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

 Original caption is here 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The original caption is here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!”

Mirror, Mirror...

 Thank you for making me feel so welcome to be back

Michael gazed into the hand-mirror for the ninetieth time that day and for the ninetieth time that day, he didn't recognise the face staring back at him. The sweet little nose, the delicate chin, the exquisite cheekbones – all expertly crafted works of art, things of pure beauty...but none of them were his. Like much of the rest of his body, they were the result of state-of-the-art enhancements from the finest surgeons in the country. His body had been cut up and crafted into something spectacular by leaders in their fields. The problem was Michael didn't want any of it. Same as how he didn't want the sheer nightgowns, or the designer lingerie or even his pink painted nails. He didn't want it at all. But the mirror did. And that was all that mattered...

The hand-mirror had been a Mother's Day gift. He had been searching all day for a present for his Mom when he stumbled upon a boutique on the edge of town. The mirror had called out to him from the front window of Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly and he knew he had found what he was looking for. Little did he realise at that moment that the mirror too had found its target.

Michael's mother never did receive her present. Just one look into the silvery glass was enough to lock him in. One glance and he was immediately compelled like some kind of jewellery box marionette to create something worth reflecting back. Merely a passenger behind his eyes, he had observed his body as it slipped into a nearby store and purchased cosmetics and a lacy dress. He wanted to scream as his feet marched him home to try on his new wares in front of the mirror. More than anything else, the compulsion to look at his own reflection was overwhelming. That night he had watched on in horror as the hand-mirror like some kind of demanding mistress forced him to dress himself up – constantly checking how he looked in its gleaming face as if he were being inspected. If only it had stopped at that...

The mirror clearly had loftier ambitions for whom should be allowed to stare into it. Michael looked on in dread from within his own betraying flesh as his body emptied his savings on a more complete wardrobe overhaul and then began to schedule appointments with doctors about hormone treatments and finally even surgical operations. Over the past six months he must have seen his reflection a million times and each time it looked different – softer, more feminine, strikingly beautiful even. Finally after half a year, all he had to show of his old life was an empty bank account in his own name and a tiny bald cock shrivelled by multiple rounds of hormone therapy...

There was a loud thumping on his apartment door and Michael looked away from his reflection at last. His heart began to pound and his arm involuntarily placed the mirror carefully down on the dresser. Suddenly he longed to be back standing in the middle of his room staring at his refection. It was at least better that what was about to happen. As he reached to open the door, he knew he would be looking at his face again in that glass shortly – only when he did it would be glazed in the cum of the man standing at his door.  

Whatever Happened to Mr. Tibbles? (Flashback Friday)

 I am really enjoying captioning right now. The new season of caps is more than half done and I don't remember being this excited about posting new stuff. I am hoping to have them ready to start uploading by the start of June.

In the meantime, we have a flashback to this caption from 2015...

It's nearly the weekend but before you make your escape to enjoy your well-earned freedom, join me to check in with someone not so lucky. Today for the first time we revisit not an unfortunate young man but rather a furry feline from a past caption. Mr. Tibbles was the beloved cat of the magical Clarissa as she punished her brother for leaving her poor puss out in the cold. Six years may have passed but a new sissy is born every minute so let's see who has fallen foul of some kitty justice this time...

The piano stopped playing and Max found he could finally control his body once more. I say 'his body' with the caveat that the supple ballerina's frame he occupied was certainly not the one he woke up with that morning. The rest of the class were stretching and drinking water and so Max glanced around for a potential escape. It was hopeless. The music would inevitably restart before he got anywhere near the door and his role as marionette would commence all over. His head swivelled desperately and he spotted something else just outside the studio window. Prancing across the room in his ballet slippers, he glared at the cat that had landed him in such a humiliating situation.

“Awww look who it is, Mr. Tibbles.“ Clarissa picked up her cat lovingly and held him up to the glass for a better view. “It's Maxy-poo, the mean boy who let his nasty dog chase you around the park. Well, he doesn't look so mean now, does he? No he doesn't.” She nuzzled her cat's soft fur. “He looks like a cute little ballet dancer. How about you do a pirouette for us Maxy-poo?”

Max stood motionless, his cheeks burning red and his delicate hands clenched into slender fists.

“Oh, don't worry...” Clarissa met his gaze and wrinkled he nose, “you'll be spinning for us again soon enough. How do you like your outfit by the way? It is a gorgeous fit.” Max blushed even harder, becoming hyper aware of the tutu splayed around his tiny waist and the skin-tight leotard pinching into his buttcheeks. He lowered his head in shame and instantly regretted it as his soft pink ballet slippers came in to view.

“There's nothing to be embarrassed about,” Clarissa cooed with mock-sympathy. “You look simply lovely in tights. Much better than in those dirty jeans. I bet they smelled of dog.” She looked him up and down again until her eyes settled on his lycra covered crotch. She grinned wickedly in a way that made Max feel two inches tall. “Well, almost nothing..,” In spite of the pixie-esque dancer's body she had bestowed him with, she had let him keep one key part of his male anatomy – a key part that now stretched the material below his tutu and created quite the distraction for the teacher and frankly everyone in the class. He had felt their eyes boring into him as the music paraded his body around the room for all to see. “What's that, Mr. Tibbles?” Clarissa cocked an ear to her cat. “Oh, I agree, bones are for dogs.” She winked at Max. “One thing I will say for dogs though...they are very obedient...just like you.” The piano started up again and Max felt his body pirouetting him away from the window.

A Charmed Life

 22/25

Cole was a bad boy. Or at least that is what he wanted Hollywood to think. He was chasing the dream, trying to make it big as the modern big screen reincarnation of James Dean. Unfortunately, he couldn't act. Not that it deterred him – nowadays it wasn't about talent, you just needed the look – the million dollar gaze, the charm or as the French say – the 'je nais se quois'! Nevertheless, Cole bounced from failed audition to failed audition without pause to refine his skills but rather many an afternoon shopping to improve his look.

In was on one of these excursions that he spotted the skull pendant decorating a mannequin in the window of Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly. He was immediately drawn to the charm and rushed inside to purchase it. Sadly, when he removed it from the brown paper bag and threw it around his neck, it was the skull and not Cole that enjoyed the fit.

From that moment forth, the budding actor was but a passenger in his own body. The pendant was his new producer, director and indeed makeup and wardrobe as Cole found himself dragged along on further shopping trips to update his style to that of a Downtown Hollywood bimbo. All his internal screaming had no effect on the actions his body took even as he toured Los Angeles's plastic surgery clinics. His meat prison was decorated with silicon, collagen and synthetic hair as the necklace possessed him to have breast and butt implants, his lips filled and his face reshaped, and extensions added to the top of his head while the rest of his body hair was lasered off. In three short months, he had become a buxom babe with a mountain of debt and the only trace of his old life being a hairless penis shrivelled by hormone injections sleeping between a pair of soft creamy thighs.

It was a month later and Cole was perched on the edge of a sofa waiting for his latest audition. A door opened and his body automatically straightened his back and pushed out his chest, stretching the painfully tight corset torturing his waist even further. However, it was just the secretary that had signed him in and taken his absurd fur coat. She grunted at him disapprovingly and placed a pocket sized packet of tissues on the coffee table in front on him.

“You'll need those,” she said humourlessly. “Also, I hope your makeup is waterproof. I'm sick of picking false-eyelashes out of the couch.” She departed leaving Cole to his own despair. He could already feel his loins firing, instructed by the awful thing around his neck. By now he was merely a ridiculous puppet and the pendant pulled the strings. If the pendant wanted to answer a casting call, he was going to answer a casting call. If the pendant wanted him to be the new star of Shemale Gangbang Sluts 2021, he was going to be the new star of Shemale Gangbang Sluts 2021. And, if the pendant wanted him to enjoy it...well... Cole panted involuntarily in anticipation.

A Coronation of Sorts

 24/25

“Glaze her up boys!” Rob the leader of Mu Alpha Delta decreed. “Make sure she is worthy of that shirt!” His fraternity brothers began to chant in low guttural tones, “HO! HO! HO!” with one fist punching the air in tandem while their other pumped their cocks as they moved towards their target, a kneeling hardbodied bimbo licking her lips in anticipation – the words 'Blowjob Queen' emblazoned across her chest.

Franz watched on in terror – his viewpoint of the incident being rather unfortunate given that it was from behind the eyes of the chesty babe drooling over the charging lances. He tried to close his heavily madeup eyes but his body betrayed him and opened them wider...hungrier. His mouth followed and he waited helplessly for its inevitable impalement.

In one feeble last attempt of salvation, he willed his hands to knock the crown from atop his head, but instead they just lifted his tiny shirt of his enormous implanted breasts and rubbed them excitedly.

Needless to say, Franz wasn't excited. He hadn't been excited since he bought that crown form Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly. He cursed the day he saw it in the window of that dingy store and thought how perfect it was as an accessory for his girlfriend's winter ball costume. He had run inside and paid for it without thinking and now that was all he could do – think. The crown ruled his body like an absolute monarchy, forcing him to be a royal subject – a passenger behind his own eyes as his own skin and bones spent his savings on hormones and implants until just four miserable months later he was a busty slut with a synthetic ass, synthetic hair and very real tattooed on makeup. All that remained of his old life was a tiny shrivelled penis and a few hanger-on friends who he knew just wanted to fuck him...

The first frat boy was almost in touching distance now. Franz was helpless to avoid his gaze and in that second he realised all hope was lost. Even if he were somehow to break the spell in the moments before the hulking specimen filled his waiting mouth, he would still be stuck with his joke of a silicon filled body, a wardrobe full of skanky outfits and a mountain of debt. Maybe it was for the best the crown was in control. Maybe it was best that this impromptu visit to the frat house was involuntary – rather than being forced into to comparable situations by his dire financial straights and unique assets. The cock would probably taste the same either way, right? He shivered in disgust at his own train of thought as the brother gripped his pigtails and pulled Franz's head towards his throbbing groin.

There was one thought that continued to bother him. That first day outside the shop – did he try on the crown by choice? Or was he already in its clutches as it lay in his?

A New Routine

 16/25

The mirrors were merciless. The music may have stopped, the workout had subsided, for now, but the humiliation was relentless. Even though Isaac could control his body again, he was helpless to stare desperately at his reflection. One mirror reflected another reflected another reflection like a taunting echo, endless reminders of his ridiculous new reality.

He allowed his wide-eyed stare to fall to his crotch and immediately wished he hadn't. The spandex left nothing to the imagination as it hugged the curves of his new sex. Slick and smooth and tight, it stretched over his tingling crotch and split his pert asscheeks with the reverse of his thong leotard. A thin film of sweat covered his new body and his, albeit much smaller muscles ached painfully. Across the studio, a buxom instructor was readjusting her platinum blonde ringlets under a bubblegum pink sweatband that matched her similarly thonged leotard. She was cute. She was sexy, but, most importantly of all, she was a powerful witch. Watching her stretch her supple limbs and pixie grin, Isaac felt something new. Regret.

This spandex clad turn was far from the gym induction for which Isaac had hoped. He ought to have been in the weight room pumping some iron, only his mouth happened to be as big as his biceps. As he had been filling out his registration, the timid young girl behind the desk had asked if he was interested in signing up for any additional classes such as pilates, yoga or zumba. Isaac had scoffed and declared such distractions for middle-aged women and trophy bimbo-wives more interested in getting use out of their overpriced gym gear than actually getting in shape – a poor choice of words when the classes' head coach happened to be talking with a client in the waiting area – an especially poor choice of words when said coach had the power to transform Isaac into the exact kind of bimbo trophy wife he so scorned.

The music inevitably restarted and Isaac's new body resumed its popping and shaking. With every bend and stretch, the shiny material seemed to grow tighter and he felt his loins throbbing with the music. The blonde instructor enticed his body into positions he could have only have dreamed of in his own body – twisting him up like a spandex clad pretzel. He panted heavily drawing the stares of the women surrounding him as his legs and butt grew tired and sore and he longed for a chance to lie down and close his eyes to the mirrors taunting him. Finally, the pounding music subsided and the women around him picked up their towels and mats and headed for the door.

"See you next week, girls," the instructor called out. Her eyes fell on Isaac as he tried to follow them out meekly. "Not you," she whispered sternly and his body involuntarily froze. "I believe you are staying for my polefitness class. Now come, you can't do it dressed like that. You'll be too slippery. So, what would you prefer? Hotpants or just panties?"

Forced Feminisation For Dummies

 8/25

“I never thought I could have so much fun with someone's fist up my ass!” the dummy cackled and the audience roared with laughter. They were engrossed by the potty mouthed wooden puppet, his attractive female ventriloquist and her mock embarrassment at every explicit word that came out of her and subsequently his mouth. The reality, however, was far, far different. Well, I guess, the embarrassment was real.

It had all started when Miles, in search of a new hobby, had ventured into Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly. It is hard to say whether Chip, the dummy, caught his eye or the other way around, but the result was the same and Miles was soon on his way to the counter with a new chapter of his life cradled in his arms. He rushed home to try out his new purchase and slipped his hand into the puppet's rear believing that he was about to become its master – in control of its every movement. He couldn't have been more wrong.

It turned out that Chip wasn't too fond of having a male puppeteer and what Chip wanted, Chip got. Miles was helpless as his muscles betrayed him whenever the puppet was in the same room – his brain locked in to a body on autopilot. A painfully self-aware dummy.

It started with crossdressing as Miles was forced by his treasonous body to don minidresses and slap on makeup before every practice, and, oh boy, there were a lot of practices. But Chip quickly grew unsatisfied with watching his master wrenching the strings of eye-watering corsets and slipping in breast forms and Miles soon found himself emptying his savings account for hormonal treatments and breast and ass implants to his relentless organic prison until all that was left of his previous life was his shrunken unattended bald manhood that Chip had left around to taunt his owner.

To rub salt into a gaping wound, Miles began to see his newly softened face everywhere he went – on tv screens, huge billboards and on the front of magazines. Chip, it seemed had talents that extended beyond that of ruining young men's lives and Miles' career as a ventriloquist had taken off. Money was rolling in, even if he was unable to spend it on anything other than beauty treatments and extortionate (and revealing) stage outfits.

Another successful show had ended and Miles was involuntarily packing away Chip into his satin lined box while inwardly cursing that the wooden tyrant had not let him change out of the humiliating corset fishnet combo that had been chosen for his performance. A towering man with a backwards baseball cap and a smirk lumbered over.

“I'm sure I heard you say you have fun with a fist up your ass,” the dudebro grinned and Miles reflexively avoided eye contact by looking down at his puppet. There was a glint in Chip's eye and his jaw fell open evilly. Miles felt his neck muscles contract and turn his head to face the man. He winked and bit a collagen crammed bottom lip.

A Wetsuit Won't Stop You Getting Wet

Over My Dead Body (Halloweek)

Remodeling (Halloweek)

Thanks to Kitty St. Clare for help with this one. I think it has potential to be extended into a series if that's what people would like to see :)

The empty bodysuit stared back at him from the bottom of the box and the possibilities and opportunities immediately began to flood into Dominic's mind. As the owner of a failing modeling agency, there was about a million different ways to make money from this and it could be the lifeline his company badly needed. It was a lifeline Sage no longer had, he thought guiltily of his recently deceased model whose house he was currently looting for anything that might help his business but....bah, how many times had he warned her to be careful with those pills he had given her? And look...look at this fabulous house she owned while he lived in a cramped apartment...he owed her nothing... He held up the bodysuit before him and slowly realised its true potential. Something like this could make anyone a model...it could bypass all the hysterics and melodrama that came with working with beautiful people and give model-looks to any plain Jane willing to do whatever he said, true disposable beauty. It could work on anyone...

He had had doubts whether it would fit him but it was only for a few minutes to make sure his discovery would be realistic enough for what he wanted and now Dominic stood in front of a mirror in the naked suit. It hugged him tightly all over his body to the point where he was forced to take lots of shallow breaths but it also gave him a sense of feeling that he wasn't wearing a suit at all...it felt like his own skin. Utterly marvelous!

'Looking good!' his glossy red lips mouthed into the mirror. Wait, did he say that? Before he could think about it he found himself slapping his own ass hard and squeezing it in the palm of his hand causing him to yelp at the sudden sharp pain. 'Looking good indeed!' the bodysuit grinned wildly as he looked himself in the eyes. Panicked, he reached for the suit's locking mechanism with his right hand but his left hand promptly swatted it away. 'Not so fast sugar!' Dominic felt like a puppet, he could feel his limbs but they were rebeling against his every command. 'What's wrong honey? Sage got your tongue? Oh my...why am I naked?

It was ten minutes later and Dominic, still a passenger in his own body, was standing on a mantlepiece helplessly marching in four-inch heels wearing Sage's lingerie. The g-string chaffed painfully between his ass cheeks but when he reached to remove it, his treasonous hands yanked it deeper instead and he gave a little humiliated cry as he watched himself blow himself a kiss. While he...errrr....she.....errrr....they were getting dressed, Sage had told him that she blaimed her overdose on him and that she had thought herself destined to haunt her own cold empty house for eternity...but when Dominic came to steal from her, she saw her opportunity to live on by possessing a bodysuit someone had left at one of her house parties.

'It's so fabulous I've been given this second chance, Dominic found himself toasting himself, 'you know...the first time round I was so careful and sensible about what jobs I took but this whole dying malarky has given me a totally new perspective. From now on I...we are going to explore everything the modeling business has to offer...

The Puppetmistress Part 4

The Puppetmistress Part 2

The Puppetmistress Part 1

Taking Root

This was another cap I made for Elena Starz's hair themed caption contest

Getting in Shape

A Bimbo Christmas Carol Part 3

A Bimbo Christmas Carol Part 2

A Bimbo Christmas Carol Part 1