The Lodger Part 7

 

Brittany stood in her room acutely aware that something wasn't quite right. The room itself with its shadows and creams wasn't the problem – she had even tailored her outfit to match it specially for Ms. Paulsen's return. Looking spectacular as always, Brittany had paired a dark skater dress with silky cream pantyhose, cutting no corners when it came to her makeup – her skin glowed and her hair glimmered. And yet something was very wrong...

Caleb was the same as always. Giddily thinking he was a girl in his pink paradise of a bedroom. Last Brittany had seen, he had been rolling around like an excited puppy on the bubblegum coloured shag rug – his perfect bleach blonde curls and cotton-candy tutu spread around him in a picture of feminine bliss. So why did Brittany feel so,,,off?

The tea clearly hadn't worked on Caleb. She had served him up an extra strong pot as soon as Ms. Paulsen had left – even giving him the bags that she was supposed to drink – and though he had fallen asleep with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face, when he awoke wearing the most masculine thing Brittany could find in the house – a bland unisex pair of brown button up pyjamas – he had just giggled at the sight of his new tits poking out from the top fastening and was back looking like a Barbie doll in 10 minutes.

Brittany had continued to give Caleb her serving of the Camomile tea along with his own. If nothing else, it kept that idiot asleep most of the time and out of her hair. She didn't bother trying the stunt with the pyjamas again and with every enforced nap, he seemed to wake as even more of a simpering airhead that the time before. One afternoon, Brittany caught him sitting in front of the dresser that had once been hers, giggling at himself mindlessly in the mirror and bouncing his boobs.

Brittany was not sure what was wrong, but she no longer looked at Caleb's boobs with the same envy she had a few days ago. Caleb was a boy – he shouldn't have breasts and the fact Ms. Paulsen had given them him was wrong. She just wasn't sure why. The pink room didn't even strike her fancy any more. Once it had held a power over her she couldn't explain, and now? It was just a room. It was stupid pink Caleb's stupid pink room.

Ms. Paulsen would be home later today along with her freshly graduated daughter, Sophie. I sure hope they know what's up with me, Brittany thought as she curtseyed half-heartedly in her skater dress for the mirror. She frowned as it hung loosely over her flat chest. Caleb wasn't a girl...and maybe she wasn't too... She just hoped Ms. Paulsen would know what to do...

The Lodger Part 6

 The rest of this series is now on my index page

Brittany came to the bottom of the house's front steps to see Ms. Paulsen off, careful not to lose her footing on the tiles in her silver pumps. She had no recollection of the woman whose house she lodged in ever leaving home without her, but finally the big day had arrived and Ms. Paulsen was going away for a couple of day's for her daughter Sophie's college graduation.

Brittany had spent the entire morning prepping her appearance for the moment Ms. Paulsen drove away. She wanted the final image of home for her landlady as she drove away to be picture perfect – a lasting mental image of beauty to take with her on her trip. And so, Brittany had picked out the most exquisite dress in her extensive wardrobe, a flowery number with a cinched black bodice complete with a large black rose at the breast. She had straightened and pinned her hair and spent hours getting her makeup just so, until, finally, she was satisfied that her beauty would be akin to a wondrous postcard Ms. Paulsen would carry with her in her mind purse – until she returned with no choice but to move Brittany back into the main bedroom.

Caleb hadn't even come to the door, she thought bitterly. How was he the favourite? He wasn't even a girl... So, why did he get the big pink room? Why had Ms. Paulsen got him breasts and not her? Caleb thought he was a girl. He even acted like one.- especially after drinking the Camomile tea. But he wasn't – she knew because she still remembered his arrival. That was the day she had been moved out of the pink room and into the spare one – the day she was no longer Ms. Paulsen's favourite.

Brittany wanted boobs too. They would fill out her dress perfectly and she would look even more amazing as she waved Ms. Paulsen off on her trips. It wasn't fair. Caleb was a boy and he had breasts, and she was a girl and had none. A plan started to form in her mind. If she could show Caleb he was a boy, he would no longer want his breasts. He might not even want to stay around with Ms. Paulsen. All she had to do was prove it to him.

But how? Of course...the tea! The tea made you sleepy. Brittany had drunk enough of it to know that. She would give Caleb a big pot, not just his serving, but hers too, and he would fall asleep. When he woke up he would have boy clothes on...but still boobs... Hmmm... And where would she get boy clothes? This was hard, Brittany thought wearily, wiping her brow and cursing at the sight of bronzer on the back on her hand. Ms. Paulsen's car was disappearing around the corner at the end of the road. She sighed. She was alone with Caleb now. Stepping carefully up the tiled steps, she headed for the kitchen to prepare some Camomile tea.   

The Anarchist (Bimbo Note)

 18/25

This is a continuation of my Bimbo Note story. The rest of the captions are in order on my index page

Dull, dull, dull... Even the drinks are boring, Azalea thought as she slugged on another glass of house wine from her spot next to the cloakroom. The wedding reception should have been in full by now – an orgy of drunken karaoke, slurred speeches and future regrets, yet the scene before her was as sterile as a 90-year-old's dick – polite toasts, rehearsed dances, sincere messages in a guest book, and worst of all, one of those gimmicky photo booths. Not even the gaudy pinks of the room's drapes and velvet carpets could add colour to the event.

She couldn't remember how she came to be invited to the union of the newly minted Mr and Mrs Frost – some cousin of a cousin maybe – but her plan to drag home a drunken wealthy grooms-man or two was fading by the second. She had incorrectly assumed that the inclusion of distant relations such as herself meant a big budget and similarly rich suitors, however, the vibe from the department store suits and sweaty 20-somethings was poor...poor and dull.

Grabbing two more glasses of wine from the tray of a nearby waiter, she surveyed the cloakroom for a coat she could sell to at least make her coming worthwhile. An impossibly grey middle-aged woman caught her eye – she was standing near the guest book and waving frantically for some kind of help. Apparently, the pen provided had ran dry. Couldn't be any dryer than this party, Azalea muttered under her breath, even as an idea started to form in her mind. A fiendish, terrible majestic idea.

Azalea found her own trenchcoat from the rack and pulled the leather tome from the inside pocket along with the pen that always accompanied it. “I have a pen,” she strode over to the woman with it held out like a sabre before letting it slip from her grasp at the crucial moment. As the woman bent to retrieve it, Azalea quickly scooped up the guest book and replaced it with the Bimbo Note open to a clean white page. “Enjoy!” she smiled sweetly and melted back into the crowd of people.

Azalea knocked back another six glasses of wine as she watched the chaos slowly to simmer into outright anarchy. The stiff suits and off-the-rail dresses started to fade into a posse of large breasted young women dressed in stockings and platform heels. Thinking someone had ordered strippers, the more uptight guests headed for the exit, signing the guestbook before they left, further feeding the scene until the dance floor looked like something from the Playboy Mansion rather than a wedding reception.

“Wait for me!” Azalea plucked another wine glass from the tray of an open-mouthed waiter and danced her way over to where three of the former guests were getting increasingly handsy with one another. She kissed one on the mouth before pouring a little wine between two plump glossy lips, letting a little of the red liquid spill onto the massive breasts below. “Let me help you clear that up!” She said, pushing one of the other bimbo's face towards the soaked pair of tits.

Whatever Happened to Saul? (Rescue Package)

 Today's Flashback Friday is a continuation of my LoanRanger story. All the previous captions in this series are on my index page. This particular flashback is for Rescue Package.

As a man, Saul had been a stress magnet. A failing business and a failing marriage would be enough to get any guy a little anxious, but throw in Saul's nervous disposition and you got a cauldron of jitters. As a man, Saul has been a sweat factory – but as a woman, he was something else entirely.

The stage-lights certainly didn't help. In fact, the whole backstage area was a furnace, and by the time Saul finally got to take his weight off his painfully high-heeled feet, perspiration was streaming down the back of his leather corset and into the seat of his rhinestone covered panties. Already, he could feel a damp patch forming on the velvet cover on the chair holding his plump surgery enhanced ass. Suspenders were chaffing his freshly waxed legs and his nylon stockings were itching uncomfortably.

“You always were a nervous wreck at things like this,” Vivienne his ex-wife and new CEO of LoanRanger spotted him panting in his chair. “Good thing we had the sense to set you up with waterproof makeup for tonight. And with your hair all grown out now, at least you don't need to wear a heavy wig.” She nodded sympathetically at Saul's sweaty brow as the buzz of excitement from the crowd the other side of the curtain started to gather volume.

“Small mercies...” Saul replied dryly and breathed out heavily, his large round breast implants pushing against the leather material of his top and producing another epicentre of warmth on his body. “Vivienne...” he sighed and tossed his long blonde hair to one side and nervously pushing the toe of one of his stilettos into the wooden floor, ...”can't I at least take the plug out for this? There are so many people out there, and it is so uncomfortable. I feel so full with it in and I just know I will forget my lines. It makes me feel so distracted...so...”

“Horny...?” Alice, the LoanRanger company attorney and architect of the scheme that had transformed both Saul and his life in exchange for saving him from his creditors, approached the former husband and wife from behind. “I am afraid there is no time,” the lawyer explained gleefully. “I mean, while I am sure you are nice and loose by now, by the time you have squeezed that cute little princess plug out, the Annual Credit and Loans Awards night will be half-way through its second presentation. If its hostess was spending that time expelling a sextoy in front of them...well, that would just be improper, wouldn't it?” She drank in Saul's baleful look and noted the sympathetic wince on the face of Vivienne, her client. “I will tell you what though, Sugartits. If you waddle that pretty plump ass of yours out onto that stage and entertain those people in your sexy little outfit, I will give you a little 'prompt' every time you forget your lines.” She produced a keyfob and gave Saul a little taste of what she meant that almost sent him leaping out of his seat. “If I were you, I would concentrate,” she grinned as the lights dimmed and the curtains began to open ominously. “Screw up too much and you could be putting on a very different kind of show...

The Lost Art of Gift Giving

“Can I make an observation?” Josephine asked as she snapped another photo. Her client was stood between a pair of Christmas Trees wearing a Santa red latex dress with matching stiletto and glossy nylon pantyhose. Usually, her clients ordered her photoshoot experience days as a feminine escape from their mundane masculine existences, but in spite of the layers of cosmetics painting Greg's face into a creature of beauty, he did not look pleased at all. “You don't seem all that happy. Are you not enjoying this? We can try some different outfits if you would prefer?”

“It's that obvious is it?” Greg brushed some blonde locks of his wig from his face and gently rolled his eyes. With makeup contouring on his face and his thick red lips, it looked like little more than a prissy pout. “Look, I don't want to offend, but this really isn't my thing.” He watched the vivacious photographer's face contort with confusion and sighed. “It's my cousins... There are four of us, and we kind of came up with this tradition about 7 or 8 years ago that whatever we received from each other for Christmas had to be used regardless of how we felt about it. We kind of had issues with re-gifting and it was supposed to fix this and teach each of us to be more grateful. That was the intention anyway.” Greg blushed as if remembering his predicament and started to fidget with the petticoat beneath his dress before thinking better of it. “So, after a few years, I kind of started to have some fun with it. I would gift weird embarrassing things, John got a mankini, I got Abigail a whipped-cream enema kit...the one year I got Kacey glow in the dark nipple rings. She didn't realise she had to keep them in for six weeks so they would heal...she had them in for her wedding...”

“So let me guess,” Josephine grinned and started to shoot pictures again. “They teamed up and got you a makeover photoshoot with little old me this year? By the way, what actually is to say you actually have to use the presents? What's to stop you saying no?”

“It is an automatic disinvite from everything, every family event – weddings, birthdays...even the Easter Egg Hunt. It is immediate family pariah status.” Greg settled his hands on his hips. “And actually, the photoshoot was just John's gift. Kacey got me a round of hormone therapy, she insisted I take them for a month before I came to you. She quote unquote wanted me to have curves to show off. And Abigail...well, she got me...” He glanced down nervously at the hem of his vinyl dress and whispered, “...a chastity cage...”

“Ah...” Josephine chuckled, “now I understand why you didn't want me to show you how to tuck after I put your breastplate on. You're already tucked up nice and tight.” She arched one eyebrow over her camera. “That is if the pills have left you much to tuck.” She tried to stifle her laughter as she continued to shoot photos. The cousins had got Greg good but it probably wasn't the moment to mention that John had paid for the premium package and she had used permanent makeup and threaded the wig into his actual hair.  

 

The After Party

 

“That's it, Ladies. Get under their nice and deep. Your gifts are down there somewhere...maybe right at the back!” Mr. Henderson's gameshow-host baritone echoed across the room and over the heads of the prone figures of Freddy and his Mother.

“Hey, Mom!” Freddy hissed, giving a furious side-eye. “Maybe your promotion's under here too...” His Mother didn't return his glare. Her makeup caked face just kept on looking earnestly under her boss's office Christmas tree as if the keys to her future career did indeed lie down there somewhere. Freddy sighed and chewed on his ruby coated lower lip. How had he allowed himself to get roped into his Mom's shameless scheme like this? Was his dignity really worth so little? Behind them, the magnanimous Mr. Henderson was lighting a fireplace and Freddy felt the flames warm his exposed buttcheeks. He wanted to reach back and pull the Christmas jumper back down over his ass but the last thing he needed was to draw any further attention to his rear than necessary. It was bad enough that the panties his Mom had given him to wear were on full display.

“Oh, Sir, you are far too generous!” His Mother announced in a liquorice sweet voice as she laid her hands on a pair of wrapped boxes Really, these gorgeous Christmas jumpers were more than enough!" She leaned in close to Freddy so that her dark hair became intermingled with the blonde highlights of his wig and gave him a stern look that said 'Don t ruin this for me!' Freddy rolled his eves and felt his heavy lashes as he did so remind him he was wearing even more makeup than his mother. The jumpers really were more than enough. His mother had flirted shamelessly with Mr. Henderson throughout the party and when he had insisted they stay for champagne in his office after the rest of the guests had left, he had presented them with a pair of Christmas jumpers - the figure hugging kind that were meant to be worn like dress - a dress that rode up mercilessly when you started crawling around on your hands and knees.

“Oh no...” Freddy gasped as he saw what his mother had produced from the first of the gift boxes. She was holding a pair of pink fur-lined handcuffs from one of her French-tipped fingers. The cogs of greeds were turning behind her eyes as she pondered how much she wanted this promotion. Meanwhile, Mr. Henderson's son had taken his place in the doorway of his father's office and the two men gazed down at the two women on their knees beneath the Christmas tree with matching grins stretched across their faces.

“Don't worry, Jessica. You have a pair too!” Mr. Henderson smiled and put his arm around his son's shoulders. “We are a family company here. If you can make my boy happy, I will be sure to make your mother very happy indeed!” Freddy's pretty mouth dropped open in horror just as his mother thrust the remaining gift box triumphantly into his hands.

Regifted

 

Giles knew something was wrong the moment he opened his eyes. Waking up underneath the Christmas Tree was never a good way to start the day. How much brandy had he drank last night? Groaning, he stumbled to his feet, taking a line of tinsel from the tree with him. His head was spinning and he raised a hand to his temple to find that he was still wearing the stupid Santa hat that girl from the bar had put on his head. He scrunched his eyes in an attempt to remember anything else he didn't need his wife finding out about. Finding nothing but a blurry haze, he attempted to remove the tinsel from around his neck only for it to catch on something. Hair? He fumbled with confusion. Long glossy hair? Following the line of tinsel with his eyes, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of a slender, tight feminine body with a pierced navel and tidy round breasts wrapped in a red silk ribbon. He raised the tinsel up that was by now draped over his shoulders like he was a snake dancer, as if his normal male body was there somewhere – he just needed to find it.

“In case you haven't figured it out yet, it is a bodysuit!” Giles's wife stood in the doorway with her arms folder over her chest. “It is my present to myself. Cause I know now I can't rely on my worthless husband to get me something I want – except maybe stumbling home blackout drunk and smelling of perfume on Christmas Eve. It sure made getting you in that thing a damn sight easier.” She watched Giles open and close his mouth pathetically and strode across the room towards him. “You promised me something good this year. And, fool me, I actually believed you – despite how many times you have disappointed me in the past. I believed you until I found these in the closet anyway!” She held up a plastic display box. “Ho-Ho-Ho Horny vibrating nipple rings,” she read aloud, “self-piercing and equipped with mini-electroshocks to give your love life a spark this Christmas.” Giles's wife sighed. “No, freaking, thank you!?”

“Honey...” Giles started to protest and paused at the sound of the soft feminine lilt that was now his voice. He raised a hand to his swan-like throat and traced a finger to a pair of soft pink lips, which were by now hanging open in horror. He caught his wife's glare before shifting his gaze to his would-be gift. The box was empty. His knees quivering involuntarily.

“Whatever is the matter?” His wife smiled coyly. “Is it this?” She pulled a keyfob from her pocket and seconds later Giles was squealing in pain as sparks shot from his ribbon covered breasts. “I guess at least your shitty gift came with batteries.” She smirked cruelly and gave him another zap. “And to think this is what you wanted for me... To spark my tits until I performed whatever depraved act you wanted from me.” She watched with satisfaction as Giles's new delicate form fell to his knees in front of the tree panting. “Well, we'll see who the Ho Ho Ho really is this afternoon. I invited a couple of my guy friends over for Christmas dinner. I haven't decided yet if I am going to make you watch them screw me, or if I will watch them give you a good stuffing – either way you are finally giving me a gift I actually want...”