Miss-Labelled Part 3

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miss-Labelled Part 2

 

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

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

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

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

Miss-Labelled Part 1

 

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

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

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

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

Chick Roulette

 14/25

Louis didn’t even bother putting his dick back in his pants as the scrolling symbol on the screen signalled Mugshot was finding another random member to connect with. The trick was keeping whatever unsuspecting chick it partnered him with online long enough to get a few strokes off. If he was very lucky, they would be the kind of wild slut who already had their tits out. Whoever was the other side of his screen when he finally shot his load, won the jackpot.

Louis was using the roulette function of the popular video chat platform ‘Mugshot’. Users were paired up randomly in a kind of digital speed dating until either party elected to move to the next person. To Louis’s disdain, this was almost always quicker than his exhibitionist tendencies wanted.

The scrolling circle disappeared and a username appeared in the top right of the screen – Delilah101. A gorgeous blonde girl appeared before him and Louis began to jerk off furiously.

“Well, hello there, SlutSlayer69,” she winked flirtatiously. “Aren’t you an eager beaver?” She placed one long pink fingernail between her teeth and Louis braced himself to glaze his keyboard. But, moments before lift-off, the recipient of his lust gestured her hand from right to left, the Mugshot prompt to move to the next connection. However, Delilah didn’t disappear from the screen. Instead, the scroll wheel appeared over the image in the bottom left – the insert that showed Louis’s webcam. When an image returned, it no longer showed him grasping his erect cock, but rather a blonde bimbo bursting with silicone encased in a fishnet bodysuit. “That’s better!” Delilah winked, and then she too disappeared.

“Whoa!! Nice rack!!” The hill-billy on the screen exclaimed and Louis’s mouth dropped open in surprise. The swollen pout of the babe in the corner of the screen also widened and he realised he was no longer gripping his stiff cock. He glanced down at his now flat crotch covered by a flimsy pair of red panties. A belly button piercing winked at him from just above them. Using a shaking manicured hand, he waved to dismiss the red-neck, only for him to be replaced to by an equally leery neck-beard with three chins. Shame washed through him and his hands shot up to cover the quivering jugs on his chest.

When he swiped again, he found himself doing so over and over as each drooling horny guy was replaced by an equally gross alternative. The few female pairings he got snorted and swiped themselves to send him to a new partner. Panic surged within him. He had to find Delilah again. Just when things started to feel hopeless, a DM popped up from the toolbar. “If you want your little friend back, I suggest you give some of these punters what they came for!”.

Louis grunted in self-disgust but when the next man appeared on his screen, he obediently grabbed both of his breasts and massaged them clumsily. And when directed to do so, he slipped one of his long fingernails into his panties and began to softly stroke himself. Any arousal he felt completely dissipated on seeing the guy shoot his load, but he was quickly replaced by another guy and another set of humiliating instructions. Over the next two hours, Louis performed stripteases, simulated blowjobs on a cucumber, rubbed oil on himself and even spread his ass-cheeks wide apart as guy after guy came over the human embodiment of a wet-dream Delilah had turned him into.

“I guess you’ve earned this!” At last Delilah101 returned to his screen. She swiped once more and both the main screen and the webcam insert showed the scrolling logo. Even before the image returned, Louis felt the comforting sensation of his penis in his fist.

“Holy shit! A hot shemale!!” His new partner gasped as Louis stared at his throbbing dick poking out from a hole in the fishnet bodysuit.

What the Hell Happened to Hugo? (Not an Exact Séance)

 Original caption is here 

“So?” Hugo took another step along the cracked tiled corridor before stumbling awkwardly once again in the leather six-inch heels. “Do you think it could be somewhere around here?” He asked. “Any of this look familiar?”

“How should I know?” The voice in his head scowled. “It's your stupid house – is it too much to ask that you walk around it without falling over and making me look like an invalid?” Hugo winced at the scathing female hiss in spite of its incorporeality. “And, by the way,” it continued, “this might be your stupid house, but that is still my body...in spite of everything. I would appreciate it if you didn't dress me as a complete slut every time you take me out!”

“Huh?” Hugo dropped the woman's delicate chin in confusion and stared down at the vinyl dress he had spent twenty minutes squeezing his adopted body into that morning. It's sheen was as alien to him as the soft female skin with the strange drawings on it that he also now wore. “Madam,”he prompted, “I do apologise, but I have been dead 300 years. I have never seen anything like this shiny material before in my life or death. I just assumed it was a modern luxury, not as it seems, a symbol of promiscuity. May I ask, why do you own it if it brings you such shame?”

“I am not ashamed of it!” The voice snapped with venom. “It is for...special occasions – certainly not for 500-year-old dead dudes to play dress-up in their favourite haunted house.” Her tone was shrill – sounding out all of the eight years she had been trapped as a passenger in her own body after a Halloween séance had gone awry. “Look, let's focus, shall we? When I summoned you, I read from an old piece of parchment. There was another stanza on that document and I dropped it somewhere in your stupid house. Finding that parchment could be the key to me getting my body back and you returning to the after...hey! Would you kindly stop playing with my tits!?”

“I apologise, Madam,” Hugo stammered. “But they really are majestic. In my day, sculptors would have travelled from far and wide to capture them in clay. You would have been quite the attraction.”

“I am not an attraction!” The voice pouted. “And while we are on the subject, could you please stop with the masturbating? I might not be able to feel it, but it is still humiliating. It is still my freaking body.”

“Madam, again I apologise.” Hugo protested. “I now realise that doing it in the market was an error. I truly did not intend to alert those guards. Would now be a more appropriate time? I do think it might help stimulate our memories.” Fighting to hide his excitement, Hugo pushed his slender fingers under the top of his latex panties and closed his eyes.  

What the Hell Happened to...? (Over My Dead Body)

  The original caption is here

She found me after the funeral. I’d been pretending to mourn beside people who would never guess the truth, when I felt her hand — dry, soft, and deliberate — rest on my shoulder. “You wear it well,” she said, her breath faintly sweet, like decayed fruit. I dumbly looked down at my black latex dress – Dana's black latex dress.

I wanted to run, but Dana’s legs betrayed me, rooted to the spot as if they remembered her better than I did. “You did this to me,” I hissed.

The old woman smiled. “I saved you. You were dying without purpose, so I gave you a new home. You should be thanking me.”

I almost laughed, but the sound caught in my throat. “You put me in her. She murdered me.”

Her eyes glittered. “And yet here you stand, breathing through the hands that ended your life. A perfect circle. A second chance. But the circle must close again, when the time comes.”

Before I could ask what she meant, she turned and slipped into the mist like a wisp of ash, leaving the scent of damp earth behind her.

That night I dreamt of my body — or rather, the one that used to be mine — clawing at the inside of its coffin. The sound was muffled, desperate, rhythmic, like fingernails on wet wood. When I woke, the sheets were torn and my hands bled. The soft curves of my new body were wet with perspiration under a pair of Dana's silk pyjamas. How could I possibly go on like this?

I didn’t dare sleep again. I padded into the bathroom where I had removed the mirror, as I had done with every other reflective surface in the apartment. I couldn't bear to catch sight of myself from the corner of my eye. Every time I had, that moment where Dana had bore down on me knife in hand flashed in the back of my skull. However, I did have a sliver of silver that I kept handy for when the curiosity got too much. Such as now.

Dana’s reflection looked back, a face full of makeup that I had not bothered to wash off after the funeral, her features twitching as if she were trying to wake up beneath my skin. I whispered, “Are you still in there?” The glossy red lips in the mirror curled into a smile that wasn’t mine.

Now I understand what the old woman meant. Salvation was never about saving the soul. It was about recycling it.

And I can feel her coming back — clawing her way up to finish what she started – but not from the dirt, from inside of me...

The Legend of Harlot's Creek Part 2

 

When Mikey and Patrick assembled in their customary place the next day for their midday smoke, they were startled to find they were not alone. As if expecting them, an elegant figure sat perched on what remained of a destroyed staircase from what was once the mansion's east wing. The woman held her head as in a daze – her multicoloured hair cascading over a revealing sheer leotard and leather corset outfit. Thigh high boots completed her look – one that was drastically out of tone with the ruined old house.

“I suppose I found my proof in a way...just as the Harlot promised I would that night I saw her down by the creek” the woman spoke softly...ruefully. “I mean, I would have settled for photos but that bitch did this to me instead.” Mikey and Patrick stared at one another and then at the women in abject confusion until finally the busty newcomer broke the silence. “Guys, it's me...Caleb!” The woman stood and took a step towards them.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Mikey finally found his voice. “I don't know how Caleb put you up to this...or how much he paid, but this isn't funny...it's just weird. You might be kind of hot but...”

“Hey!” the woman interrupted, her beautiful face stormy “You aren't listening. I am Caleb!” Her eyes soothed from anger to fear. “Guys, you got to help me. I found her, the Harlot...she told me to go to the house...she's not what we thought. She's the reason I have these!” She grabbed her own breasts firmly and gave them an exaggerated jiggle. “She's...” The woman stopped and gave her chest another shake. Her stare seemed to turn glassy and her thick pink lips parted. “She's...” Her voice broke off into a moan – snd then a soft panted sigh. She dropped one hand to the avenue of soft skin on her inner thigh between the bottom of the leotard and the top of a boot – her other hand reached her chin and pushing a long slender finger into her mouth. “You have to go to the house...tonight!”

“Lady, are you okay?” Patrick asked even as she took a step towards him. He didn't resist as she pushed a hand into his hair and pulled herself close to him. They were face to face, her round tits pushing into him. He could feel her laboured breaths as she gave another ecstatic cry and leaned in.

“Dude!” Mikey pulled his friend away from the obviously horny woman. Patrick glared at him with clear annoyance until he saw the fear in his comrade's face. “Look!” Mikey nodded to the woman's crotch where an erect cock appeared to be pushing hard against the sheer material of the leotard. The woman seemed oblivious, she merely continued to step towards them with the same dull expression of arousal on her features. “I hope to God I am wrong,” Mikey muttered, “but I think somehow, that actually might be Caleb!”

The Girls

 24/25

Eric pushed himself off the tall metal stool and looked around nervously at the rest of the support group. They were all there for same purpose as he was – to heal, but their eyes bore into him all the same. They had all been wronged, cheated out of their regular lives and their voices ignored by society for the supposed 'Greater Good' just as he had. He had listened to their stories and now finally it was his turn to speak about the injustice that had befallen him. Placing his manicured hands on the tops of his thigh-high boots, he cast his gaze amongst them avoiding direct eye contact, and began...

“Hi everyone. My name is Eric Baker...but I guess I just go by Baker now. Obviously I don't look much like an Eric any more... Like all of you, my life was changed forever by the actions of the so-called 'Protectors' in what they say is their line of duty. Like you, I am supposed 'collateral damage' in the 'eternal struggle with evil.” He finally looked up and saw countless faces nodding in agreement. Some were scarred, others belonged to visibly injured people and many like his, were simply worn by people to whom they did not belong.

“Hello, Baker,” the group murmured in unison.

“I used to be a security guard. I was bulky and strong. I guess that's why I was chosen,” Baker looked forlorn down at his slender new existence. “The Super known as 'the Leaper' was in pursuit of a criminal outside the club I was working and she must have decided I was a good fit for the chase as before I knew it, she had commandeered by body and I was switched into the one she had previously been possessing. This one.” He gave the group a moment to look over the figure his mind now captained. In the week since the switch he had got used to the stares. At least the support group would be sympathetic. “It belonged to a girl that danced in the club I worked at. Sandy. Her mind is now stuck in a businessman from Hong Kong.”

“It's true.” The group whirled around to see a small Asian gentleman sobbing at the back of the room.

“Of course, I have tried to get through to the Protectors and their representatives,” Baker continued, “but I am sure all of you know how it goes. I was redirected through countless corporate departments and when I finally did get someone to listen to me, I was told I couldn't prove anything and threatened with legal action or 'worse' if I didn't keep my mouth shut. I was told if I even implied that the Leaper or any other of the Protectors supers had harmed me in any way, I would be made very miserable indeed.” He took a moment to survey the downcast eyes around him and knew that the rest of the group had suffered almost identical experiences. “But I'm already miserable. I kept working at the club. What else was I supposed to do? I have rent to pay and Lord knows I've watched those girls dance enough times to know how to move. I am trying to stay positive. The female orgasm is a thing to marvel,” he cracked in a half-hearted attempt to raise the mood. “But every time I grind on that pole or pull on one of these slutty outfits, I die a little more inside. Hell, I've even got bored of watching my tits bounce in the mirror.” He brushed his long dark hair from his face and sighed. “I may be stuck as a hot little stripper forever..but someday...somehow, those Supers are going to pay for what they've done.”

Soul Switchers Part 3

 12/25

Though I eventually regained my senses, I never again regained my own body. I still don't know for sure why Hannah wouldn't switch back, or if she even could. Our undying love as soulmates was a prerequisite of our secret ability and the core trust of our relationship was undeniably shattered that day. I allowed another woman to defile my wife's body with me as pilot for my own pleasure and I wouldn't blame Hannah for not forgiving me for that alone. There was more however. Seeing her unresponsive to my efforts to please her later in our bedroom made me realise that though we had been sharing bodies for years, we had not quite shared everything. It had become painfully clear my wife had not been sharing in the orgasmic pleasure of our lovemaking nor had she shared the honest truth of my failing to her.

With this in mind, I can only imagine how Hannah felt watching me scream and moan while wearing her body. Seeing me squirm and writhe as she guided the cock that had previously failed her into me must at the very least have kindled jealousy...resentment even. My eyes rolled deep into the back of my head while she thrust deeper into the hot pussy I had on loan.

I was too busy screaming into that bead necklace stuffed between my lips to notice Hannah also climaxed. Had I been listening, I might have heard the grunting of my own voice as she shot sticky fluid over my stinging pert asscheeks. It was the first and last time I ever made my wife cum and I genuinely don't blame her for taking this small consolation as her own.

It has been two and a half months since I parted from my soulmate and in that time I have reached glorious ecstasy one hundred and ninety four times. Having someone who can speak to your soul is all fine and well but someone who can speak to your body can take you places love alone never can. Now that I am single, I can share my new body with as many of these people as I like...and fuck me, do I like...

Take Daisy for example, a blonde domina who won't even tell me her real name. She knows how to treat me. She knows how to use me. She knows how to tie a leash around my neck and pull me deep into her drooling gash. She knows how to laugh at me in a way that pushes me even further over the edge – laugh at me while I whimper at the enormous strap-on dildo crammed in my ass. She is one of many...

I am not looking for a new soulmate. I am too far gone for that. I never thought of Hannah as a bimbo or a slut, but now that I have tasted this life in her body, it is all I crave to be. I am just chasing moments... short, exhilarating, explosive, earth-shattering moments, and I don't care who gives them to me.

Soul Switchers Part 2

 11/25

In those first moments of piercing ecstasy I thought nothing. All mental function ceased and my existence was reduced to pure concentrated physicality. A stranger's face pressed between my legs. Her clawing fingernails scraping the soft flesh of my ass. Squeezing. Pulling. Impaling me deeper on her busy tongue. As the void in my head subsided, I contemplated my soul as I had done many times before. As the orgasm had washed over me it had surrendered control absolutely and Hannah's body betraying me as I betrayed her soul in turn.

I have never tried to hide anything from my wife. We are soulmates after all. And whilst returning home to her waiting with dinner, I realised I was not about to start. The screaming pleasure had ended but its pulsing echo flushed through me. An afterglow so warm that I could only bask in it and drool hungrily into Hannah's panties as I sat on the busy commuter train.

I suppose the fact I didn't foresee Hannah's reaction when we returned to our own bodies should have been my first red flag to how all of this would eventually play out. I had betrayed my wife while wearing her skin and of course upon switching back she immediately knew this. The buzz, the wetness...it would have been as if she had been in that office herself, her lips wrapped around her boss's thumb, sucking obediently while another hand was send crashing across her exposed rear.

But the anger, the shouting, the deserved accusations of betrayal never came. My soulmate didn't want to avenge the sexual debasement of her body, she wanted to experience it. She was feeling the rippling of the waves against the shore but she wanted the crashing tide and everything that came with it. Like I before, the wants of her soul submitted to the needs of her body.

We left dinner to go cold and Hannah dragged me upstairs. She wanted everything her boss had given me and I tried valiantly to provide. I licked and I stroked and I spanked and I pounded and yet all my efforts were met with equal disappointment. With every passing moment of my wife's indifference in the bedroom, it became clearer that Hannah had been hiding something from me all along. Much effort and no orgasms later, she was ready to switch approach.

We swapped places again then. If I couldn't give my wife what she desired, we could crack the code another way. I would wear her body and use my experience from earlier that evening to guide her hand so that we might recreate it in our own bodies afterwards. Any reluctance I had disappeared the instant I entered Hannah once more. The steady thrum of that climax remained as white noise and my soulmate got to work on unlocking it. Like an addict, I wanted that high again and though it took a while for Hannah to break me, eventually I came and I came hard. My mind thought nothing as I writhed inside Hannah's body, a bead necklace shoved in my mouth, a firm hand grasping my hair, and my own cock deep inside me as my wife furiously pounded me into the mattress.

Soul Switchers Part 1

 10/25

Life is made of moments. Short, exhilarating, explosive, earth-shattering moments. Like the first time I saw my wife. From the moment I looked into those big round gorgeous eyes I knew we were soulmates. Some of you may be reading this, perhaps sipping a hot beverage and nodding your head, thinking you understand, thinking you can relate to how I felt in that moment. You don't and you can't. You see, being a soulmate is not merely being in love with someone. It is not waking every day just to see their face or even being willing to lay down your life for theirs at a moment's notice. It is more. So much more.

Soulmates...true soulmates, carry a secret – a magical, wonderful shared secret. They will never tell you this secret, not because there is some dire consequence, but because they simply have no need to do so. There is nothing more to gain. We are complete. We are one, and we are so...so rare.

True soulmates can share bodies. By this I mean my wife commands the ability to pilot my body and I hers. Our love is so pure, our souls so intertwined, that the very essence of who we are is blurred between us. We are no longer individuals. We are an us. I can be her and she can be me and the limits of existence observe an orbit one body greater than the rest of you.

Perhaps you are wondering if such a secret actually comes with any advantages? Well, think about that for a second. In sharing our bodies, our bodies also share our minds...our personalities...our abilities. Hannah is fantastic at job interviews – she goes to all of mine in my body and I have risen up my company ladder like a helium balloon. On the flipside, I speak French fluently. Last month I was able to pilot Hannah's body to charm her a big new client in Paris and earn her a promotion of her own. We are so in tune that we know instantly when the other wants us to step in – even for just a few hours. Like this afternoon, for example. Hannah slipped up with her new client in a conference call after they were surprised to find her grasp of French had diminished dramatically since their last meeting and was due a dressing down from her boss. I have no problem being shouted at by a woman I don't even know so I was more than happy to jump into my wife's body for an hour after work while Hannah used mine to start on dinner.

Except her boss wasn't interested in just shouting. She wanted to threaten, cajole and punish. She wanted to seduce and to use. Ultimately, she wanted to fuck.

You are probably wondering why I am telling you this. After all, I told you that we soulmates have no need to share our secrets. We have no need for more. I am telling you because life is made of moments. Short, exhilarating, explosive, earth-shattering moments and I now know that the female orgasm is one of such moments, and holy shit do I want more...

The Nihilist

 9/25

This caption features the Bimbo Note and is a follow up to this recent Flashback Friday

Azalea knew how to drip honey. She knew how to move her body, what faces to pull and exactly what to say to captivate her audience and turn them into a sticky mess. These were skills that made her such an enticing attraction on OnlyFemmes. Men would pay good money to satisfy their sweet-tooth with a custom video or a private stream and she knew exactly how to keep them coming back for more.

Today's mark was a rather buff looking nerd and Azalea gazed hypnotically at him down the lens of her tripod mounted camera. On her laptop screen, the man sat on a bed with his legs spread wide slowly stroked a large cock as she swayed her hips gently in her black latex catsuit. Slowly, she eased down the zipper on the front of her outfit, removed one of her fleshy round breasts and began to massage the pierced nipple. The man's tongue lolled out and his hand picked up speed. Azalea moved her gloved fingers to her mouth and one by one suckled them with her plump pink lips while expertly gliding the zipper further down. The other breast plopped free and she replaced her fingers with the newly liberated bosom, gnashing lightly at it with perfect white teeth.

Finally, the zipper snapped just below the naval and Azalea looked down at it with coy surprise. A flick of her eyes towards the screen told her that the man was beating frantically now and she slipped her rubber clad fingers beneath her catsuit and began to rotate. She would need to be quick.

Azalea moaned loudly, her hips thrusting spasmodically towards the camera to the crackle of her latex catsuit. She opened her eyes as wide as they would go and let them roll back into her head. Her audience didn't even seem to notice this little embellishment and she realised he must be getting close.

"Quick," she cried through panted breaths, "tell me your name! I want to scream it while I cum my brains out looking at your cock. The man duely obliged and Azalea instantly regained composure and removed her hand from between her legs.

Ignoring her customer's obvious confusion, she coolly picked up the Bimbo Note from next to the laptop and scrawled the name on the first available clean page. On the laptop screen, the stunned man watched in horror as his erect dick shrank from his grasp and disappeared into his body. He gained curves and breasts and pink satin appeared and wrapped itself around his body. Stockings and then boots creeped up his legs and long hair fell over bare delicate shoulders. The finishing touch, a slutty heart shaped choker manifested around his neck just in time for the newly formed bimbo to begin twiddling a lock of hair – a vacant look on her heavily painted face.

Azalea glanced at the Bimbo note at her side and then at the empty vessel of femininity on her laptop. The honey was gone, only a cold stare remained as she returned her hand inside her catsuit and began to finger herself for real.

The Artist

 6/25

First thing's first. I updated the link to my deviantart page on the above menu to my new account. I will also be posting my caps there so if you want to save them or favourite or whatever, you can. I won't be doing much else on Deviantart simply because the vast majority of my caps are still on DA from my now defunct account so I can't crosslink series and tbh I am wary of investing too much time only to be banned again.

Today's caption is a bit of a cheat. I realised I had two characters known as 'the Artist' and so decided to merge them. All the related captions are now listed on my index under the series "The Artist" and I think there are a lot of fun possibilities to be had with this supervillain-esque character.

The Artist's fingers danced across the keyboard as he put the finishing touches on his latest project. A final flourish and a tap of the return key and it was done. “Return”, he smiled at the irony. No, for his subject, there would be no return. He leaned back in his chair, looking over what had once been the bustling staging area of the TicTechToe laboratory – back when he had been a respected architect of foolproof genetic aliases for military spies – back when he had still been Martin.

He looked over at the framed photograph of Bianca Beauchamp on his desk and reminisced for a second about his burgeoning career cut short on that fateful night when he transformed himself into the object of his affection. The years that followed had been hell of course as the tyrannical Ms. Williams had taken full advantage of his oversight of failing to save his own genetic profile and turned him into the company sex toy. When he eventually managed to complete the profile so he could turn himself back, Ms. Williams had spitefully deleted it and turned up his humiliation even further. That was the day Martin had died – or rather his tangible identity ceased to exist. If he couldn't be himself, he sure as hell wasn't going to spend one day longer as a military fuckbot and at the first opportunity he transformed himself into a random spy's genetic profile using the laboratory's technology. Rage had surged through him and going far further than he had ever planned, he deleted the genetic profile of every undercover agent on the system, condemning hundreds of men instantly to a lifetime of genetically perfect tits and pussies. In that moment he felt no guilt for the men that had used him – he felt nothing.

That was the day Martin died, but it was also the day the Artist was born. Following the catastrophe of losing an entire generation of spies, the military instantly cut all ties with TicTechToe and an arrest warrant was put out on Martin. There was just one problem. Martin didn't exist. The laboratory's tech allowed him to be anyone he wanted – and at that time, who he wanted to be was a mysterious investor willing to buy the disgraced company at a fraction of its value.

The Artist rubbed his hands together gleefully as the laboratory pod opened and his creation stepped out. The stunning redhead tottered forward unsteadily in a matching red latex bikini and coat – latex being the only non-organic material capable of surviving the genetic transformation pod. From the glazed look on the girl's face, she was still feeling the effects of the sedative he had administered when he snatched her from the local military base – back when she was still a male cadet. The Artist glanced at his computer screen where his client's specifications were laid out and then back at his creation with satisfaction. Gaining more awareness, the girl's eyes went wide with horror as she realised her fate. Gingerly, she slipped her thumbs into the rubber bikini bottoms, peeked, and let out a high pitched scream.

“Relax, Dear,” the Artist grinned cruelly, “I dare say your new owner will use that thing plenty to make you scream. And as for you...” he swivelled in his chair to where the blonde form of Ms. Williams was handcuffed to the foot of his desk, “don't worry, this is nothing compared to what I have planned for you!”

Not an Exact Seance

Trans-Atlantic

When Life Gives You Melons...

Whatever Happened to Tristan? (Flashback Friday)

Encore gets an encore.

Transit

Whatever Happened to Evan? (Flashback Christmas)

On this very special Christmas edition of Flashback Friday we journey all the way back to last year to check in on Evan. Last Christmas his girlfriend gave him her heart, but the very next day he gave it away to focus on plans of a debauchery filled trip to Vegas. In the lead up to Christmas he was visited by the bimbos of past, present and future but he failed to heed all their warnings to change his ways and ultimately he would join them in bimbodom. Now twelve months later, it's time to see how he enjoyed his year...

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Encore