Whatever Happened to Lorenzo? Part 2 (Finding the Perfect Girl)

 

It's incredible what even a small town can achieve when its people come together. Located somewhere between Milan and Palermo, the (almost) entirely female town of Femini celebrated the marriage of their beloved Padre to his new bride, Donatella, the sombre funeral following the tragic passing of their patriarch on his wedding night, and now just weeks later, they were once again ready for jubilation. Giulia, the Padre's doted daughter was to marry her long time girlfriend, Lorenza, and no expense had been spared for the coupling of the town's princesses.

Lorenzo had worn some ostentatious outfits since Giulia took control of his wardrobe, but this one took the cake – which by the way was seven exquisite layers of rich chocolate and fondant. Made from a delicate blend of velvet and lace, it was in the town's traditional colours rather than white, and adorned with jewels and tassels. He had stood for hours being vigorously measured for it and only Giulia's smallest chastity cage had saved him from discovery. To top it off, he wore a diamond encrusted necklace that probably cost more than the home he had grown up in as well as an ornate tiara. So much expensive jewellery hanging from his body only made him more nervous – not to speak of the hundreds of excited eyes on him from the town's female population. After the sudden death of the Padre, they were all eager for something to celebrate again, and he was that something.

The mansion's ballroom had been prepared for the ceremony and Lorenzo anxiously awaited Giulia's arrival so he could get this over with. He knew the room full of women would be wondering why he was staring at his feet piled into a pair of towering open-toed platform heels, but he couldn't meet their gazes. They didn't know what he knew. They didn't know that tucked away inside his silk bridal panties sat a cock, shaved and waxed hairless and held securely in a cage. They didn't know they weren't here to witness the pairing of two equals – two women in love. They were here to see a meat purchase – the rubber stamping of his body becoming property of the Padre's daughter. Finally, after what seemed like hours of playing with one of the ballroom's crystal chandeliers, Lorenzo forced himself to look up – and immediately met the eyes of Donatella, the Padre's widow and new ruler of Femini. There was an ice in her stare – a steely determination...a sense of duty, and in that single moment, Lorenzo knew that crossing her would be as foolish as crossing the Padre himself. He would need to be patient if he were to escape. He would need to bide his time and endure whatever Giulia had planned – at least for the time being.

There was a collective gasp and the guests turned to the ballroom's entrance where the other bride had just arrived. Giulia stood in the doorway and Lorenzo's heart sank. Unlike, his elegant dress, she was wearing a tuxedo, her hair chopped short into a masculine fade. It was clear what role she saw for herself in their partnership. His mind immediately flicked to their wedding night and the consummation of their marriage, and he started to calculate how much wine he could drink before the evening was through.    

Whatever Happened to Lorenzo? Part 1 (Finding the Perfect Girl)

 This is a Flashback Friday for Finding the Perfect Girl but also has overlap with The Offering and its Flashback

The Padre was dead. The grand leader of Femini, a tiny town located somewhere between Milan and Palermo, had left this world behind. Their patriarch was gone, bested by a fatal heart attack on his own wedding night, and just like that, the townspeople were mourning the only man amongst them – or so they thought...

Lorenzo sat in his satin bridesmaid dress, his long hair still scraped back into a tight bun, pondering what to do next. Giulia, the Padre's daughter, and the woman who had claimed him as her own had spent hours dressing him for the ceremony, rubbing lotions into his smooth olive skin, carefully crafting his hair, and of course wrapping him in the elegant gown that matched her own. He had feigned indifference throughout, but he had never been able to fool Giulia. She knew he hated it – just as he had always hated being her plaything. She knew him like he knew the back of his own perfectly manicured hand. From the very first time he had sneaked into Femini, easily fooling many of the local women into thinking he was one of them, she had immediately seen right through his disguise, recognising his discomfort and seeing him for what he was – an embarrassed boy in a dress. So little had changed.

But, now the Padre was dead. The man whose retribution Lorenzo had lived in fear of for years was no more. But what did that mean, really? Was he free? Could he just leave? The Padre left behind a queen – his brand new bride, Donatella. Surely, any women that could tame the Padre must be fierce in her own right, and with the wound of the patriarch's death still fresh, and emotions running high, now could be a fatal time to anger her – especially as a man in a woman's world.

Lorenzo sat in thought as the material of his dress clung to his legs in the humidity of the evening. If now was the wrong time to run, then when? He hated being Giulia's toy – her doll, but he could stick around a little longer. She loved to humiliate him with the endless and extravagantly feminine outfits, constantly teasing him with imminent exposure, but like many of the women in relationships in Femini, she observed the chastity that came with her faith – and so Lorenzo did too. Alright, she did make him wear a chastity cage, but with the many beautiful female servants milling around the Padre's enormous home night and day, that was probably for the best. More often than he would like to admit, he even yearned for Giulia to touch him. He just knew that the day she did would be the day his debasement was turned up exponentially.

“There you are!” Giulia entered the courtyard where he was sitting, her matching bridesmaid dress flowing behind her. It was clear she had been crying, but she was as stunningly beautiful as always. “All of this has made me realise how short life is? We mustn't wait any longer, Lorenza. Let me make you my princess. Please tell me it's a yes!”

Whatever Happened to Warren and James? (After the Sleepover)

Really sorry about skipping Flashback Friday last week. It was a rush getting Miss-Labelled finished and I ran out of time. Here is a Flashback for "After the Sleepover"

Over the years that followed, James and Warren's bus ride back into town after their failed spying on Jane's sleepover at her Dad's fishing cabin became the stuff of legends. It hadn't mattered that it was first thing on a Saturday morning, the number 10 had been full of people on their way to the town market and these days even grandmothers have smart phones. Pictures of the pair all trussed up in their prissy dresses soon found their way onto social media and rumours of how they ended up like that started to spread. There had been 12 girls at Jane's sleepover. All had seen the boys naked. All had seen the boys stuffed into panties so tight that their eyes watered and smeared their freshly applied mascara. All had seen them kiss each other before they were finally released into the wild.

Needless to say, James and Warren kept a low profile for a while. You would too if your hockey buddies started calling you 'Princess' during practice and girls would come up to you after class asking you to autograph a picture of yourself in a frilly dress with poofy sleeves. Still, time passed and people moved on. Slowly, the boys were allowed to forget their ordeal and returned to their old mischievous ways – at least until a hot afternoon in July over three years later.

“You all know who these guys are, right?” The girl sitting behind the driver glanced from the screen of her cell phone to James and then to Warren and then to her teammates seated in pairs on the remaining benches – her eyes wide with wonder. The boys didn't recognise any of the girls even a little. They had flagged down the minibus for a ride from a nearby town when they recognised the crest of their old high-school on its rear door to find it transporting a dance troop back home after a competition. However, the driver of the van, a young female dance coach from the local college had pulled to the side of the road when the boys began to toss a tennis ball to each other within the bus. “It's definitely them!” The girl grinned excitedly turning her phone around to her teammates. “It's the princesses!”

James and Warren weren't naked in front of twelve girls this time – it was only nine, plus a woman a couple of years older than them. The dance team didn't bother with truth or dare to feminise them like Jane and her friends had either. They just grabbed them and started pulling away their clothes, overwhelming them five to one. They had no problem getting the boys into the lacy competition outfits either, holding them down while their teammates pulled the fabric up and over their bodies. They were treating it like a kind of ceremony, repeating everything they had heard from the rumours – applying makeup, forcing them into the spankies designed to go under the dresses...making them kiss.

“Alright, off you get!” The coach pushed a button and bus's door creaked open. By now they were wearing matching costume wigs and towering high-heels that had been part of the competition outfits. The boys painted eyes shot wide in fear – they were still at least two miles from town. “Don't worry,” the driver smirked. “We aren't leaving you here. We do need those dresses back – as great as they look on you. We just want to watch you walk for a bit.” And so, James and Warren were left to totter along the country road in their heels while nine high-school girls leaned out of the windows of the slowly moving bus filming every moment with their cellphones. A car passed going the other way, honking loudly, and the boys each knew their notoriety was about to come back in a big way.

Whatever Happened to Brett? (Empathy Training)

 Original caption is here 

Touch ups! That's what Cynthia called them. Minor but vital corrections when the product wasn't quite right. Since his empathy training ten years ago, Brett had suffered through numerous of these touch ups and he was starting to hate how easily he could slip into character whenever his boss felt the need to punish his behaviour.

It was reaching the point where Brett felt the need to force his resistance to his female alter ego. It was humiliating that it had almost started to feel like part of him. That was why he was sitting up ramrod straight on the stool in the space Cynthia used as both her office and studio surrounded by photography and lighting apparatus. The leather leotard was a recent addition to his boss's wardrobe. Over the years, her tastes had shifted from shiny latex to other styles and Brett found that these always seemed to be extended to the collection of clothing used on him. The material clung to him as tightly as rubber ever had and he was restricted to short quick breaths.

“What you're feeling right now,” Cynthia told him sternly, “is something akin to what a bride will experience while she is cinched into her wedding corset. Maybe this will teach you to have a little patience.” She sighed. “With the amount of chances I have given you in your career, I would have hoped some of it may have rubbed off on you by now.” Brett would have laughed if it had been possible to catch his breath. She knew nothing of his patience. The countless humiliations he had put up with over the last decade knowing that the old bitch's retirement had to be just around the corner... And, finally, if the rumours he was hearing were true, it was finally here. “If it isn't too much to ask,” Cynthia continued, “do you mind trying to be professional for the next few minutes at least?”

The older woman whistled through her fingers and Brett sat up even straighter as the door to the studio began to open. The layers of cosmetics on his face resisted as he tried to adopt a neutral expression – Cynthia had really gone all out with the makeup this time. Brief panic flashed through him as a young woman, presumably another future bride, entered the room. The leather leotard was not only tight around his torso and he couldn't remember whether he had tucked, so he quickly wrapped one of his boot clad legs over the other – realising too late how humiliatingly feminine his pose was.

“Annabel, this is Brett. My brilliant but totally obnoxious wedding photographer. Without him, this company would not have had half the success it has had over the past ten years.” Cynthia paused just long enough for Brett to blush with surprise as the young guest looked at him with wonder. “However, without these occasional 'touch-ups' to correct his behaviour, Brett would have got us sued so many times that there would be no company. I suggest you continue them.” She stopped again to drink in the confusion on the photographer's face as his painted lips parted and his brushed eyes popped wide. “Brett, this Annabel, my niece. She will be taking over my role at the studio starting next month. I trust you will treat her with the respect you show me and not that you show our clients. To make sure, I will be showing her the ropes over the coming weeks...”

Whatever Happened to the Hot House? Part 2 (Hot House)

 

Harley tried to glide across the red carpet naturally but his gait seemed as forced as the smile plastered on his face. As head show-runner of the new hit reality show 'Hot House' it was normal that the paparazzi should gravitate to him – it was the annual television awards after all, and yet they buzzed around him for a very different reason. Hushed whispers were shared by the members of the press. Was this a stunt? Some kind of promotion for the new season of Hot House? Harley flushed as they snapped picture after picture, wishing for the carpet to transform into lava and swallow him whole – hideous outfit and all.

He could see himself reflected in their huge lenses. It was like a Christmas fairy had vomited all over him. The thick glossy pantyhose were only marginally less eye-catching than the glittering bodysuit that hugged and squeezed his figure into something he could never have imagined possible. His lips were painted to match his outfit and the rest of his face was caked in enough makeup to make his smile feel like it had been rendered in concrete. And yet, as he stood there a public spectacle, the national gossip rags getting their fill of a story that would no doubt run and run and further inflate the notoriety of Hot House, the nation's latest obsession, Harley knew that it was what was beneath the garish outer-layers of his outfit that was the source of his humiliation.

When Hot House ended prematurely, it had been Harley's idea to make a grab for the remaining contestants' social media accounts. And why not? It was right there in their contracts. The social media accounts would be returned to the show's winner upon culmination of the series – except the season didn't officially end and there was no winner apart from the company's shareholders. Rules were rules...

Keeping the socials for 'all' of the contestants was his downfall. He had thought some of them might come to his office to beg so when Emi knocked on his door, he thought nothing of it. When she poured herself into his lap, he drooled with anticipation of how far she might be willing to go to get her accounts back. He had been thrilled as she slowly stripped off his clothes, breathing softly in his ear as she covered his eyes and pushed his head back. He had moaned heavily in anticipation of ecstasy – right up to the instant he heard the antiseptic click of the cold metal device being locked over his scrotum.

From that moment, Emi had him by the balls – quite literally. Reacquiring her social media accounts had just been the beginning and she had set about transforming him into the sparkling creation that now simpered along the red carpet of the award show..

“Harley!” Someone shouted from behind the camera. “Are you aware of the clips of you Emi has just posted to her OnlyFemmes this evening? Some spicy stuff! Emi is claiming she is going to be running the new season of Hot House. Are you able to confirm? Will all the contestants end up looking like you? Harley?! How are you expecting to get contestants to sign up for that?!”

Whatever Happened to the Hot House Part 1 (Hot House)

 The last time we saw Jared and the Hot House was in my four part series in Season 7. Here is a Part 4 but you can use the search functionality on the home page to find the rest.

All good things come to an end and Hot House was no exception. It wasn't that it stopped bringing in viewers – audiences were still lapping up watching Emi and her band of girls terrorize their five hapless sissies day and night. The problem was one of greed. The boys' torment made great television and yet the show's directors started to ask how they could make Hot House bigger and better – how could it make more money? The final nail was the news that the Network would be airing the lost Apprentits tapes in full and Hot House's lead showrunner chose to pull the plug so they could prepare a new show to compete. All of the show's remaining housemates were evicted early – with the show retaining the social media accounts of all of them, claiming them forfeited as a result of the show never properly ending. Essentially, there was no winner, so everyone was treated like a loser.

If Jared had thought things were tough the first time he left the Hot House, they were ten times worse the second time. Now, he had a pair of enormous breasts attached to his chest – the cost of re-entry when he had pleaded to be allowed back onto the show, and millions of people worldwide had seen him moaning like a common whore as Emi and her crew fucked him in the ass with their strapons. His implants had made him the house's favourite toy and the feeling was shared with the general public. Weeks after the show had officially ended, viral videos of him being ploughed from behind while the other sissies had their faces shoved into his tits flooded the internet. As you would expect, after their exit, there was no comradery between any of the sissies. None of them wanted to be reminded of their ordeal ever again. They wanted to disappear from the public eye and never come back. The tv show had kept their social media accounts and that was just fine. The difference for Jared was that he still had boobs – big ones.

With no income to speak of, desperation turned him to setting up a GoFundMe to raise money to pay for removal of the implants. His plight got plenty of public attention but next to no donations. Talk shows offered him air time to promote his cause but they insisted he do so as his feminised self.

“So...Jared...” The host addressed him as his eyes flitted over the studio audience. Everyone was staring at him. This was a mistake. Finally, his eyes settled on one of the cameras filming him. He could see himself in a screen attached to the device. The talk show's stylists had gone all out – glossy gaudy makeup made his eyes and lips look huge and the satin top he was wearing was squeezing his enormous tits to bursting point. The only thing that wasn't massive was the microskirt they had gleefully dressed him in. “So...” The host prompted once more to get his attention. “With a new season of Hot House on the way, and promising to be bigger and better, you must be getting some offers to return to the house? Surely, you have a figure in mind they would need to offer for you to join the Hot House for a third time?”

Whatever Happened to James? (New Orders)

 Not so much a power couple... 

This is a Flashback Friday for New Orders

James knew there would be crowds but this took the cake. The sight of all those people stopped his heart cold deep in his corseted chest. He knew Sophia wanted an audience – she had gleefully taken him through the guest list, painstakingly outlining how his friends and family would be in the front row to witness his ultimate humiliation. This was her presenting to the world who the man she was about to marry really was – in all its gaudy detail. This was his unveiling and she wanted as many people to see it as possible. But did she really have to invite the local press?

Sophia had planned their wedding to the minute detail and having discovered James's secret fetish and his secret account funding it, she had all the money she needed to get what she wanted and the leverage she needed to force James's compliance. Flowers...check, cake...check, designer wedding dress with matching bridal lingerie...for James...also check. He had thought she was joking at first. Sure, their home life had taken a dramatic turn since the day Sophia had discovered his secret Glamazon account, but up until then she had kept his humiliation domestic. The neighbours knew, of course – Sophia loved to parade him front of their bay window in whatever new ultra-feminine outfit she had picked out for him, but that what nothing compared to walking him down the aisle in front of literally everyone he knew wearing a thigh length dress barely long enough to conceal his white silk panties.

James knew he could have stopped it any time – walked away from Sophia and her iron grip of his genitals. Yet, as the date grew closer and more and more layers were poured over his upcoming debasement, he became increasingly sure he wouldn't. The dance lessons where a bemused instructor taught Sophia to lead him around the ballroom, breastforms arriving in the mail and Sophia practising brushing foundation over them so they would be indistinguishable from his body, scheduling of his hair and makeup for the morning of the big day. He should walk away, but he couldn't. Sophia had set out to torment him but even since discovering his secret, she had become his greatest nightmare and his wildest fantasy.

There were gasps as James appeared in the aisle, and deservedly so. He had seen his reflection – he was beautiful, every inch the blushing bride. Sophia had crafted him well and he glowed under his glossy blonde hair and immaculate makeup. Hundreds of eyes were on him as he inched forward in his patent leather heels. He could see his brother, his school-friends, each with their jaws hanging slack. He knew the confusion that was running through their minds – the cocktail of desire and derision. It was the same mixture he had experienced many times.

“My bride...” Sophia stated, but she wasn't talking to him. She was at the head of the aisle dressed in a stylish tuxedo talking to a stunned reporter holding a microphone. “I know she looks gorgeous now, but our wedding night is going to be something. Let's see if her face looks so perfect after I have spent some time grinding it between my ass!”

Whatever Happened to Wilson? (Playing the Market)

 This Flashback Friday is for an old two part caption I am particularly fond of. Part 1, Part 2

For as long as he lived, Wilson didn't think he would ever hate a sound more than that of high-heel shoes clacking on wooden flooring – especially when said shoes were attached to his feet. Even the clang of prison doors slamming shut every night for the last ten years didn't come close. Even the sobbing of his cellmate couldn't touch that taunting clicking of leather on timber – and yet here he was, once more enduring it.

Wilson held the invite to the Gala in one hand and the hotel keycard in the other. He was manicured with French tips as instructed and his legs had a gloss to them only outdone by the metallic sheen of the silver dress that clung to his body. It wasn't a surprise that it fit perfectly – his tormentor had clearly done their homework and after all his body maintained its feminine proportions even after a decade behind bars. The evidence against him had been airtight, delivered with a red ribbon to the authorities, and his lawyer had not only advised him to plead guilty to all charges, but to maintain the facade of his new female identity. In the year leading up to his arrest he had been on accelerated hormone replacement and had multiple cosmetic procedures to reshape his body and face. He had neither the money nor time to reverse them before his trial and doing anything but continue to live as a women would have resulted in a truly hellish prison experience.

And now he was free... Wilson rolled his eyes at the thought. He was on parole, and that meant continuing to keep up appearances – at least on the rare occasion he left the house. Fortunately, the internet enabled him to live like a recluse most of the time. And then the Gala invitation arrived – a neat little printed card packaged up with the perfectly measured silver dress and instructions how to prepare himself for the event, meaning a string of trips to beauticians and treatments he could barely afford now. And for what? Why shouldn't he have tossed the invite and burn the dress? Well, it was from the person who delivered him to the authorities all those years ago. If he attended the gala, they promised to reveal themselves as the person responsible for his downfall.

Wilson slid the card into the hotel door and it opened with a buzz. The Gala was due to begin in an hour and he had just enough time to reapply his makeup and walk around a little without those damned heels. He slipped the invite into his tiny purse and froze in his tracks. An equally surprised figure stood before him in a matching silver dress. They were like a perfect reflection – not only in appearance but also the ordeal they had gone through in the last ten years.

“It's you...” Wilson stated glumly at Douglas. “Suppose you got one of these too?” He pulled the invite back out of his purse and the crestfallen look on his double's face was all the confirmation he needed. They both groaned in unison just as a polite knock preceded the room's door opening.

“Ladies.” An officious looking man greeted them. “I am here to collect and take you downstairs. Everyone is very excited for your joint keynote speech about overcoming corruption in the boardroom.”

Whatever Happened to Frank? (Come Together)

 Today's Flashback Friday is a for a two part story I wrote nearly 12 years ago. You can find it here. Part 1 Part 2

Frank slid slowly into Louise and she moaned softly. She was mounted on top of him and juddered with pleasure as he reached for her platform heels to pull her closer – her cries reaching almost hysteria. This was always the most painful part – hearing her choreographed ecstasy, hot and balmy in his ear. He was sure she was enjoying this on some level – it wasn't all fake, yet he was just a prop to her. In the corner of the room, the camera watched on – an audience of one broadcasting to thousands.

Frank and Louise's couples therapy had not been successful. They had escaped that charade with little dignity and nothing of the promised repair to their marriage, and within a year they had agreed to separate. The problem was neither of them could afford it. Their savings spent trying to save their relationship, Frank couldn't afford to move out and rent his own place, and Louise didn't have the income to keep paying the mortgage without his help. They were stuck.

Six months later Louise opened an OnlyFemmes account. She didn't ask Frank's permission. She didn't need it. Desperate to move on with her life, she resorted to posting softcore nude content online that grew decidedly less soft as the subscribers failed to come – pun intended. Short on ideas, she brought all sorts of props into her content. She even filmed a video wearing one of the awful pink wigs from the couples therapy she had somehow held onto. That was when she received a DM from someone claiming to have seen the film with the double ended dildo that had been shot during the fake therapy. The sender offered big bucks for more content with her 'sister'.

Frank told himself it was the money that convinced him to take part, but deep down he knew it was the chance to be close to Louise again. He even agreed to take the hormone pills to make his body look soft and curvy under the fussy lens of the camera. They worked wonders and once his body was waxed and groomed he looked every inch the lithe and sexy 'sister' Louise's OnlyFemmes promised.

Louise grew her hair and dyed it hot pink and so Frank got to wear the wig for every shoot now. He wore other things too – sexy underwear and towering heels, but worst of all was the sheath. The hormones had shrunk his manhood to a laughable parody and he was supposedly Louise's female sibling anyway, so in many of their videos he wore a rubber prosthetic over his shrivelled cock to pleasure his ex-wife with – such was the case for today's clip. Louise was grinding onto him furiously now, her weight pushing his transformed body into the soft velvet of the couch. She teased him with a nipple between his parted pink lips, yet when her eyes met his, they were cold. He was just a means to an end to her – a prop. He was the pathetic embodiment of the fake dick he was screwing her with. Frank knew he wasn't stuck any more. They had made good money from the OnlyFemmes account. He could leave anytime he wanted. And yet, as Louise forced his face into her breasts and bucked her way to a screaming orgasm in his lap, he knew he never would....   

Whatever Happened to Jonas? Part 3 (Bad Day at the Office)

 

Jonas tried half-heartedly to hold his trench coat closed as he reached for his ringing phone. The evening breeze seemed determined to begin his evening striptease before he had even learned his assignment and with summer now well on the way, there were plenty of people passing by to expend their disapproval and lust in equal measures. With it being a Friday, Jonas was on call the same way a surgeon or detective might be. It was inevitable the agency would get a call from a gaggle of horny women and when they did, it would be relayed to him. Hence, he was dressed in anticipation – his coat hiding the black lingerie set that held his hormone bloated body.

“We got one, Honey!” A sultry woman addressed him as he answered the call. “They are requesting your speciality.” Jonas grunted a response. He was earning more money than he had ever before – sometimes hitting twenty jobs a week now that his niche had reached peak popularity, and yet every new assignment felt like a stiff kick in his shrunken balls. “You're going to have your hands full,” the woman from the agency explained. “It sounded like a big party and they seemed like they were more than a few beverages in. The good thing is it helped us sell them quite a few extras.”

“Extras?” Jonas gulped. His voice was soft, another side-effect of the treatments the agency were pushing him to use. The wind was getting up again and his now grown-out hair was blowing in his face so he switched the phone his other hand and pressed a stiletto into the gate he had been leaning on. “What extras?”

“Toys mostly.” The woman replied. “A courier is taking them to the venue for you. Most of the usual stuff. A couple of strap-ons – sounds like they want the bride and maid-of-honor to Eiffel Tower you. Seems the Honeymoon will be in Paris. Also, apparently one of the bridesmaids is a real exhibitionist. She wants you to screw her.” Jonas's heart leapt into his throat. “So, we have included a silicone sheath for you. Our physio advised that you are unlikely to be able to maintain an erection with the treatments you are on, so this will be your replacement. You will attach it over your panties and use it just like the real thing – except of course there will no feeling, for you of anyway.” Jonas was silent on the end of the line. “There is one more thing...”

“What?” Jonas said coldly as he felt his last shreds of dignity ebb away.

“They ordered a big finish.” The woman said coolly. “Some of the women wanted one of our other products instead. One of the male ones... He's going to show up a couple of hours after you. Only, well, the girls ask that you stay around for the rest of the party as one of the guests. They were very excited about this part. Sounds like they have some party games in mind – blindfolding the guy and making him guess whose mouth he is in, things like that. Sounds like you are going to have a lot of fun tonight!”

Whatever Happened to Jonas? Part 2 (Bad Day at the Office)

 

Everyone has a bad day at the office now and again. Jonas had suffered two terrible days at work separated by ten years. He could probably convince himself that the two humiliating nightmares that each ended with him tasting another man's cock could be balanced out by the hundreds of parties in between that resulted in him screwing, often multiple at a time, horny bachelorette party-goers. He had fulfilled many the fantasy of a sexy young woman – whether that be a firefighter, pilot or even the classic gunslinger, all while satisfying his own desires. Jonas was a jack of all trades, and he could get laid dressed as any of them. At least, he had been able to...

A lot had changed in the last ten years of Jonas's stripping career. The internet had gained strength exponentially, and his agency, once resigned to advertising in the backs of dirty magazines, had a full-fat social media marketing machine backing it up. The agency's brand lived and died on the online reviews left by the guests visited by its strip-o-grams so when a five star celebration of Jonas's humiliation at the hands of the remarrying bachelorette and stiff cock of one of her male friends went viral on OnlyFemmes, the agency were quick to exploit it. They didn't care how Jonas was debased by the entire experience - he was just a stripper, and so when the calls came flooding in from horny young women to order a man they could dress in lingerie and have dance for them, they accepted the bookings with open arms and open wallets. It was just another costume, right?

Jonas emerged from behind the curtain to begin his fifth job that weekend. He stared past the crowd of hollering women with dead eyes – including the maid of honor that had dutifully informed him he'd be stripping in wedding lingerie. She had supplied it in an over-stuffed satchel as he arrived and he really didn't think it was going to fit, but of course it had. As soon as it had become clear that these were going to be the type of bookings he was going to be doing for the near future, the agency had sternly suggested he 'drop a dress size' and even given a few boxes of pills that promised to soften and round his figure. Jonas wasn't sure they had but they had definitely shrunk his dick in a way that made the kinds of panties like the tiny white lace pair he was currently wearing, no problem at all. What was he supposed to say?! No – with a resume full of taking his clothes off and slinging cock into drunk party-goers?

The women began to clap in unison and Jonas lifted one hand to his wig. It wasn't glued on this time but his predicament meant it was fastened just as tightly. The lingerie clung to his newly curvy figure and even his inexperienced body could tell it was expensive – all silk and lace caressing his arms, legs and butt. The maid of honor was holding a selfy-stick in one hand and a weird looking bouquet in the other, and had broke away from the thirsty crown to approach him.

“This is for the next part of the show...” She leaned in to whisper in his ear and handed him the bouquet. Up close, Jonas could see what was odd about it – a large dildo and harness had been inserted between the flowers. “It's a joke.” The maid of honor smiled sweetly. “The groom is a bit of a sissy so we're going to use this on you to tease the bride.” Jonas flushed red and stared in horror at the crowd behind her clapping expectantly. “Naturally, the bride will get a go eventually. But, throw that thing in my direction and I promise to easy you in gently.”

Whatever Happened to Jonas? Part 1 (Bad Day at the Office)

 This is a three part Flashback Friday to Bad Day at the Office

Jonas cut a forlorn figure in the mirror. His hands clasped and elbows pressed into the glass, he prayed silently to disappear. Yet when he opened his eyes, the same reflection stared back. After all these years, he had once more been feminised...humiliated...degraded... He couldn't believe this was happening again.

Something had felt off from the moment he had arrived. Bursting through the apartment door to a fanfare of cap-gun fire and sirens while dressed in a rubberised cop uniform, he had not been greeted with the usual face of the mildly embarrassed bride to be and her mischievous cavalcade of bachelorettes – just a crowd of cold expectation. He recognised some of the women, but couldn't place them – at least not until it was too late.

Jonas gazed down in horror at his body – his legs wide and tense like a gunslinger as they fought to hold his balance on the towering stripper heels that had been glued to his feet. As a strip-o-gram, albeit usually a male one, his body had already been shaved hairless and toned, and made a perfect canvas for the women. By now it seemed they had perfected their craft.

They were the same women that had transformed him all those years ago. The bride had divorced her first husband – lucky bastard thought Jonas, and was now remarrying. Her recycled crew of bridesmaids had reassembled and tracked down the poor stripper they had humiliated the first time round for a rehashed bachelorette party, and now Jonas was enjoying that experience about as much as one enjoys ten year old wedding cake.

“Turn around, you dirty ho!” A drunk female voice cackled from across the room. “Come on, put on a show for us!” Jonas groaned and slowly began to face them. He actually wished he could strip for them – wished he could rip off the shoes, the stockings, the wig, the garter, but the women had applied liberal amounts of glue to all the garments they had pulled onto his body as multiple strong hands held him in place. A larger blonde woman had then sat on his chest as the adhesive set. They had since doused him in perfume to hide the glue smell, but Jonas knew it was there. He could tell from the way the fabric tugged painfully at his skin with every movement.

“Dance for us, bitch!” The bride snarled as Jonas strutted over on stiff legs. She was not the horny young woman that had glued a blonde wig to his scalp ten years ago – divorce had twisted her into something cruel and spiteful. She hiked up her mini-skirt and held one hand above her panties expectantly. “I didn't think you would...” She shook her head. “But then again, you didn't at my first party either. What was it you did instead..?” As if on cue, two of the other women led a huge muscle bound man into the room – a grin was plastered across his face. Something struck Jonas across the backs of his legs and he fell to his knees. “No car this time...” The bride shrugged, sliding her hand into her panties as the large man strode towards the prone stripper. “But I'm sure this will still feel familiar...”

Whatever Happened to Eric? (Keys to the Queendom)

 

Madge stepped out of her house with a smile on her face. Life was good – the sun was out, her hangover was mild, and she had got laid the night before. The guy wasn't submissive – not all of her partners were, but the thought of the previous evening's sex made her think of Eric, and her attention was drawn to the sorority house across the street. Six months had passed since that night the girls had let her stay over after forgetting her keys, and while she had returned since – she was basically an honorary member after all, it had been some time since she had checked in on her former toy – on her gift to them.

The sister that opened the door to Madge's knock smiled knowingly and led her inside. They walked to a communal sitting area where a voluptuous figure in a latex French maid's outfit was bent over a sofa – her underwear showing from beneath the too short petticoats.

“You'll recognise the feather duster, of course.” The sister chuckled. “But we have made some other alterations.” The maid looked back at them standing in the doorway through heavily made-up eyes with an expression of suspicion. The sorority had indeed put their own stamp on Eric's appearance. “Colleen's gimp suit definitely helped break him down into something we could mould, but we just couldn't keep him hidden underneath it forever. Besides, Colleen needed it for breaking her boyfriend – with our help of course.” Madge nodded approvingly. “We used everything you taught us about controlling weak men, and Eric here is very week. The chastity cage gives us almost complete power over him. He is so desperate... Surrounded by a house full of party girls like us... We don't even wear bras half the time... And the cage keeps him totally impotent... All we have to do is loosen it a little so he can get the tiniest of boners, and he is putty in our hands...ironically. Once he is milked, he is helpless. Hell, he is always helpless.”

“He's even taking the hormones we're putting in his food.” The head sister joined them in the room. “Just look how round his ass has got! I am telling you – that's not just from walking around in six inch heels all day. It's enhanced! It feels so good clapping against me when I use my strapon!” The three girls watched Eric blush bright red, even beneath the caked on cosmetics. “Oh, Darling, don't be shy! I know you you enjoy it from those cute little squeals you make as I am thrusting in and out of you. I bet Madge knows what I am talking about!”

“Oh, Madge!” The first girl exclaimed. “You really must join us for a sleepover. I know you let us keep Eric, but he will always be yours in a way. Tonight we're bringing in Colleen's ex-boyfriend to have a little girly fun with him – a little maid-on-maid. How about you join us? See if either of them can earn a little slack on their chastity cages? I know you still have a copy of Eric's key.”

Whatever Happened to Jimmy? (Miss June)

 This is a flashback for my Sissy Calendar caption "Miss June" 

“One extra large package just for...” Jimmy announced as he stepped off the elevator. “...Oh! It's you...” He instantly dropped the act upon seeing that the only person behind the ShackUp Lettings reception desk was the stony faced and significantly overweight Matilda. The boring cow was the kryptonite to his charms and an instant buzzkill. While he loved flirting with the other receptionists, especially the long-serving Ellen, who even after all these years was still his favourite, there was just something about Matilda that stopped the Jimster dead in his tracks.

“Ellen's not here today,” Matilda stated flatly, watching the courier slide the parcel silently onto the front desk. He was unable to meet her eye as he fiddled with a handheld device for collecting receipt signatures. The scrawny man appeared completely dejected by her presence. “Ellen, was talking about you yesterday though actually.” She said suddenly, her voice uncharacteristically bright. Jimmy's head shot up to attention. “She was saying how you're always asking her out – and that she has said 'no' about a million times.” Jimmy's gaze dropped back down to his device. “She said you do absolutely nothing for her. Except...” Now she had the courier's attention. “Except...this one time about ten years ago you posed for a charity calendar. You were Miss June, I think. Ellen showed it to me. She still has it, you know? Just that month, of course. I can see why. You were very cute. She said she bought a joke book to keep the banter going between you two, but you weren't interested. She said you were embarrassed. It's a shame really – sounded like she was willing to make a go of it if you had been willing to embrace your feminine alter ego.” Matilda used her finger to scrawl out a signature on the electronic screen. “Hey, how about I talk to her? Maybe she would give you another shot? What do you say? Would Miss June be willing to bring out an early summer?”

Three days later and Jimmy was waiting in a booth at a local bar, his heart thudding in his chest. You could say a lot about the courier, but you couldn't say he wasn't punctual. The wig was the same one from ten years ago. He had left the offices in such a daze that day, he had forgotten to remove it on the way out. The rest of the outfit was new though. He had guessed the sizes and ordered online, yet the hot pink playsuit fit him like a glove. It had taken him four hours to get ready but it would all be worth it if it got him some action with Ellen. The makeup had been the hard part. All the YouTube tutorials in the world couldn't steady his hand as it held those tiny brushes, and he had left trying to walk in the heels until far too late – badly underestimating how much practice it would take to be able to stride confidently into the bar. Though again, this was just a means to an end. Once Ellen got to know him, he wouldn't need to bother with all this crap.

“There she is!” A confident female voice proclaimed from the opening of the booth. Jimmy instinctively took up a defensive position, his hands stretching wide and pressing back into the sofa and his silk stockinged legs sliding up onto the leather. “There's my date!” Matilda said matter-of-factly. “There's my Miss June!” She stood over Jimmy imposingly. “Come on, sweetie, let's go get a drink in you!” She licked her lips hungrily. “I have much to get in you by the time this night is through!”

Whatever Happened to Dick? (Recasting Couch)

 This continues both my Femnonymous and Network stories, which have all previous parts on my index page. This is a flashback of Recasting Couch, which can be read here 

“You've got exactly five minutes!” The big breasted blonde woman ushered Madison and Bryan into her hotel room. “Do you know how many guys I could blow in that time?” She added coolly, bringing a pair of twin blushes to the reporters' cheeks. Bryan had his camera over one shoulder, 'Frontline Entertainment Media' printed along one side as well as on his t-shirt. On the way up he had got plenty of context shots of the hotel that had been overrun by young revellers since the onset of spring break, and now the film was full of drunken women baring their tits and douche bags chugging beer.

“Then I guess we'd better make this a quickie!” Madison said brightly, but they all knew the joke had fallen flat. Their interviewee, the former porn-magnate Dick Rising, and now, thanks to Femnonymous, viral sex-marathon bimbo, seemed disinterested. She was tightening the ties of her faux-leather bodysuit, which Bryan noted had open slits at the crotch and ass. Apparently un-phased by their presence, Dick grabbed a tube of lube and squirted a huge blob out onto his manicured hands before getting to work rubbing it furiously into both holes.

“I don't usually need this stuff, but when you're going for four digits over a long weekend, you need to look after yourself.” The bimbo explained flatly. “That's one thousand pricks!” She nodded to the once more blushing Bryan. “Do you think I am compensating for something?” She looked him dead in the eye and flicked her gooey fingers over her flat groin provocatively. “Happy for it to be one thousand one...”

“We're doing a piece on some of Femnonymous's victims.” Madison began nervously. “You know ahead of the premier of the lost Apprentits tapes. Ten years ago you were a successful producer...”

“And now I'm a filthy web whore having trains run on me by drunken students for content...” Dick snorted humourlessly. “Some would call that irony... I suppose your next question will be why do I put myself through this? Why not just disappear somewhere to be some quaint little farm girl? Well, Honey...I was born into this business...and I will damn likely die in it. It is all I know!”

“We just assumed Femnonymous messed with your libido like they did to some of the others.” Madison replied in shock. “We know about the throne. We know about what they did to you!”

“You don't know shit.” Dick scowled and raised a middle finger. “Look lady, I will tell you one more thing for free and then I got a long line of spring-breakers in balaclavas to screw. How many Network producers was it Femnonymous took? Six? It doesn't really matter. They don't exist any more. You think those latex bitches did a number on me? They were just getting started! They are going to make those producers a spectacle...and when they're through, their own mothers wouldn't know them from a silicone cum dumpster!”

Whatever Happened to Trever? (Freebee)

This continues my overlapped Network/Femnonymous story, both of which are in full on my index page. It is a Flashback Friday of my caption Freebee

“Remember,” Madison hissed to her cameraman and sole companion as he finished setting up his equipment. “Try not to stare!” Bryan nodded, thinking he could always hide behind the viewfinder if there was any risk. That idea immediately vanished as he saw their interviewee waddling across the pool area towards them. The woman had enormous breasts floating unnaturally in a barely-there black bikini top and string bottoms that clung around cartoonishly exaggerated hips. Bryan's eyes flitted to the front of the swimsuit that was ominously smooth. This bimbo used to be a guy?! He stared aghast.

“Sorry...” He muttered as Madison introduced them. They were Frontline Entertainment Media, a web exclusive entertainment news channel that covered everything from the latest celebrity scandals to up and coming new shows. In this case it was both.

“Hi there, Tiff!” Madison held out her hand warmly, a microphone baring the insignia 'FEM' in the other. “We're so glad you agreed to have a quick chat with us! As a former employee of the Network and a...errr...victim of Femnonymous's campaign of terror, the news that the Network plans to relaunch by airing the fabled lost tapes of Femnonymous's version of the Network's own show, 'The Apprentits', must have come as a shock to you?” The woman formerly known as Trevor stared back dumbly – a pair of fat pink lips pursed in a silent pout.

“You used to work in recruitment for the Network,” Bryan prompted. “But the contestants on the lost tapes weren't recruited - they were kidnapped. Do you have any thoughts on that?” The woman's blank look remained but she slowly turned one of her platform heels inwards and cupped her hands under her breasts provocatively. “What's wrong with her?” Bryan whispered to Madison.

“I read that Femnonymous did some kind of behaviour modification on her. Apparently ramped up her sex drive to 11 and fried her decision making.” Madison replied. “It's probably how she ended up working here...”

“Hey Tiff!” A sleazy guy from across the pool area yelled as if on cue. “The fluffers are almost done with these guys. I am telling you, you have your work cut out today. You need lube, or you good?” The man glanced at Madison and Bryan. “Hell, maybe see if your man with the camera wants a turn on the other side of the lens... We all know there's plenty of Tiff to go around.”

“Wait!” Madison grabbed her arm as she turned to leave. “Can't you tell us anything about what happened to you? About what might have happened to the contestants on these tapes?” The former Trevor tried to pull her slender arm free. “What about the surgeries they did to you?”

“Surgeries?!” Tiff turned back to them, her eyes suddenly wide and very alert. “There were no surgeries! That's not what they did... They have this chair...no, a throne! They plug you into it, and turn you into whatever they want. It's like a dream. Wait, no...” She blinked rapidly and her cleavage heaved. “It's a fucking nightmare!”

Whatever Happened to Ron? (In Your Dreams)

 The original caption for this Flashback Friday is In Your Dreams

Ron browsed the news website in silence. As for most people these days, there was little in the headlines to make him smile. It was the entertainment stories that interested him. He sighed. His ex was on the front page again – as she had been consistently since leaving him eleven years ago when all her dreams seemed to come true at once and Ron no longer fit into her plans for the future. Her ascent into the public eye had been astronomical – an overnight household name with a modelling contract, sponsorship deals and television cameos, even her dating life post-Ron was splattered across the tabloids – a never-ending string of musicians and sports stars.

Ron clicked into the newest story about her – the latest of a string of recent scandals that had damaged the reputation of the star who seemingly could do know wrong. This time x-rated photos of her had apparently leaked online. Both her and her agent had alleged they were deep-fakes of AI generated slop but the news story included quotes from an apparent digital expert who claimed that the photographs were genuine, or at least they hadn't been doctored in any way. The story ended with threats of a coming lawsuit.

“Some people don't change...” Ron grinned wryly and closed the browser. He spun on his office chair to face the dreamcatcher hanging above his bed. “And some people do...!”

It had taken Ron three weeks to get his body back after the first time he transformed into his ex. So heartbroken was he by her that every time he closed his eyes, she was there, and so every time he opened his eyes again, he was her, right down to her double-Ds and the birthmark just above her pussy. When he had eventually been able to dream of being himself again, he had awoken to his old body and relief had flooded his chest...at least until the rage and betrayal came rushing back.

An online lucid dreaming course had helped him learn to control the transformations, and while he had used the dreamcatcher to achieve a few personal goals, his ex never left his bitter heart...not really anyway. How could she? Every day she was on his television, in the news, on the tip of the public tongue. That's when he realised he could redirect the conversation...

Ron turned on the white noise loop and climbed onto the bed below the dreamcatcher. Closing his eyes, he pictured his ex wrapped in fishnets...a body-stocking, her pert nipples swelling with arousal from between the string. She was wearing heeled ankle boots and tiny panties that left nothing to the imagination. No...that was wrong, Ron thought as his mind drifted into slumber. They hid her birthmark. He smiled as the dreamcatcher started to work his magic. He would have to remove them for the video he was going to make. He couldn't have the public doubting its authenticity...

Whatever Happened to Jared? (Price of Admission)

 The original caption was a three parter and starts here 

Festival season seemed to start earlier every year. The frost hadn't even melted on the ground and already Lewis was calling demanding Jared dig out his box of heels so they could start buying tickets and choosing looks for their upcoming events. Ten years had passed since they had come out to each other about their mutual crossdressing habits – Lewis's reveal being of his actual lifestyle whereas Jared was duped into revealing his non-existent French-tipped escapades by his sister Tori.

However, true friendship trumps all and even though Jared still found squeezing into figure hugging dresses and donning a wig more than a little embarrassing even after all these years, he had never had the heart to tell Lewis. And so, he had kept up the facade – they went high-heel shopping together, swapped makeup tips, and zipped up each others bodycon dresses like the best friends they were – albeit male ones. Jared was truly happy to see the joy it brought Lewis and he really did enjoy the festivals and events they went to together as young attractive women. Sure, he had to learn to deal with the stares they got and how to fasten his own bra but the happiness of his best friend was worth it and he knew he could never tell him what really happened that first time before Coachella. Tori would never say anything either and as they got older, she grew to respect her brother's commitment to the cause. She even took him aside one Christmas to apologise and tell him how much she respected what he was doing for Lewis.

“You know you can smile without smudging your lippy,” Lewis chuckled, holding up his phone to snap a picture of them in the hotel bathroom mirror. They were putting the final touches on their outfits for the first day of Coachella and Lewis was snapping a few pictures for his Instagram. “Oh my, this thing is tight!” He complained as he leant in closer to Jared and the pink dress he was wearing squeezed his body. Pulling the hem down before it could ride up over his panties, he turned to Jared, who was wrapped in an equally tight black dress, and started playing with the long ringlets of his friends wig. “Can we swap? I like yours better and you always look great in any style.” Jared snatched the strand of hair away with a stern look before breaking into a good-natured smile.

“Don't be so nervous!” Jared soothed. “You look perfect – as always!” He squinted at his reflection, rather pleased with the job he had done of his eyeliner. It had sat in a drawer for six months and yet he had wielded it like an expert swordsman at the first time of asking. He had even helped the much more practised Lewis with his.

“Bitch, please!” Lewis exclaimed and both boys collapsed into giggles amongst the clouds of perfume.

“Do you worry we're getting too old for this?” Jared asked and watched a disappointed expression form on his best friend's face. “Coachella, I mean! The lineup gets lamer every year. I was thinking we could try Burning Man. I've seen the sexiest pair of matching Vegas showgirl outfits... Hotter than the freaking desert!”

Whatever Happened to Raphael? (Shipshape)

 This is a continuation of my LoanRanger series, which is available on my index page. This particular caption is a flashback of Shipshape, which you can read here

The car idled in the carpark behind the hotel, its seclusion shielding the two figures inside from the paparazzi flashes battering the street st the front, where the promotional gala for LoanRanger glittered with neon signs.

Raphael shifted in his seat, the latex dress squeaking as it clung obscenely to every surgically sculpted curve. The neckline plunged low, displaying the implants Alice had insisted upon. His legs, shaved smooth and glossed with lotion, gleamed. The investor, seated opposite him, watched with an expression that hovered between amusement and appraisal. To Raphael, it was like being on the yacht all over again.

“You wear it well,” the investor said at last. His voice was low, indulgent, the tone of a man already in possession.

Raphael forced a smile, lashes fluttering as Alice had taught him. “I wear what I’m told.” Raphael’s heart thumped. He hated it. The dress, the body, the humiliating role of ornament. But he had learned one thing in these months of forced femininity: survival depended on performance. So he leaned forward, breasts pressing against the latex, voice pitched sweet and high. “I like…being valuable,” he whispered.

The investor’s smile widened. “Good answer.” He leaned closer, conspiratorial now. “Tell me, Raphael. Do you want to stay valuable? Or do you want to spend the rest of your life as LoanRangee’s plaything—paraded, mocked, disposable?”

Raphael’s nails dug into the seat. He thought of Alice smirking as she’d unveiled him on the yacht, a cold hand guiding his waist like property. He thought of his body—no longer his. “I want…more,” he admitted.

The investor reached into his briefcase and produced a slim folder. He slid it across the seat. “Then give me what I need, and I’ll give you what you want. A future. Freedom from Alice's leash. Protection.”

Raphael hesitated before opening the folder. Inside were photographs: offshore accounts, internal memos, emails with Alice’s signature, ledgers showing the hidden trail of transformations. Evidence. Enough to sink LoanRanger and everyone steering it. “You already have this,” Raphael whispered.

“Pieces,” the investor corrected. “What I need is the whole picture. . The contracts. The clauses. You have access. And you have motivation. Bring them to me, and your new body will be an asset, not a punishment.”

Raphael’s throat tightened. He could almost see it: no more humiliating orders, no more being paraded as a joke. Instead, a penthouse, a wardrobe of his choosing, adoration without ridicule. His new body—his curse—turned into currency. He closed the folder, his manicured hands trembling. He looked at the investor, then at his reflection in rearview mirror: blonde hair, painted lips, breasts gleaming under latex. Not a man. Not even himself. Slowly, he nodded. “I’ll get you what you want.”

The investor raised his glass in a toast. “Good girl.”

Whatever Happened to Britt? (...is You!)

 The original caption of this story is here

“That Bitch!!” Britt groaned removing the remaining wrapping paper from the present. Bearing a big bow and a tag with his name, the gift had been sitting innocently beneath the tree with the rest of them. No-one could have guessed what it really was – a grenade filled with with red velvet and fur. An explosion set to go off and ruin Britt's life all over again. How could she do this to him? After all these years... After all he had been through to get here... All his hard work... He allowed the dress to slip through his hands to the floor knowing it would inevitably encase his body before the end of the night. “Melanie, haven't you had your pound of flesh already?” He put his head in his hands.

Ten years ago Britt had experienced a Christmas countdown like no other. His girlfriend, Melanie was away at college and he had organised to shower her with twelve days of gifts to prime her for romance during the holiday break. In return, Melanie had arranged a countdown of her own. Starting with a self-help hypnosis course named 'Be the Perfect Partner with the Guru Self Hypnosis', Britt had been unsuspectingly subjected to hypnotic self-feminisation and Melanie had followed up this initial 'gift' with all the tools Britt needed to complete his own transformation. And why? Simply an elaborate way for Melanie to break up with him and see other people.

It had taken almost an entire year of intense therapy and subliminal suggestion for Britt to break the pink satin chains the course's addiction had trussed him with. Session after session of humiliation to unpick his obsession with becoming the alter-ego Melanie had forced upon him. He had become a joke to family and friends who couldn't fathom that his new compulsion was anything other than a fetish. Even years later, an unfortunate cue, the wrong kind of trigger, and Britt would relapse once again and his feminine side would emerge. He would gather up the cosmetics, the underwear, the wigs that his alter-ego had stashed in places he would never find, and his feminine side would emerge once more. Evidently, Melanie knew all this.

In was hours later and Britt found himself in the park. He was vaguely aware that what he was doing was against his will and embarrassing, but he had slipped into the velvet dress all the same. He had pulled up those long socks and put on the fur hat, waxed his body and painted his face in total obedience to his long dormant programming. It was snowing and he held his hands out to catch some flakes, aware of the picture of beauty he must be painting. As much as he got good at fighting his female urges, he couldn't deny that when they got the better of him, they did a sterling job.

“There you are!” Melanie stepped out from between the trees. She was older now but still stunningly attractive. “I always liked this side of you. I was just too young and stupid to know what I had. I am so glad I can still bring out your feminine side. I think I am going to be seeing a lot more of it from now on!”