Keys to the Queendom Part 2

 

Needless to say, the sorority sisterhood were enthusiastic students. They watched rapt as Madge walked them through everything she knew. How to spot weak men... How to make them serve them... How to make them scream in pain... How to make them scream with pleasure... And when to use each of those skills. Eric was her demonstration object throughout and, reduced to his feminised form, Madge made him beg and crawl for the group of girls, and when he failed to comply fast enough, she spanked him hard across him pantied ass. She showed them forced kissing, gripping his face firmly with one hand to squeeze his glossed lips apart before shoving her tongue deep into his mouth while arching him backwards. Once her demo was complete, she had the sisters line up to have their own turns and Eric would have been aroused by the experience of having girl after girl make out with him had his tiny chastity cage allowed for it.

Next, Madge turned him over to the sorority so they could try out their own ideas. Various props were produced from dorms including a paddle that they used for initiations and Eric was draped over a knee while they lined up to swat him in a mock welcome to their sisterhood. Finally, it began to get late and the excitement began to die down. Just as Eric began to think his ordeal might be ending, one of the smaller, quieter girls approached Madge with a large tote bag.

“This is all stuff my boyfriend gets me to wear sometimes.” She started to pull out black shiny material. “I don't mind too much...but I have always felt like I would prefer to be the one in control, you know? Be the domme?” The girl continued to remove the items including some silver chains and a large feather duster, and the interest of many of the other girls piqued once more as they began to gather around. Eric wanted to run but he was once again surrounded. Madge dropped a firm hand on his shoulder and chuckled softly.

It took nearly an hour and an entire tub of baby powder to cram him into the black latex catsuit. An entire team of girls worked on him – two held his arms tightly, one sat on his stomach while two more dragged the shiny material up his legs. The fabric squeezed him mercilessly and it was tough to breathe even before the corset was added and laced closed. Shackles were added to his wrists and ankles and locked in position so that he couldn't move them more than a few inches. When the girls lifted him to his feet, he realised they had added a pair of high-heels and he swayed like a tall tree in a strong wind. He was too busy trying not to fall to prevent the sisters pulling the latex hood with the built-in gag over his head and then feeding his hair through the back.

“Well, well, well...” Madge cackled looking her boyfriend up and down. “And I thought I knew everything.” She screwed the feather duster carefully into the gag and took a step back. “I have an idea – how about my sweet little Eric stays here with you while I go and fetch my keys tomorrow? I think it would be rude to leave without giving your house a thorough cleaning now that he is dressed for it!” Eric's heart pounded and his eyes went wide. He tried to walk towards Madge but his ankles were chained to his corset with almost no slack whatsoever. The girls giggled in unison – they all knew he was going nowhere.

The Purest Gift Part 2

 

“To be worthy of the Gift, you must be pure! To be pure, you must face your past transgressions!. You must endure... Will you endure. Laurence?” The voice echoed and expanded into a hollow whistle, and Laurence's bubble expanded with it. Growing until it filled the cavern, it seemed to paint the walls with sky and the ground with snow until with a shrill pop, he realised he was outside.

Laurence scanned the horizon of endless farmland covered in snow. He knew this place. He'd been here years ago. Switzerland... Suddenly, he realised why his reflection in the bubble had been so familiar...Gloria!

Laurence tried to move forward and almost fell head first into the snow. The skis attached to his feet having not been there seconds before, felt alien and only the poles that had appeared from nowhere in his hands, saved him. There was a squeaky crackle and the shiny material of his snow-suit rubbed painfully across his body...up his legs, over his ass...his breasts. No, this was wrong!? How could he be Gloria?!

Gloria had been a young tv soap actress Laurence had a brief fling with years before. She had been a whirlwind of energy and ambition, but she had also been desperate...insecure. Laurence had told her he could use his power to open doors for her. All she had to do for him was...

The details of the trip to Switzerland formed in Laurence's memory. The latex ski-suit he had picked out for Gloria – him insisting she be completely naked underneath. She had done as he asked of course and Laurence had ignored her forced smile to stare at her ass all day as she uncomfortably shifted from one ski to another. Laurence's mouth went dry as he remembered the other thing he had insisted on.

The steel buttplug made him feel fuller than he had ever been in his life. It was if were being split in two. He groaned low and feminine and steam blew from his pink lips. He had made Gloria ski 20 miles in nothing but a latex catsuit with a plug jammed up her ass, and never given her the fame she wanted. And now he was Gloria? Was this the cleansing the waif spoke about? Would he have to make the same journey? He tried to push himself forward over the white powder and it was immediately apparent that he was far weaker that he was used to. Gloria's slender frame held a fraction of the strength of his toned body. He managed five meters before dropping his poles to the snow and putting his hands on his rubber clad knees with exhaustion. As he did so, the buttplug shifter awkwardly in his ass. Holy shit, the Gift better be worth it, he thought gritting his teeth.

Even the Biggest Fish Fears a Shark

9/25

The Pink n Prissy Collective and all their captions (and storyline reboots...) are on my index page.

Grace sat swaddled in the oversized hoodie alone in her room in the house shared by the members of the Pink n Prissy Collective. It had been six months since her friends had rescued her but time as the monstrous Kirsten’s personal plaything still haunted her. Hiding her body behind baggy clothes, she hid inside a shadow of her former self. There was a soft knock on her door and Josie, Charlotte, Terri and Cassie, the rest of the Pink n Prissy Collective, appeared in its frame. Terri, the group’s tech guru, was holding a laptop.

“We’ve got a surprise for you!” Charlotte skipped into the room and the four girls planted themselves on Grace’s bed. The computer screen was open to an app called Mugshot and Charlotte spotted Grace’s confusion. “It’s a new face-to-face video chat app. It launched while you were…away. It has lots of features that I am sure you will get used to over time.” She nodded to Terri who was in the process of setting up a call with a user named Emi_theShark.

“Don’t worry, she’s not scary,” Cassie soothed, “well, I guess she is…just not to us. To us she is sweet! She’s kind of like our idol!” The videocall connected and the laptop screen was filled by the face of an attractive yet powerful looking woman with long bangs framing a pair of startling eyes. Grace noticed with surprise that a shiny latex top rose all the way over her throat.

“Hey, you guys!” Emi greeted them cheerfully. “And I suppose this is Grace?” She sipped a glass of champagne and smiled warmly. “Is she ready for my gift?” Emi appeared to adjust her screen so that the girls could see a wider angle of her room and Grace gasped. Emi was sat at a large extendable dining table with a hole that someone had added between two of the slats. A fully encased black latex head was trapped by the hole – the only visible parts of its occupant a pair of pink painted lips and a set of piercing eyes.

“Kirsten…” Grace whispered in disbelief. “But how?!”

“There’s always a bigger fish, kid!” Emi grinned. “And then there are sharks!” She shared a link across the chat and Terri opened what looked like an OnlyFemmes profile belonging to Emi. The page showed numerous video feeds of different figures in various arrangements of bondage and Terri clicked the newest post at the top. The screen now displayed a wide angle view of Kirsten’s predicament and the girls could see that the rest of her body below the table was also clad in seamless black latex and strapped in place with leather and metal clasps. “I have set you up as my newest subscriber, so let me show you how this works,” Emi explained. “Our ‘big fish’ here is equipped with a selection of my toys that can be activated by the subscribers’ keyboard. ‘N’ is of course nipples. Give it a try!” Grace tentatively pressed the keyboard and watched as her former tormentor gave an uncharacteristic squeal.

“’A’ is Cassie’s favourite,” Terri chided her friend who was known to have a buttplug in her bedside drawer, and pushed the corresponding key. This time Kirsten gave a yelp and jumped up, banging her shoulders on the underside of the table.

“Finally, most of my guests are male,” Emi continued, “so ‘C’ is usually to activate the toy attached to their cock. “But, unintentionally, I think it still works!” Grace pressed the ‘C’ key and within a few seconds, Kirsten’s eyes started to roll back into her latex clad head. When she removed her finger, the eyes returned with a clear film of shame at the degradation she was enduring. “I agree,” Emi nodded, “use that one sparingly.”

“Grace, we are so glad to have you back!” Josie the leader of the Pink n Prissy Collective took her hand. “I know we can’t take back what Kirsten did to you, but I sure hope this helps get your confidence back. There are a lot of boys out there – and we need your help to feminise them all!”

What the Hell Happened to Dominic? (Remodelling)

 Super happy with this one. Original caption is here

“Tell me how it feels!” His lips demanded. Dominic tried to ignore it but Sage was not about to relent. “You know what I want. Describe it for me. I want to know how that pink latex dress feels wrapped around our perky little tits.” Dominic tried to force the glossy red lips closed but they disobeyed him. “Tell me,” they sneered, “or we will go suck off that nice young photographer over there and you can tell me how it tastes instead.”

Six years had passed since Dominic had found a female bodysuit while sorting through the belongings of one of his former models who had recently died of an overdose. Thoughts of easy money had flooded his mind as he slipped the hyper-realistic synthetic material over his body. By the time he discovered that the bodysuit had been possessed by the spirit of Sage, the deceased model, it was far too late. She had already decided to take this unexpected opportunity to experience everything she had missed out on in her short life – and get a little revenge on the man responsible for pushing the fateful pills on her in the first place.

Unfortunately for Sage, things didn't go quite to plan either. Despite being able to fully control the suit with Dominic as its helpless passenger, she quickly realised that her she was without the senses of touch, taste and smell that would make her desired experiences worthwhile. Not to be put off, she pushed forward with them anyway, commanding that Dominic describe everything that she missed out on in vivid detail.

“It's tight,” Dominic groaned, “and hot...so hot. And when I...you...we put it on it rubbed horribly. I think we have burns on our ass. We should have used lubricant.” Through the fur-lined sunglasses he was wearing he saw the photographer tutting at him for continuously moving his mouth while he was supposed to be having pictures taken.

“It's always the lube with you isn't it?” Sage scoffed having retaken control of their mouth. “You said the exact same thing about that night we spent with Tyson. Only, if I remember correctly, it was him describing us as 'hot'...'tight' too actually. Oh, bless...I can feel you trying to shudder. You shuddered plenty that night too.”

“Can we not!” Dominic tried to scream. “I described the fucking dress already. Just leave me alone.” The photographer was scowling now, clearly annoyed as he searched his bag for a fresh memory card.

“Well, now you've done it.” Sage sighed. “Now were definitely going to have to suck him off. Just don't bitch about it this time. It's not not my fault I can't feel the back of your throat!”

What if...the Artist Revived the Network?

 What if Wednesday again and this time we have a story that combines my Artist and Network series. This cap is not canon to either but both are fully listed on my index page. Hope you enjoy...

zoli

“Hello and welcome to another edition of 'Parting Gift' – the gameshow that makes sure couples walk away from their ending relationship with so much more than a broken heart!” The Artist was revelling in the applause from the studio audience. Back when he was simply Martin...back before he had invented the genetic rewriting device that would change his life and those of so many others, this would have been his worst nightmare, but now in his new life as owner and host of the Network and all its shows he was living the dream. Of course it helped that he had used his invention to transform himself back into the Bianca Beauchamp doppelganger that had got him in so much trouble in the first place, but he was so glad he had decided to abandon his plots of revenge and put his money and skills into something else – like reviving the corpse of a cult television network specialising in transformation based gameshows.

As the show progressed Martin took delight in strutting around in his voluptuous latex clad body for the approval of the audience while the latest contestants answered questions to increase their prize fund. The rules were simple – a newly broken up and often quite vindictive couple completed a series of challenges in order to accumulate money for their kitty. The better the pair were able to work together, the more cash they would earn by the end of the show. This is when things would get interesting. Whichever new singleton earned the most for the prize fund would be given freedom to take as much of it home as they wanted. However, their former partner could then choose whether they wanted to take the rest...or send their ex for a trip in the Artist's genetic rewriting device.

Martin took great pride in a show that changed lives – literally. He could hardly contain himself at how the latest episode was progressing and he wondered if the crowd could tell the rubber-clothed host was becoming aroused before their eyes. Tony may have been two timing his wife but today he was answering questions and completing tasks with laser focus and the recent divorcees had made almost $100k. Having vetted the contestants personally, the Artist new exactly how much they were hoping to win and what how wanted to spend it and so when Tony surged ahead of Kate in the personal scores there was only one way it was going to end. The humiliated ex-wife was never going to take $5k over the chance to get the ultimate vengeance over her unfaithful spouse.

The prize reveals were always his favorite part of the show. The audience got to see how both contestants had spent their winnings simultaneously and today was set to be spectacular. There was a hush of excitement as the big screen cut to where Tony, fresh out of the transformation pod was awarded his prize. The crowd gasped as his latex clad knees went weak though not from the presence of the Dodge Viper in front of him and silently Martin gave kudos to Kate for matching her ex's hair with the paint job. There were giggles as everyone watched the 'winner' totter around in his new body, hands examining every gleaming curve with disbelief as the car went ignored. The Artist smiled – it would need to be sold to pay for the divorce anyway and there was only one way a bimbo like that was going to make a living. Before long, both contestant and prize would be being ridden by other men. Yes...this was so much better that revenge...

Liza's Second Lesson (an Aiko story)

 23/25

The rest of my Aiko series is on my index page

“Lesson number two,” Aiko took a big bite of the cotton candy she had bought on the way home from the park. “You must reset your subject's instincts. My candy is only enough to make boys play out a role. It can't recalibrate their natural behaviour. You have to do that yourself. See what I mean?”

Liza grunted with frustration. It was tough to teach anyone their natural place when she felt so far out of her own. The tight black latex leotard that Aiko had pulled from her suitcase was unlike anything she had ever worn in her life, enveloping her body and creaking with every movement. In contrast, Robin in his soft velvet leotard and red wig loomed over her clumsily.

“You can do it Liza!” Aiko cooed. “A prissified boy is soft and malleable. Look at him, he is terrified.”

Liza met Robin's gaze. Their prey did indeed look scared. He had followed them home in that ridiculous kawaii dress a figure of defeat, knowing that the only way to subdue his rabid cravings for Aiko's candy was to do what they said. His relief when Aiko had told him to remove the dress had been as shortlived as it took him to untangle the leotard and nylons she had then thrust into his hands. He looked truly absurd once the outfit was completed by heels, makeup and a wig. So why was he still able to muster the guile to lead them in the dance Aiko had insisted upon them?

“That's it Liza,” Akio clapped excitedly, “use your eyes!”

Liza looked deeper into the boy's stare and suddenly she saw the last ounce of resolve freeze and then shatter before her. She wrinkled her nose and grinned mischievously, grabbing one of Robin's hands in her own and snaking her other around his hips. His body moved limply in her grasp and she pulled his pelvis forward against her own latex clad body. He slumped forward onto her, off balance on the towering heels and Liza felt a thrill as she realised that without her holding him tightly he would fall to the floor. She pushed her face close to his, held his hand wide and began to lead him in a slow pirouette.

“Bravo, Liza. Bravo!” Aiko applauded. “I knew you could do it.” She watched in awe as Robin was pushed backwards and led in a wide circle. “His instinctive role is now to serve your direction. See how he goes where you want? Where you lead? He is the perfect prissified boy toy who will do and be whatever you want.” Robin visibly shrank deeper inside his own shame on hearing this and Liza gleefully noticed. “Okay,” Aiko stood and cleared her throat, “now that I have taught you how to control boys, I am going to show you which boys are deserving of your control – target selection. Robin can join us. Let's find him a new outfit. We're going sissy hunting!”

Poolside

 22/25

Fernando rounded a row of sunbeds and almost dropped the tray of Mojitos he was carrying in surprise at the spectacle that greeted him at the side of the hotel's main pool. He beckoned over Sonia, a fellow member of the poolside bar staff. She followed his gaze and chuckled.

“I see you've met Mistress Ivanova,” she nodded to the tall blonde woman bursting from her bejewelled bikini. “She arrived Friday. As you can see, she is quite high-maintenance.”

“Quite?” Fernando looked on with sympathy at the figure kneeling before her. He felt hot just watching the sun beat down upon the pink latex. “Did she bring her...erm...maid here with her?”

“Her maid?!” Sonia giggled once more. “That's not her maid. Mistress Ivanova's full time...erm...sissy maid is back in Russia. Apparently he was refused a visa. Of course Mistress Ivanova demanded that the hotel provide one for her for the duration of her stay. But you know how our dear employer is...they aren't going to stump up the cash to hire in a professional sissy maid...if such a thing actually exists...”

“You mean...?” Fernando's voice trailed off as he studied the maid's face. Her face was glistening with perspiration and bits of the blonde wig were clinging to her cosmetic caked face. In spite of this Fernando felt a hint of recognition. “Marco?!”

“Yep!” Sonia confirmed as they watched the hotel guest hook a long fingernail under Marco's chin and smile cruelly. “Supposedly she spotted him during check-in and slipped the hotel manager a fat envelope of cash. The manager made it clear if Marco wanted to keep his job, he should do whatever Mistress Ivanova told him and he took her bags to her room and next time anyone saw him he was like that.”

“Poor Marco,” Fernando cringed. “I guess money talks. How long is she staying? She looks demanding!”

“Two weeks and yes she is. Last night during the evening show Marco was under her table massaging her feet. He feeds her, rubs in her sunscreen and Anna said she saw her spanking him for missing a spot. Rumour is she has her eye on adding another maid to her service for the second week of her stay.”

Fernando shuddered. “Are there any rumours who she wants?”

“Well,” Sonia's eyes sparkled and she nodded at the tray of drinks. “Let's just say I hope you are as good with White Russians as you are with Mojitos...”

Washed Ashore

 6/25

Sandy rode the latest wave to the beach on his surfboard and shook his head in disbelief. They were still there... He glanced back into the sea to check if his friends were equally bemused but they were paddling around in the foam. He turned back to the girls.

“Give it up, Ariel. The current is way too strong for cute little things like you. You're going to get washed out to sea with those things.” He smirked as about a half-dozen high-school girls glared back balefully. They appeared to be some kind of swimming club for mermaid enthusiasts and were decked out in latex tails of various bright colours. However, the rough conditions were more than a match for their enthusiasm and they just couldn't get deeper than where the waves were breaking on the sand. Sandy rolled his eyes and headed back into the ocean.

“Bwahahaha”, he doubled over in laughter. It was five minutes later and he had just rode a monster all the way in just in time to see a girl with an orange tail get washed straight into her friend in a green one. They collided hard and squirmed around clumsily in the wet sand, unable to stand. “Those are the most ridiculous things I have ever seen,” he scoffed and headed back out.

By now, the wind was really picking up and the water was getting choppy. Sandy's friends decided to call it a day but determined not to let the girls see the ocean best him, he stayed. The next wave was enormous and despite catching it confidently, he found himself unstable at its crest and plunged forward over the front of his board. He surfaced, spluttering salt water just in time to see his surfboard careering straight for his head.

“Well, the good news is we saved your life...” Sandy awoke to the soft female voice. “The bad news...well, you can see for your self...” He tried to shake away his grogginess and was surprised to find he was looking down at the girls circled below him. A gust of wind blew his long surfer style hair across his face and he tried to brush it away but found his arms were stuck behind him. He looked down at himself and was filled with panic. His legs were also tied and his whole body was encased in one of the girls' pink latex mermaid tails. The shiny material wrapped his body like a thick film. He tried to cry out it protest but a ball gag muted him. “It turns out our tails are good for something after all – bringing arrogant surfer jerks down to size,” the girl smirked, “come on,” she beckoned to her friends, “the sea is getting too rough anyway.” Sandy's eyes went wide as he realised they were planning to leave him suspended from the back of the truck.

“Oh, you thought this was ours?” another girl laughed, “no, no, no...it's theirs”, she nodded to where a pair of weather beaten fisherman were unloading a boat further down the beach. “Word of caution...the ballgag is theirs too. We found it in the flatbed. Who knows what those guys are into... Bye now...”

Goods and Services Part 2

 5/25

Nate glared at the two chiselled guards blocking the door. Don't you know I once stood exactly where you do you stupid meatheads, he thought. You could be looking at your miserable fucking future! He grunted with frustration. The guards' eyes were covered with dark sunglasses but he knew they were staring at his tits. How could they not be? They were so full and perky. The guards were staring just as Nate had done so many times before when they belonged to their boss's wife. Of course, back then they weren't slathered with baby oil and bursting out from inside a latex nurse's outfit. They weren't firmly attached to Nate's chest either.

The handles of the wheelchair wrapped in his red rubber clad fingers offered needed support to his body as it threatened to topple forward under the heaving weight of his new breasts – a predicament made worse by the eight-inch heeled boots laced tightly up to just below the knee. As a result, his glistening cleavage was thrust forward invitingly and he knew that the guards were imagining burying their faces in it. Fools!? He wouldn't be the last to end up like this. The boss, as old as he was, was ruthless and greedy. Nate's new form was proof of how far he would go to get what he desired...to get revenge...

Up until a month ago, Nate himself had been muscle for Salvatore 'Big Sal' Rossi. The old man ruled everything around him with an iron fist and that included his security, but it also included his young blonde trophy wife. The beautiful Latitia had proved to be something of an Achilles' heel for Nate and the usually resolute guard fell under the spell of her feminine charms. When the buxom babe came to him asking for help escaping her tyrannical husband, he had obliged without a second thought. Now with plenty of time to regret his choice, it was Nate who was the buxom babe with the feminine charms courtesy of the Artist's genetic manipulation device.

After what seemed like hours in the white walled room holding the wheelchair and feeling like involuntary entertainment for the pair of security guards, a door opened and a regular woman wearing a regular nurse's uniform stepped in. She beckoned to him and with great discomfort he tottered over to her. Latex crackled and squeezed his jiggling body with every tiny step while his pert ass swayed side to side.

“Mr. Rossi is ready for his afternoon bubble bath,” the nurse stated professionally as if she wasn't talking to a ridiculous genetically modified bimbo. “Also, you'll need to give him his medication,” she handed Nate a small pot of assorted pills. “You'll need this too.” The woman presented a second pot containing a single blue pill and Nate's heart sank beneath his enormous chest. The nurse cleared her throat to keep his attention. “Mr. Rossi requested I check you are wearing the waterproof makeup he bought you, because, and I quote, 'I don't want that bitch's lippy coming off all over my dick in the tub'.” She blushed. “I believe the last Mrs. Rossi was rather skilled at aquatic fellatio.”

Goods and Services Part 1

 4/25

Had to make this one twice as my computer blue screen of deathed as I was about to save it. It is part of 'the Artist' series, which is in full on my linked caps page

zoli

“So this is who you are now? A mercenary selling his services to the highest bidder?” Ms. Williams spat from her position handcuffed to the leg of a laboratory desk.

“Huh?!” Martin followed her gaze to the security guard-turned-bimbo sitting against the wall and staring dumbly off into space. “You had no problem giving people what they wanted back when I was Bianca Beauchamp and what people wanted was to fuck me. At least now I can get paid for my creations...” He turned back to Ms. Williams and shook his head. “Don't worry, it will be your turn soon enough. Soon enough I won't even need to load you into the pod to manipulate your genes as I see fit.” He picked up a gun like device from the desk. “When this is finished I will be able to change who I like when I like where I like into whatever I like. No more of this cumbersome laboratory.”

Ms. Williams glared at him from behind her glasses and watched as the man who had become known as the Artist walked over to inspect his latest subject. She didn't know who he was, or rather, had been. When Martin had rolled him into the lab on a trolley he had been muscled and square-jawed like so many of the military men Martin had changed before but after being loaded into the genetic manipulation machine and shot with the by now familiar blue light, his former masculinity was a distant memory.

“Not bad, eh?” the Artist walked over for a closer inspection. “If I had a wife that looked like this, I would want her back after she ran away too.” He ran a thumb across his creation's plump lips before slipping it gently inside her mouth. The bimbo sucked instinctively while the eyes remained blankly staring ahead. “Excellent,” Martin grinned, “I expect my client will be making good use of that feature. He might need some Viagra though at his age.” He knelt so that his face was level with the former guard. “Sweetheart, I really hope you enjoy old man dick...because if you don't, you've got a long hard career as a trophy wife ahead of you.” He smiled at the hint of a twitch of the blonde's nose.

“You're sick,” Ms. Williams spat on the floor. “Don't get too used to playing God because it won't last. I've seen soldiers gangbang you stupid and I swear one day I will make you wish your life was that good again.”

“Oh but that's where you're wrong,” the Artist sneered. “I hold the power now – over you, over this dumb bitch and over anyone else who crosses my path. Now, Ms. Williams...” he pulled a pile of latex from a filing cabinet drawer, “how about you help me get my creation ready for her assignment? You can apply the lube!”

Whatever Happened to Alan? (Flashback Friday)

 Hola! Today we flashback to one of my personal favourite captions. You can read the original On the Fly caption here. Have a great weekend!

It's Friday once again and as the weather is getting warmer, it only seems right to make our flashbacks a little hotter. This week we catch up with Alan, a budding scientist whose world was turned upside-down when the teleportation device he was working on accidentally spliced his body with his daughter's Barbie, which had been left inside his invention. Let's take a look and see how fantastic life in plastic really is...

Alan hadn't been outside in nearly five years. Modern online shopping had allowed him to exist as a literal basement dweller for nearly half a decade. Alone since his terrified family had ran screaming from the house, he spend all his time tinkering with the machine that had turned him into a life-sized doll, trying to find a way to reverse the process.

He clambered from the teleportation pod, electricity still rippling through his body from his latest attempt and groaned with frustration at the sight of the long glossy legs that formed the lower half of his body. They shone with a plastic pallor and felt stiff like a pair of giant knitting needles coming together to make round bimbo butt at one end. He had gone through the machine with yet another Barbie and the doll's gymnastics leotard now enveloped his body with the same plastic sheen. It was getting worse... Going through the teleporter with doll after doll might seem desperate, but what else could he do? He had tried starting from the other device, going through with the doll disassembled into its individual parts, going through with a male doll, but each new experiment just resulted in a glossier, curvier, more plastic Alan. Enough was enough...

He looked over to the mountain of dolls ordered online in various stages of dress and sighed. He couldn't give up but his this current line of working was becoming too dangerous. With every leap his joints became stiffer, his body more numb – not to mention he was completely at the mercy of whatever ridiculous hair or outfit came with each doll. He just couldn't go on like this. Looking back at the box of Barbies, a realisation struck and suddenly he knew exactly what he had to do.

The basement stairs were treacherous in six inch heels but his feet were now permenantly molded toes down like a doll's so he had little choice but to brave the climb. His legs were as flexible as stilts and he leaned forwards against the handrail to keep his balance, accepting the inevitable as the skin tight leotard rode uncomfortably up his ass Finally, he was at the top of the stone steps and moved to the house's main staircase while cursing the fact the bathroom was on the top floor. It would be worth it however. If he was going to do this, he would need the sleeping pills in the cabinet. He screamed at his ridiculous body as he tripped up yet another stair and tried to reassure himself that regardless of how absurd his existense had become, it was no longer going to get any worse. He was going to figure out how to fix himself if it was the last thing he did. He was going to get that damned machine to work properly but until it did he had taken his last trip through it. Collecting the sleeping pills, he left his house for the first time in five years – in search of test subjects...

Under the Influence Part 2

 20/25

I am glad people are enjoying this one as I already have enough ideas for a sequel. Actually I have been having a lot more ideas for longer stories recently - even though I have been too busy to work on them.

Sorry but the picture is small for this one again

'When I wake-up, in my makeup...' The voice of Courtney Love thumped from inside the rock club and Brody thought about how bitterly desperate he was to remove the cosmetics from his own face. If he did indeed wake up like this he would likely cry until mascara streaked down his powdered cheeks. For now, however, he was grateful for the products Claire had caked to his face. They were the only thing protecting what little dignity he had left as he stood outside Ripped Gene's nightclub trying to get punters to go in.

“Not doing too well, are you?” his sister tutted at the full ticket-book clasped in his hand. She took step back to look him up and down. “Well, you certainly look the part.” Brody instinctively pulled the large heart-shaped handbag defensively in front of his body but Claire pushed it away to reveal the zippered leather top and short skirt combo he had been stuffed into. “Hmmm... maybe it was a mistake getting you to help me with my club promoting... Maybe I should just put those pictures on social media and enjoy the fallout...” She laughed at the sight of her brother's suddenly terror filled expression. “Okay, Sis, let me see you work. Maybe I can give you some pointers?”

Brody tried to force himself into action. As bad as this was, everyone he knew thinking he was some kind of pervert would be so much worse. At least he could wakeup from this. Composing himself, he tottered over on heeled boots to a group of girls smoking outside the bar next door and tried in earnest to persuade them to buy tickets. He returned two minutes later with his tail between his painfully waxed legs to his sister shaking her head.

“Well there's your problem,” she sighed, “you don't know your audience. Look..”she pushed his long blonde wig away from his breast forms to give him a bit more perk, “...you aren't a pussy magnet, Brody, you are the pussy. I might be a thirsty lesbian hot for a sweet little thing in leather, but most girls aren't. On the other hand, guys will buy tickets by the handful if they think the club is full of sexy minxes like you.” She glanced at a group of men getting out of a taxi and then back at Brody. “Guys are dumb.”

What choice did he have? Brody adjusted his skirt, paranoid that it may have ridden up again, and turned towards the men. A stinging swat landed right on the tight fabric stretched across his ass from his sister's palm. One of the guys saw him approaching and nudged his friends, a drunken smile cracking on his face.

“Is there more like you inside?” he winked, playing with the cash in his hand from paying the driver. He teased to offer it and then pulled it back. “Just in case there isn't...” he pointed to his cheek, “how about a welcome kiss?” Brody groaned as he watched the other men line up behind for their turn.

Shivers

 17/25

This is a Mannequeen caption. The rest of the story is on the inbox page

The first thing to puncture Austin's waking mind was the cold. The second and third things were the fleshy globes on his chest held in by the shiny latex dress. He was shaking even before the fear gripped him and he sat up slowly to find himself in the snow in a neglected part of town. To say he 'found himself' would not be quite accurate. What he actually found was a buxom beauty in a skin tight dress, elbow length vinyl gloves, high heels and little else. A tape recorder rested near his hand and already fearing the worst, he pushed 'play' with his shivering manicured fingers.

“Hello Austin. I want to play a game. They say you can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends. You can certainly choose your fiancee. Austin, I think you need to start making better choices. Detective Lara Lake and her partner, the Cleaner, may have turned me into a sex craving abomination but I am going to enjoy my revenge more than any pleasure an orgasm could provide. Speaking of...you have been fitted with a state-of-the-art female bodysuit that will bond to your skin in fifteen minutes unless you can show me you are dramatically improved at finding a partner. The bodysuit contains a temperature sensor that will unlock your prison if you can get hot and bothered enough. You may have noticed it is a bit chilly today but I am sure with my motivation, you can find some fire in your loins. Good luck Austin. You have fifteen minutes.”

The tape recorder fell from Austin's hand as panic seized his body. A million thoughts zipped around his head. First of all the sheer disbelief that this sublime body he could now call his own was a bodysuit. It felt so real, even down to the gooseflesh on his arms. Second of all the confusion of what he had just heard about Lara. Hadn't she been the one that caught the Cleaner? The tape had made it sound like she was some kind of supervillain. A feeling of betrayal stirred with the discomfort in his stomach.

Austin folded his gloved hands around his ample breasts and looked around desperately. All the buildings were boarded up and the abandoned cars dumped by the curb promised little heat. He tried to run on the spot for warmth but was sent sprawling into a snowdrift on his six-inch heels. Sitting up for the second time, he rubbed a slender ankle and searched for inspiration. If he got out of this, he was going to make Lara pay. A flickering at the end of the block caught Austin's eye. Was that fire? He stumbled to his feet and hobbled towards it. A garbage can was spitting out orange flames and for the first time in his ordeal he felt hope.

“Well, well, well...what do we have here?” Austin's attention was snatched by the five vagrants gathered around the fire. “Looking for someone to warm you up?” The biggest man stepped in front of the can rubbing his hands. Austin looked from man to man, knowing he had about five minutes left, and realised he would probably need all of them to get hot enough.

Traffic Swap

 16/25

This one was a request I got off Tumblr

David knew he was in trouble as soon he saw the flashing lights in his rear-view mirror. He just didn't know what for. As hard as he fought to stay calm, cops had always made him nervous and he felt like he was floating outside himself as the young blonde policewoman spoke to him through the driver's side window. Something something warrant something something parking violations and as if in a dream, he was being led through the evening air to the patrol car. The rear door was opened and he was pushed inside.

“David meet Tiffany...Tiffany...David,” the blonde's brunette partner grinned coldly from the driver's seat. He turned and realised he was not alone in the backseat but rather shared it with an intimidating looking woman dressed in black mesh and leather – a stern frown peeked from beneath an unnatural flow of synthetic hair. The cop in the passenger seat turned to face them. “You two have a lot in common. Tiffany here thinks she can let anyone who pays park in her space...and David,” she smirked at him, “thinks he can park in any space he wants regardless of whether he pays or not.” She shook her head playfully. “Yep, you're two peas in a pod alright...”

David pressed himself against the window in an attempt to put as much space as possible between himself and the prostitute. This couldn't be happening. He had meant to pay the tickets. He had just forgotten... He looked up and saw that Tiffany was glaring at him. Was his disgust really so obvious?

The police radio burst into life and an operator called out a series of numbers that meant nothing to David. “RIOT IN PROGRESS. I REPEAT. RIOT IN PROGRESS. ALL UNITS RESPOND.” The blonde grabbed the radio to acknowledge and the brunette pulled the car over to the side of the road.

“Looks like it's your lucky night,” the blonde sighed as she turned to face them. “Such a shame, you two make sure a lovely pair. If only there was some other way you could pay your dues to society...” She glanced from David to Tiffany and back again before grinning evilly at her partner. “Hey? How do you feel about a little creative rehabilitation?”

Twenty minutes later, David was back by the side of the road, only his car was nowhere in sight. Tiffany was beside him only she looked a lot less terrifying in his clothes. Still she had got by far the better end of the deal when they were forced to switch clothes in the back of the cop car. She was actually smiling as she watched David struggle to breathe in the clutches of her corset. Once the patrol car was out of sight, he started to remove her top but Tiffany just shook her head and began walking away.

“Someone else can walk in my heels tonight,” she called back. “I'm going home!” David stopped taking off his only barrier from the cold and sat back on the car behind him as he realised he had no idea where he was...

Reconstructed

 9/25

This is the newest caption to my Mannequeen series. The rest are on my index page

Lloyd Lake awoke in the seat of his excavator. The first rays of sunlight were just starting to peek over the horizon and bathed the construction site in a warm morning glow. Groggy, he glanced at his reflection in the vehicle's mirror and almost fell to the ground eight feet below. A delicate female face gaped back at him, pretty features curtained with soft blonde hair. He searched himself only to find a curvy body clad in shiny latex where his own gruff exterior would usually have been. Just as he was reaching a fevered panic, the radio on his dashboard began to play and a syrupy voice treacled out.

“Hello, Lloyd. I want to play a game. As much as it would please me no end to torture you for no other reason than being the brother of the treacherous Detective Lara Lake, I have a code to uphold. Fortunately...for me, you fit that code like you fit that sexy rubber outfit you're wearing. For the last six months, and I dare say your entire career, you and your co-workers have tormented every young lady that has passed your construction site with unsolicited comments, requests and cat calls. Well, Lloyd, it's time to see how you like being the cat. You have been fitted with a state-of-the-art female bodysuit that in one hour will bond to your skin forever unless it is unlocked. The key is hidden somewhere on site and to find it you will need to use your gut. You will see what I mean. Just follow what feels good. You have one hour...”

Lloyd was shaking with terror long before the voice ended but now he was almost hyperventilating. He struggled down the vehicle's steps on his ridiculous heels and gazed around the construction yard hopelessly. Finding a key would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. He took a small step left and stopped suddenly as a soft thrum began in his backside. In his initial shock, he hadn't noticed the full feeling in his stomach but now the vibrating buttplug had made its presence impossible to ignore. He stepped back and the buzz subsided. I have to embrace it if I don't want to be stuck as a bimbo forever, he realised in horror as a morning chill brought out goosepimples on his exposed buttcheeks.

Twenty minutes later and Lloyd was praying he was getting close. Through trial and error he had managed to consistently increase the intensity of the vibrations and now it was steadily jackhammering in his ass. He moaned softly as the pounding began to affect him in other ways. Oh God, he had never felt so horny in his life and with every step it got more frantic, more unbearable. His loins felt ready to burst. Looking ahead, he trembled as it became apparent where he was being lead. The trailer used as a yard office loomed in front of him and it was full of his co-workers getting ready for a days work. Panting, he approached, barely able to stand as the waves of pleasure washed over him. As the first worker came out of the building he could hardly remember what he had come here for.

“Hey, boys! Get out here!” The uniformed man removed his hardhat and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. “This young lady looks set to burst. What do you say we give her a good drilling to relieve some pressure?!”

Season 5 Prologue (Wrath of the Mannequeen)

 0/25

Hola!

I am back at last and with 25 new captions plus today's teaser. Thank you for all the kind messages over the past couple of months. They have been an inspiration.

As I said before, I am going to post new caps every two days this time. It will give me time to work on new stories and considering I only have one left to finish for this season, it should allow me to resume posting fairly quickly after this batch is online.

We kick things off with the Mannequeen and her plotting. This story has been going quite a while so the entire saga is on my series index page.

Zoli

The shadows weren't so dark any more. They weren't as deep and didn't grant anything like the anonymity they once had. The mousy yet genius engineer with a penchant for wool-knit sweaters and punishing deserving men with humiliating and sometimes permanent female bodysuits was gone. Now locked inside a voluptuous bodysuit of her own, Hayley no longer had the privilege of keeping her life separate from that of her vigilante alter-ego, the Mannequeen.

Sticking close to the wall inside the subway station, she observed the late evening crowds passing by and tried to block out the eternal thrum of pleasure from the stimulation features built into her bodysuit. With the help of a specially crafted latex catsuit that massaged her pleasure points gently, she was able to bear the constant euphoria and avoid the otherwise inevitable descent into a life as a drooling never-ending orgasm machine, but it didn't help making her any less noticeable.

Three figures in particular caught her eye – a woman and two men. Detective Lara Lake and her companions stopped at the turnstile to the downtown platform and began to make their goodbyes. The Mannequeen glared at her from the shadows. The Detective was a puppet for the copycat known as the Cleaner, but she was a dangerous one. The Cleaner had trapped the Mannequeen in her eternal bimbo prison but Lara had been helping Hayley's nemesis trap her suspicious fellow detectives in their own versions of hell. Undeserving victims – against everything the Mannequeen stood for – even now. Still, there were many types of guilt – guilt by association for one...

The two men were Lara Lake's fiance and her brother. They were finishing shaking hands and the brother was getting ready to leave the couple to their trip home. The Mannequeen smiled. They would be the appetisers to her revenge. She savoured every affectionate glance Lara gave them, knowing that the next time she saw them, they would be looking very different. Detective Lara Lake would first be broken and then she would be punished. The Mannequeen's heart thudded in her chest with the fantasies of how she would ruin this traitorous, scheming she-devil. It would be glorious...triumphant.

The Mannequeen rocked back on her heels as Lara Lake disappeared down the moving stairway. Her mouth was dry but she was wet between her legs from thinking about her delicious revenge, and her scouting complete, she collapsed against the wall and allowed herself to succumb to the ecstasy.  

The Puppetmistress - Complete

 Happy Halloween gals and 'gals'. As happy and as safe as we can muster in the current climate anyway. I for one will be staying home dressed as an undead panda and watching something frightening with a bottle of Jack Daniel's in my decaying paw. I believe this is called Netflix and Chills. 

Anyways... I am not a fan of posting old content for new clicks but one of these captions got taken down a few years back and today seemed an appropriate day to repost the series in full. I am sorry I don't have any new scary themed tg captions for you this year but I wasn't expecting to be home to post anything. I am working on new captions and have seven ready to go. Depending on how life goes in the meantime, I may start posting season 5 in December.

-Zoli-

 

The three ghosthunters stood in the hallway of the abandoned mansion using their flashlights to examine every inch of the gothic inspired room. There was a hushed excitement among the men as they were gearing up for a night in the last of the 'haunted' houses on soulsearchers.com's creepiest places in the state.

'Here we go boys, we saved the best 'til last,' cheered Gerry as he led his companions into the most haunted living room in the state. The room was dominated by an enormous log fireplace, a centerpiece of the wood-lined decor and somewhere that seemed to project darkness. Gerry turned up the power on his flashlight and aimed it above the mantle and jumped back in fright.

'Now that's one spooky broad,' Stephen chuckled nervously as the light illuminated a portrait of a young woman dressed all in black apart from a china white, harsh looking face. The stern features were sharpened further by thick black makeup and an angular black haircut that framed them. Her body bore an old fashioned dress under an excruciating looking corset but most jarring of all was the way the woman in the painting seemed so lifelike, as if she could jump out at any moment;

'Actually that's not a 'broad' at all,' exclaimed David studying the guidebook. 'It says here that the painting is of George Hurst, only son of the house's last owners. The legend goes that from an early age, George became fascinated with puppets, first toys but eventually he began crafting his own from wood. Apparently, his parents didn't understand his hobby and thought that he was playing with dolls and when the mother got older she went a bit mad and gave George a choice; he could either give up his puppets of live as a girl. After that the family became more and more reclusive and it's not really clear what happened to them, however, it's said that anyone who stays here leaves 'changed'.'

'Changed?' the other men repeated together. 'Changed how?'

'It doesn't say,' replied David, closing the book with a little frustration. 'Okay, it's getting late, I say we pitch down here for the night. Give Georgie some company.'

Gerry awoke with a start, unsure of why, he glanced over to where his friends were sleeping. Their sleeping bags lay empty. Where were they!? The sweet scent of women's perfume filled the air and he looked around frantically for the source, eventually fixing his eyes on the portrait. George was gone...

A shiver ran down Gerry's spine as he jumped to his feet and turned his flashlight to full beam. Keeping his back to the wall, he slowly crept out of the living room and back into the giant hall. Moonlight cast in through a large window giving the room an eerie glow that seemed to lead Gerry to another door on the farside of the room. Hurredly he crossed over to opposite wall and padded through the doorway into a large study.

The study, like the living room, had wood paneled walls and was gothic in decor and a large oak desk stood in the center of the room. Approaching the desk, flashlight drawn, Gerry noticed that the desk was covered in papers. Carefully he shone the beam on one and saw that it was a sketch for a sort of puppet design. Pictured crudely in pencil was a regal looking woman in an armchair with puppetstrings around her wrists. He traced the strings all the way around to the other side of the paper where they reached a control bar held by a sketched figure looking suspiciously like George from the living room painting. Turning the paper back over, he noticed a word neatly written under the drawing of the puppet.

MOM

Suddenly Gerry became aware of some movement in the corner of the room and shone his light over to reveal a startling sight. Sitting in a leather armchair was a feminine figure much like the one from the drawings. Her slim figure was encased in a short black silk dress beneath an old fashioned women's vest and her fair hair was carefully styled under a tiny decorative hat.

'Stephen!?' gasped Gerry, recognising his blonde friend even under the thick layers of makeup. The figure's raccoon-like eyes shot open and Gerry could see an expression of helpless panic in his friend's face. He tried to reach out to Gerry but lace binds around his wrists became tight without warning and Stephen was posed like a puppet by an unseeable master. Slowly his painted lips parted and gave a frantic cry of desperation.

'BEWARE OF THE GIRL IN THE BOX! BEWARE OF THE GIRL IN THE BOX!'

Suddenly the room was thrown into darkness. Dammit! Gerry cursed his flashlight's poor timing to cut out. He banged it frantically against his palm until the beam returned before shining it back towards where his ghoulishly feminised friend had been sitting. Stephen was gone! Shining the light wildly around the room, Gerry searched for a sign of where he had gone, finally finding it sticking out of the floor it the corner of the room. A trapdoor. Cautiously with the light outstretched in front of him, he made his way over to the gaping hole and stopped at the edge of a sprawling wooden staircase. His heart was banging in his chest with fear but the need to rescue his friends drove him onwards. It was on the third step he found it, the book, a thick leather bound cover hugging pages and pages of scrawled handwriting, a diary. Gerry picked it up and opened it near the back...

It was a tragic tale, one of misunderstood youth and misguided parents. George's diary told of how his mother had gone mad and forced him to live as a girl or give up the only thing he truly cared about, his puppets. She had kept him locked in the basement, providing him with only scraps for nourishment and girl's dresses for warmth while George's weakling father did nothing to challenge his wife. Gerry flicked a few months worth of entries forward and noted that the handwriting had started to get seriously erratic, a few more pages passed and they started to be signed 'Georgina', until finally Gerry reached the last page and the final entry, 'Mother is planning to let me out tomorrow. Father is pleased, he always wanted a daughter. I think I'm ready. I can't wait to add them to my collection. Georgina.'

Gerry felt an icy chill run up his spine as he placed the diary back on the step and continued his journey down the wooden stairs. As he descended, the ticking of a clock grew louder and he aimed his flashlight into the gloom in search of the source. Suddenly, there was a loud chime to his left and he spun round, almost dropping his flashlight at the vision before him. A pale figure clad all in black was stumbling around in front of him. Cables were tied around its wrists, pulling upwards to somewhere above them, not allowing the figure to get a good grip on the floor with the shiny black high-heeled pumps, instead forcing it to thrash and kick in search of a good footing. Gerry met its eyes, it was David, his helpless pleading gaze screaming through raccoon eyes in the same fashion that Stephen's had. Gerry could see the chinstrap of the wig now, streaking across David's thickly madeup face and he became aware of the screeching of the black latex outfit that enveloped his body as he jerked around in desperation. David's expression turned even more fearful as the cables seemed to take control and manipulate his movements, pulling him up into a graceful pose that defied his horrified face. Using the only part of his body he could still control, he called out to his friend...

'BEWARE OF THE GIRL IN THE BOX! BEWARE OF THE GIRL IN THE BOX!'

The light went out again and this time it stayed out, all the banging and cursing in the world couldn't get the flashlight back on and it hung lifeless in Gerry's hand. He fumbled in the darkness in the direction of his rubber clad friend but the surrounding black was so thick that he couldn't be sure where he was going. Stumbling on, he felt the wooden frame of a doorway in front of him and passed through it...ooommphhh...his nose smashed against something hard. He raised his fands to find that there was a wooden panel blocking his path. What the hell?! As he turned to go back the way he had come, he heard something slam behind him. Feeling with his hands, he concluded that he had accidentally wandered into a box a little bigger than the size of his body. The air around him began to grow clammy and Gerry could feel a presence next to his shoulder.

'I...am the girl in the box...apparently,' a soft voice chuckled in his ear. Gerry's skin prickled as he realised that he had probably just found George. 'I saw you reading my diary,' the voice sighed, 'I know you know why I'm down here. But you know what else? Those bastards never did let me out. They kept me down here for more than a year, and I even accepted my fate as Georgina. I convinced myself I was their daughter because I knew that if I were to have my revenge, I would have to be the girl they wanted to invite back into their home. That final day, when they told me it was enough, and that it was finally time to rejoin the family, I thought they were going to bring me back into the house, but instead they put me in here, forever!' Suddenly, the penny dropped and Gerry realised that he was standing in George's coffin. He felt like throwing up, but a waft of sweet perfume soothed his stomach. 'After all these decades buried down here, in limbo, buried as the girl I never wanted to be, I have been awakened and set free. My parents are long gone now and sadly I will never avenge what they did to me, but at least I have the next best thing. I can carry out my plot on those that dare trespass my home and make them into the puppets I do love so dearly. Oh Gerry, I am the girl in the box, and now so shall you be too!' The air around Gerry began to swirl violently, surrounding his whole body in a powerful vortex that treatened to pull him to pieces. A deep pain rose in his skull and just as it began to be unbearable, he mercifully passed out.

Gerry awoke to the timeless haze of the basement. Right away he knew something was wrong, he just felt different, like a totally different shape. He smoothed him palms over his chest to find pale breasts heaving beneath a red latex leotard that stretched tight around the rest of his torso and where his crotch had once been. Uh-oh what the hell? He tried to maneouveur out of the coffin, balancing his new thick ass with the towering platform heels on his feet and as his eyes began to adjust to the twilight, he spotted George standing across the basement. He was wearing the same painful looking outfit from the painting and was cradling something carefully in his hands.

'You look exquisite, if I do say so myself,' the phantom smiled, holding up the puppet control bar in his hands, 'just one final adjustment, and then we can go play with your friends!'

In this very special Halloween edition of Flashback Friday we catch up with Gerry, who along with his fellow ghosthunters found himself trapped by the ghoulish George, a tormented puppet obsessed soul transformed into a living doll and then left to die by his unaccepting parents. The hapless trio ended up becoming victims of George's misplaced desire for vengeance and now find themselves his eternal playthings in the mansion's basement. Let's see how they're doing...

Gerry's gloved arms lay limply by his sides as he slumped in the corner of the dank basement. The large full breasts that were now a permanent fixture on his chest rose and fell but he otherwise felt powerless to move. The unanswerable urge to cup, fondle and squeeze his own tremendous cleavage called him, prodding his curiosity, they were after all more sublime than any he had had access to in his previous life...such is the reality of being a ghosthunter.... But no...just as the strings tied to them lay still, so did his arms and he was limited to gazing upon the heaving globes tucked beneath the latex corset through makeup laden eyes while he waited for the mistress to once again take up his controls.

Georgina was the other side of the dark basement tending to Stephen and David. In contrast to Gerry, their arms were suspended above their heads by puppetstrings attached to controlbars hooked high on the wall. Georgina was hard at work putting the finishing touches on their costumes, somehow managing to split concentration between pulling Stephen's corset bonecrushingly tight and rolling up the tops of a pair of thigh-length vinyl heeled boots towards David's smooth female groin. They hobbled around awkwardly on the spot barely able to keep contact with the floor as the taut strings pulled them towards the ceiling.

Gerry knew it would be his turn next and then they would be once again be made to act out another of Georgina's crazy pantomimes. Like mere toys they would be drawn around the cramped basement by their powerful spiritual mistress, unwilling actors in bizarre scenes of drama, emotion and even love. Georgina would use her unknown power to force her meticulously dressed and madeup subjects to argue, to cry and to embrace and then she would redress her helplessly loyal playthings and start all over again, endlessly... Gerry could see she was getting more ambitious, her stories more intricate and passionate. In the last one he had felt his new curvy body grab that which David occupied and kiss it deeply. Taking such a beautiful woman in his arms in such a way should have been amazing but he found himself staring into his friend's terrified eyes for its duration. He later realised David must have had the same experience. The puppets began to hear Georgina's mutterings of new intruders in the house. She talked about them excitedly like they were new additions to her toy chest...and maybe they would be... For Gerry the idea of having others to distract Georgina from him was a good thing, he just feared what weird new adventures they would inspire...

Life Swap

 22/25

Joe tried desperately to disappear into the red leather of the studio couch – away from the gaping mouth of his wife, from the lipsticked smirk of the show's presenter, and from the spellbound studio audience and the big screen playing out the events of the last two weeks. Try as he might, he only succeeded in making time pass even more slowly – not that it mattered, soon the taping would hit millions of tv screens across the nation and his humiliation would be immortalised forever.

Joe and his wife, Louise, were contestants on the now dated tv show, Wife Swap. The concept was as simple as it was mundane, an antiquated product of daytime television where two happy couples from different backgrounds would trade partners for two weeks and then report back to the studio in a final confrontation to talk about their experiences and what they had learned from them. Joe and Louise had been paired with a couple of pig farmers and Joe had felt a secret exaltation, believing country women to be subservient and homely. Now, as he cringed in the studio, he couldn't believe how wrong he had been.

The first week of the exchange routinely put the men in charge of their own homes and gave them authority to rule their castles as they saw fit. Joe made full use of the opportunity to have Heather, the wife of his fellow contestant, wait on him hand and foot – cooking, cleaning, bringing him beer and even rubbing his feet, all while he sat in front of the tele belching orders. To Heather's credit, she had fulfilled the tasks dutifully and without comment. Joe now realised that she had been biding her time, plotting what was to come. The second week rolled around and it was all change. It was the wives' turn to rule the roost and Joe's nightmare had begun.

Joe heard his wife let out a loud snort of laughter from next to him on the red sofa, her eyes glued to the big screen where a twenty-foot Joe shimmied awkwardly around his living room in a latex maid's uniform. Joe still bore the bruises from the cuffs that had shackled his ankles, from the high-heels that had tortured his feet and from the dildo gag that had brutalised his gums, but most of all, he still suffered the mortal injury to his pride that could only come from being trussed up, stuffed in a rubber dress and forced to clean his own house for an entire seven days. Louise stifled a gasp with her hand as she watched her husband push his stockinged knees together and struggle to pick a pair of satin panties from the floor. Joe was praying the audience had already forgotten the scene five minutes before where Heather had introduced him to his new underwear collection.

“So, Louise, what do you think of this new side of your husband?” the presenter grinned as the montage came to an end.

Louise winked at Joe and the camera zoomed in as he realised the balance of their relationship was shifting forever. “Oh, I think it is a side of him I am going to see much more often. That is, if he doesn't want me to sign us up for 'Wife Swap – Revisited. If he resists, I'm sure another week with Heather would do the trick.”

Not What It Seems Part 3

 11/25

The voice gave me directions to a shady part of town where old factories had been converted into flats for students and drug addicts. It was close to the university so I knew it well, but I found myself very aware it wasn't somewhere someone looking as I did now would be best advised to wander by themselves. A nervous shiver rippled through my body as the voice guided me through streets and alleyways and I clenched by knees together and clutched by purse to my chest defensively as I tottered on the strappy heels. Finally, I arrived at a warehouse conversion and the voice directed me to get an old fashioned elevator to the top floor. A single doorway occupied the landing. I knocked timidly.

“Ah, there you are!” The door swung open to reveal a tiny pale girl in an oversized black hoody holding a tablet. I wasn't sure what I was expecting but it wasn't this. I suppose I thought whatever woman had managed to tame Simon, and I guess by proxy, me, would be more, I don't know ...fierce...imposing? But, no, she looked, frankly, sweet. “Look at you,” she tutted, “you've got all messy!” My hands raised instinctively to the condiment caked satin and the girl tapped rapidly at the tablet in her grasp. My body went as rigid as a mannequin. “No, no...allow me!” She placed her tablet on a desk and produced some sewing scissors from the drawer. My heart raced momentarily but it needn't have bothered as she gently cut the straps of my dress and allowed the shimmering cloth to tumble down my delicate feminine form. Then she unfroze me once more and beckoned me into the bathroom where a steaming bubble bath was waiting.

As all this happened, I told myself I was playing the long game and that if I did as she said for long enough, she would release me and I could forget all of this ever happened. The truth is, I had no choice. With the tablet at her fingers, I was powerless and deep down I knew this. I followed. I bathed. I complied. And once the mustard, ketchup and sticky bodysuit 'juice' had been washed away, she froze me again and softly towelled me dry, carefully inspecting every jiggling inch of my prison. She smiled with satisfaction and led me back into the main room with the tablet tight in one hand and talc in the other.

“I hope you don't mind, but I would like to do this myself!” Her voice was soft and innocent but my body was seized all the same. She laid me down naked on the cold floor and carefully cocooned me in a red latex catsuit. The coolness of the material really hit home the realism of the bodysuit. The rubber swallowed what felt like my fingers, my legs...my pussy. She pulled on matching red heeled boots and a black latex hood and it was only when the hood was secured to a hook on the ceiling and my wrists secured to my ankles that I was permitted to move again...or at least attempt to.

“Let's have a little practice,” she smiled as I waddled in place, the latex crackling with every movement. She giggled and made a few gestures on the tablet. The surging ecstasy was back between my legs and my knees buckled though the chain attached to the hood held me in place. I gurgled on the rubber gag in my mouth and fumbled for my crotch but as soon as I got close, the sensation ended abruptly. “Patience my dear Simon,” she giggled. “You won't be needing this for where I'm going to take you,” she gestured to the tablet.

She left and returned ten minutes later, her diminutive form enveloped in a black version of my latex. In her delicate grip hung a bulky metal toolbox overflowing with wands, plugs, gags, hooks and all sorts of phallic looking toys. Placing the box in front of me, she came close enough that I could hear her breath in my ear.

“Don't worry Simon,” she pulled out my gag and kissed me on the lips, “if it gets too much, you can use our safeword!”