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.

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!”