like yourself. Oh, and for a little extra fun you might find your libido goes up somewhat every time you him a G. If you’re not sure, that’s the key next to the G#. You have twenty minutes.’

Fabio cursed his luck as he looked at the keys the way one might look at hieroglyphs and longed for the programmable piano that he used to perform live. He tried to hear the melody in his head. Surely, it couldn’t be that hard. He tried one on the black keys but it sounded nothing like he was expecting and in frustration he mashed the keys with both hands. There was a jolt between his legs and he found himself gasping for air. He looked where he’d smashed hands. Which one had been the G? Not that it mattered, he realised as his defeat seeped in. He was going to have a lifetime of looking for the G. His own…

Season 8 Epilogue - Saving Grace Part 3 (Pink n Prissy Collective)

 26/25

Thank you to everyone who ready my latest season of captions. Please stay tuned for news on Season 9 coming soon!!

The first two parts of this story were earlier in the season but you can catch all of my Pink n Prissy Collective captions on my index page.

“I am telling you guys,” Terri beamed to the rest of the Pink n Prissy Collective - as she led them through the entrance hall of their shared house, “I really think Grace is making progress. She just needs to get her first boy under her belt. Once she gets some poor sucker in panties, there will be no slowing her down.”

“Totally!” Charlotte agreed. “She just needs to find her thing. What is those cop shows always call it? Her MO? Once she has her method under her fingers...I agree with Terri. She will be unstoppable.”

“Modus Oper...Holy shit!” Cassie dropped her purse to the floor as the girls passed into the house's shared living space. Grace stood before them – her baggy hoodie gone, replaced by a sleek leather biker jacket and skinny jeans. But that wasn't what had stopped the girls short, for in front of Grace should another figure – one with soft curled brown hair, subtle feminine makeup and flowery cinched summer dress. “Grace...you did this?”

“I did,” Grace's cheeks went pink but pride shone from her smile. “Meet Alec – in a former life, he was the boy with bad breath that caught the bus at the same stop as me. Now, he is cleaned up, improved..pretty. Hell, he is Pink n Prissy!”

“He sure is!” Josie admired her work, approaching the feminised boy and inspecting his outfit – noting the slightly odd vacant expression he was wearing. “So, how did you do it?” She probed with curiosity. “Did you use your charms like Chralotte? Hypnosis? Did you drug him? Slip him horribly addictive candy?”

“Well, that's the funny thing...” Grace shifted with discomfort. “At first I was getting nowhere. I tried the flirtatious approach, but nothing was happening. We were just hanging out in the city. It was like I was being reverse friend-zoned. And then we went into this weird shop. They had these strange dolls and as soon as I saw them, I just had to have them.” She gestured to a figure just over a foot tall stood on the chair next to Alec. “As soon as we got out of the shop with these in my bag, it was like a switch had been flipped. Alec seemed willing to do whatever I asked. It was easy.”

“These?” Terri echoed.

“Yes!” The light in Grace's eyes reignited. “I bought five of them – one for each of us. I thought they could be like our mascots. I got a great deal too. That shop had all sorts of awesome stuff. You guys should totally check it out. It is called 'Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly'...”

Whatever Happened to Jonas and the State Panel? (Uncensored)

 This is a Flashback Friday for an old Femnonymous caption - Uncensored

“Do you know which one is Jonas?” Bryan whispered as he raised a red solo cup of beer to his lips. The four women across the other side of the hotel suite looked as out of place at the party full of drunken twenty-somethings as the Frontline Entertainment Media cameraman felt – least not because he was having to film covertly from a phone poking out from his pocket rather than his trusty over the shoulder camera.

“Does it matter? They all look ridiculous!” Madison, his partner, retorted. The women in question had all once been powerful politicians, making up the influential State Panel for the Regulation of Pornography and Adult Entertainment. Spurred on by other prominent delegates, including one of FEM's other recent interviewees, 'Lance Charleton', the group sought to pass laws that banned all adult media not portraying traditional male-female relations. That is until the day they were seized by Femnonymous and transformed into the very thing they were lobbying against.

“I think it is the blonde.” Bryan continued. “He was definitely blonde in the video. I remember one of the others yelling his name while he pulled on it and...well...” The video was a now infamous scene that Femnonymous had forced the politicians to perform in if they wanted to retain what remained of their male anatomies. Once released to the public, it had immediately gone viral over the less restricted areas of the internet and become a source of deep embarrassment for the men's political party. The State Panel's fate was never officially acknowledged and the men were never seen publicly again, leading to widespread rumour and speculation over what had happened to them. One of the wilder message board theories was that the party had felt such anger and shame over what had happened that they had created new identities for the four men as eye candy at political rallies. Now, ten years later, they were held in such low esteem that they might be used as little more than glorified strippers at the 21^st birthday party of a senator's son. That was exactly what Bryan and Madison were here tonight to verify. “Speaking of that video...” Bryan continued. “Do you think they did enough to keep their...you know...”

“I never watched it...” Madison lied, downing the rest of her drink. Adrenaline still coarsed through her from sneaking into the party and she was itching to talk to the women. They certainly ticked the boxes of what they were looking for – obviously surgically enhanced bodies, that glassy vacant stare they had seen in Femnonymous's other victims, a clear familiarity with each others' bodies that suggested they had shared a fair bit more that just handshakes. She had forced herself to study that video – every deepthroat, every cumshot, every humiliated grunt...if they hadn't done enough to keep their cocks, she wasn't sure what they would have needed to do... And yet, she still wasn't sure. “Come on,” she said to her partner as she tossed her cup onto a counter. “Let's go ask. If Jonas is the blonde, I'm buying dinner...”  

Customer Serviced Part 2

 

“I think she likes you!” Chloe giggled in the back room of 'Pleasure Hunt Adult Store'. She had spent the last half an hour preparing the shop's newest demonstration model for its full debut and was now playing with the app settings. She had just turned the libido function up to the max and the ShortStaqqed bodysuit occupied by Jack, a one-time would-be customer, hung out its tongue expectantly and bulged eyes filled with lust and shame in equal measure.

“Honey, everyone likes me!” Her colleague, Jasmine cackled. “I have huge tits, an ass to die for, the face of an angel, and a nine-inch cock! What is there not to like?” She stroked the side of Jack's face gently – his skin shimmering from the sheen-finish Chloe has just finished spraying on. “Though this one does seem particularly keen.”

“Girl! You have no idea!” Chloe smiled. “Watch this!” She took her hand and slid it beneath the fabric of the tiny black panties Jack was wearing and rubbed slowly for a mere two seconds. The small storeroom was overcome by the comically loud moaning of the crouched bodysuited figure. Even after Chloe removed her fingers, Jack continued to pant uncontrollably and Jasmine watched wide-eyed as her colleague wiped a hand dripping with bodily juices down the front of the bimbo's balloon-like tits..

“That's hot as fuck!” Jasmine gasped. “How much are we selling these for? I gotta get me one!” She rounded the squatting Jack and playfully snapped a bra-strap. Inside the ShortStaqqed bodysuit, the feminised man's drooling face was almost exactly at crotch height for the transgender amazon.

“Don't bother!” Chloe snorted. “As a shop employee, you get free use of this one. Though I recommend getting your fun's worth now. Once we turn our customers loose on this bitch, she's gonna be used up faster than lube at a buttplug convention.

Jack was soon to learn that Jasmine hadn't been exaggerating about her nine-inch cock. Even in spite of his lust addled brain, he found enough conviction inside himself to try to close his plump red lips before she could insert her giant dick. Only he had forgotten about the bodysuit's built it oral fleshlight and he was soon chowing down on her meaty appendage with a pair of perfectly shaved balls bobbing against his chin. He didn't want to enjoy it. He wanted to hate it, but the suit had other ideas, and as Jasmine was pressing her hands against the back of his head to shoot hot cum down his throat, he too was writhing in ecstasy – his eyes rolled back and desperate moans spluttering on the huge cock choking him. For a second he dwelled on the irony that he came here looking to reignite his sex life – now he was getting more than he could ever handle. As Jasmine pulled out of him, streams of semen dripping over his bottom lip and pooling between his tits, his eyes briefly wandered across the shelves of the stock room full of all the toys customers would be allowed...no, invited to use on him. He groaned but he could already feel the bodysuit betraying him, becoming excited, craving the debauchery he was dreading...

Customer Serviced Part 1

 

“It's called the ShortStaqqed,” Chloe explained in a hushed tone. She still couldn't believe what she had just helped the other two women do and was feeling equal parts terrified and horny. She met each of their gazes and saw the fire in their eyes that she felt in her own. Smiling devilishly, she raised her glass of wine. “It's one of our off-brand options but it will do the job alright!” She gestured to the figure in the red latex lingerie sprawled on the rug between them, one eye still half-closed from the massive dose of tranquillizer. “He came in asking for UltraReal, of course. All our customers do. It's the only brand of bodysuit they know. But their safety record is terrible. Even my girl Felicity says so and she works for UltraReal. Hence, we don't stock them. A small independent sex shop like ours is just one lawsuit away from extinction.”

“Jack never did have much of an imagination,” Adrianna sighed. “Maybe if he did, he wouldn't have to resort to this kind of crap to get me into bed. He never did like being told 'no' either...”

“You can say that again...” Chloe snorted. “When I told him UltraReal was a 'no-go', he hit the roof – yelling and calling me useless bitch, even blaming me for him not being able to get laid. Fortunately for me, Jessie here was on hand with her phone out recording the whole thing.” She nodded to the third woman in their circle. “I don't know what he would have done if you weren't there. Of course, I didn't realise until afterwards she was your sister.”

“I went in to buy a dildo,” Jessie giggled, “but Jack wasn't the kind of giant dick I was looking for!”

“Come now, Jess...” Adrianna smirked. “Jack and 'giant dick' don't belong in the same sentence – trust me... And I too am glad you got the whole thing recorded. And, Chloe, I am more than grateful you were happy to share your stock with us and my dearest drugged husband.” She paused to watch the bodysuited Jack groan loudly as he continued to rouse from his stupor. “Why don't you tell us a little bit more about the 'ShortStaqqed'.?”

“Well, aside from the obvious...” Chloe began as Jack began to paw dumbly at the huge jiggly breasts attached to his chest. “Its unique selling point is its size-compression features. Regardless of how big the wearer is going in, they will always stand no more that a shade under five feet once it's sealed.” She laughed softly as Jack stared up at the ceiling as if it were too far away. “It is a submissive type suit and comes with app controls as standard to set the wearer's libido and obedience. Oh, and it has a full set of oral, vaginal and anal fleshlight inserts for easy penetration – though in this horny slut both the vaginal and anal inserts will be going straight into his ass...”

“What are you going to do with him?” Jessie gasped almost spilling her wine.

“I'm not going to do anything.” Chloe smiled. “I will leave that to our customers. I have a feeling we are going to sell a lot more ShortStaqqed bodysuits now that we have our own demo model!”

Gender Vendor

 25/25

George stared with a growing desperation through the glass of the vending machine at the rows upon rows of AquaLure bottled water. One of them held the elixir – the sole golden ticket back to his own body. The rest? Just gallons upon gallons of good old hydrating aitch two oh.

“Good thing you look like a girl who swallows!” The witch smirked from behind him. “Who knows how many of those you will have to drink before you get the right one. That's if one of these lovely people don't get it first....” The heavily tattooed woman in the sexy black bikini glanced around her at the busy local pool milling with people in bathing suits. “So, what's the plan? You can't just crouch there hissing at people all day to scare them away. This place does actually have security...”

For the first time that day, George didn't have a plan. In the morning, his plan had been to sleep until noon...and at noon his plan had been to visit his local swimming pool and steal valuables from the lockers as their owners frolicked in the water. It was when he broke into his fifth locker and found the sleek leather clothing and the creepy pendant that things started to go awry. The slender inked up girl had been none too pleased to catch him in the act and she had snatched the pendant from his grasp and screeched words in a language he didn't recognise.

That's how George came to be in the quiet corner next to the drinks machine – long blonde hair spilling over delicate tanned shoulders, a plump lipped pout on his face and a cute yet revealing chequered bikini on his butt. The girl had explained he could either remain as the sweet but sexy pool babe or find and drink the elixir from the vending machine. The problem being he had neither a clue which bottle held the keys to his escape nor the change to extract any of them from the machine.

“Hey!” George called out to a nearby man with greying hair. “Do you have any change?” The man just stared at him and George felt the need to add, “I'm really thirsty!” The older guy seemed to be ignoring his pleas so he tried one last desperate offer. “I'll show you my tits! Buy we some water and I'll let you feel them!” The man stormed off in disgust and George felt shame wash through him. He squatted down and tried to retrieve a bottle by reaching up through the machine's chute.

“I will get you some water!” George glanced over his shoulder to see a big man with dreads. “I will get you all the water you want. You do look so very thirsty!” George started to stand but the man put one hand out to stop him and tucked his other into the waistband on his shorts. “No, no you stay down there you pretty little thing. I will give you what you want if you give me what I want. You do look so very thirsty.” He repeated as he stroked the side of George's feminine face before clutching him just behind the ear. “And you look like a girl who swallows...”

Raising the Bar

 

Garth came from a family of lawyers. His father was a criminal defence attorney, his mother was in mergers and for the past six years Garth had been practising family law. It seemed inevitable that his younger sister, Kayleigh, would follow in the traditional – if only she could just pass the bar... When she came hammering on his door on the evening of her latest attempt, tears streaming down her face, his question was not whether she had failed – it was how did she know so quickly.

“It's all computerised now,” she explained in between gasping sobs. “You know your score right away. Oh, Garth, it's so unfair... You know I would have got it this time if it wasn't for Greg!” Greg was Kayleigh's long term boyfriend, who had ungraciously ditched her just two days before the prestigious exam, apparently realising that the long hours she had dedicated to studying the law was a sign of what was to come rather than a short-term hurdle to overcome. “I haven't been able to concentrate since he left... Oh, Garth, I can take a makeup test tomorrow but if I fail that, I can't retake for another year!” She buried her face in his shoulder. “There's no way I can pass the bar tomorrow,” she continued to cry before stopping abruptly. She pulled back from her brother and studied his face. “But...you can...”

The next day, Garth was sat at a laptop inside the exam room. Identical desks surrounded him signalling the smallest of mercies – he was the only person doing the makeup test today. Apparently his oath to hold up the law, not to mention his dignity, was no match for his fierce loyalty to his family and a pair of puppy-dog eyes. To Kayleigh's credit, she had done a sterling image recreating him in her image. As siblings, they were physically similar anyway, but a few pounds of cosmetics and a hastily bought wig had blurred the lines completely. When he had started to look through his sister's outfits for something sensible and conservative to wear, she had stopped him and insisted something suggestive just in case it could win favour with the examiners in some way, That's how he had ended up in a figure-hugging white dress with buttons down the front that frankly looked like it was missing the skirt. Completing the exam with one waxed leg crossed over the other felt absurd.

The biggest problem, however, was an unexpected one. Garth had passed the bar the first time six years ago, and he hadn't exactly maintained a broad understanding of the law while working in family court. The questions swam on the screen before him as he realised in horror that the exam was a lot harder than he had expected. He couldn't fail – not like this. He couldn't fail Kayleigh. Knuckling down, he tried to answer each question as carefully as he could and when finally he finished, he closed the laptop's lid and looked at the examiner expectantly.

“Such a close thing,” the man sighed walking down the center of the empty exam room. “Just a couple of marks in it...” He reached down to unzip his fly. “Which way though? Well...a sweet thing like you with a pretty mouth.” He smirked cruelly. “That's up to you...”

Whatever Happened to Claude? (Ex-Conned)

 This is a Flashback Friday for Ex-Conned

As a French guy, I am no stranger to stereotypes. In some cases, they are not only true, but I wear them like a badge of honour. For instance, I am both an excellent lover and a romantic. I have heard more women cry out “Claude” in bed than I can remember. I may be small, diminutive even, but I know how to please a woman. I can as easily charm a lady into creaming her panties and I can charm her out of them. This is how I got Zoe into bed after all.

I, however, do not embody all French stereotypes. For one thing, I do not give up easily. When Zoe's boyfriend, Kevin, was initially released from prison and came to live with us, I admit, I was frightened. You may remember that I agreed to disguise myself as a female student so that the notoriously jealous Kevin wouldn't dismantle my body. But in spite of everything, I didn't surrender.

It seemed inevitable that the thuggish Kevin would commit some new crime and return to prison before long – that, or Zoe would realise that his heavy-handed muscle didn't compare with the suave sophistication I had given her while her beau was in the grand maison and tell him to leave. When that happened, I needed to be ready. I needed to continue to be in the house. I needed to continue to be 'Claudette'.

Kevin's influence on both Zoe and the rest of the house was significant. Gone were the endless breakfasts in bed and the fireside discussions of poetry, and in were the endless parties and drinking. The house because a beacon for impossibly loud music and people I didn't recognise coming and going at all hours, and considering I couldn't maintain my closeness to Zoe by hiding in my room night and day, I had to adapt 'Claudette' accordingly.

It wasn't difficult to become a party girl. It's mostly just appearances – the brain fills in the rest. Tonight's outfit, for example, is doing lot of work. I wear it short to distract from the fact I have no tits (obviously), and I admit I completely reworked my gym routine to exclusively grow by legs and ass – oh, and enough makeup to hide the fact I am actually dying on the inside... My feminine voice isn't great but I find if I just lay the French on a bit thicker no-one raised an eyebrow...or bats an eyelash... Zoe called it a 'glow-up'. I call in hell.

The dress I am wearing tonight is actually a loaner from Zoe. The worst part is I know Kevin paid for it. It is this scrunchy faux-leather material that hugs my ass, which when I'm in heels looks absurdly good after my new stairmaster routine. I'm sitting here on the sofa to hide the fact I still suck at walking in heels – not that I want to talk to anyone at this party. It's just the best way to keep an eye on Zoe – to search for cracks in her relationship with Kevin.. The thing is I overheard some of his friends talking drunkenly. They were saying Kevin is looking to ask Zoe for a threesome...with me. Most of me would rather die, but there's a slither that thinks maybe this is a chance to maybe break them up. I'm still deciding how to play it, but I have already come this far for love...

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.