Topless

 11/25

Tino finally baulked – unable to maintain his balance on the uncomfortable six-inch heels in the Sicilian August sunshine. His regret was instant and he cursed softly between plump painted lips as the hot metal chassis of his master's car sizzled the backs of his soft thighs. He reached down a manicured hand and massaged the skin just below the hem of his figure hugging mini-dress and gazed up at the mansion before him – his master's house.

“Gino, prepare the car!!” a hoarse commanding voice called down the driveway. A suited man lazily trimming a hedge leapt to attention and started to trot over towards where Tino was slowly baking in the hot afternoon sun. The man paused to hear his boss's follow up order. “And I will be taking Tina out with me!”

Tino's skin crawled at the sound of his new name. It was not the name of a person, but a mere possession. He had once been the heir to his father's legacy – the future head of the family and all it ruled over. He had been promised a life of luxury and power, and instead, he got...this?! He glanced down at his large breasts bubbling out out the top of his tube dress.

His father had been a proud and ruthless man who made many enemies – none more vicious than Fabio Rossi – the leader of a crime family just as powerful as Tino's father's. The two organisations had gone to war and when the Rossi family ultimately came out on top, Fabio swooped in to claim his spoils. Stripped of all their former glory, there was nothing Tino's family could do as he was whisked away.

Nobody saw Tino for months after that. Fabio commissioned an army of surgeons, usually reserved for enhancing the prostitutes who worked for him, to transform Tino into a mockery of his former rival – a voluptuous caricature of a Hollywood idol complete with full pouting lips, round bouncing tits and an ass more than capable of filling the revealing dresses Fabio forced him to wear. Since his big reveal as Fabio's new 'girl', Tino was routinely driven past his old family home to cruelly parade to his father what had become of his son.

“Which car do you wish to use, sir?” Gino called back up to the house.

“On a day like this? The convertible!” came the instant reply. Tino's heart sank in his new silicone chest. The convertible meant only one thing – Fabio wanted to screw him in the backseat outside his old home again to taunt his father.

Whatever Happened to Wilson? (Playing the Market)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Apprentits Lost Tapes Part 3

 6/25

“Why did you do it? Why did you screw us?” Chris asked Angela one evening while they were alone. With Hannah and her relentless appetite for cock gone from the island, the nights at the beach camp had become far more muted affairs and they were sitting quietly around the remains of a campfire. Angela stared back at the reserved young man and considered making a crack that she was the only female contestant that hadn't screwed him – having witnessed his double-teaming of Celia in the first game and then his nightly visits to Hannah's hut first hand. But she knew what he was talking about. “Why did you sabotage the Network's shows so Femnonymous would do what they did?” He saw the practised look of innocence begin to spread across her face and cut it off at the pass. “Martin and Celia may have been too focussed on their career advancement to see what you were doing, but not me. You would be amazed what an introvert notices. I'm sure Martin and Celia have a lot more time to listen now...” He made to stand up.

“Wait!” Angela yelped. “Alright, I will tell you!” She didn't know what Martin and Celia would do if Chris went to them with this, but it wouldn't be anything good. The odds were stacked in her favour given her past history of siding with Femnonymous, but she wasn't infallible. Certainly she wasn't if all three remaining contestants conspired against her. “You're young, Chris...and naïve. You worked for the Network like, what? Four months? It's probably your first job right? Dream come true... Well, that was me once... Only I was a little more like Celia that I will even admit to her. Anyway, three years ago I started out as a junior producer. Spot that Sissy had just gone viral and it was just me and another girl called Mandy...The Network was nowhere near as big as it is today yet. Still small enough that the company CEO would attend the company Christmas party. I even met him at my first one. Guy called Bryce Murphy. He apparently even took quite a shine to me. Promised me a big new promotion before the second season of Spot that Sissy.” Chris was looking at her raptly. “Only it never happened. Mandy got it instead. I was even happy for her until I found out she had been blowing him since the party. When I asked him about it, he had no idea who I even was. The Network is a cancer, Chris. It makes a mockery of women on and off the screen. It is rotten to its core and I want watch it decay!”

“But Bryce Murphy isn't here. We are!” Chris said said finally after listening to her sermon. “If we get turned into human sextoys, how exactly does that help your cause?” He stood quietly and left Angela to stoke at the dying embers of the campfire.

The third game was a most unwelcome one – quite literally. Before things even began, all four contestants were fitting with bejewelled buttplugs, along with a healthy glob of the lubricant from the second round. Angela felt betrayed. She had never been invaded like this before. How could they do this to her? She was their mole and she was being degraded like a whore – like the rest of the producers... This time she was paired with Martin against Chris and Celia. The game was simple – each plug had a matching trigger that had been hidden somewhere on the island. Each team was tasked with finding the ones corresponding to the opposition team and activating the one for the contestant they wished to be consigned to the throne. Angela was amazed to find that Martin took to the game like a duck to water, in spite of the invasion to his backside. He led her through jungle and around buildings like he had been fitted with a gps rather than a sextoy. Clearly he been doing his homework. Within two hours they had both triggers but instead of operating them, Martin led Angela to a dark area behind some trees.

“Don't speak. Just listen.” He whispered. “This is a blindspot from the cameras.” He glanced around them at the trees. “We have a few minutes before those latex bitches notice we aren't on any of the feeds and come looking for us, so I will make this quick. I have found a way off this place – a way off the island.” His eyes locked with Angela's. “We can get out of here! Celia is in, but I haven't spoken to Chris. I saw you with him this morning. Can we trust him?” Martin produced the pair of triggers and Angela struggled to resist grabbing Celia's and slamming down the button. She couldn't wait to see that bitch get transformed. But a way off the island? No way could she let that happen. She considered the options and a sudden urgency overwhelmed her. What if Celia and Chris were having this exact conversation somewhere else on the island about her? What would Chris say? Sure she was a mole, but there was no way Femnonymous would risk losing face by sparing her if she lost this game. Angela shot out a hand and pressed Chris's trigger...

Chris clutched the furry handcuffs in one hand and the whip in the other, and tried to steady himself for what he needed to do next. Months had passed since the throne had transformed him but the compliance chip still felt alien. He knew he looked like a different person now – a slender women with long dark hair, a cute butt and a penchant for wearing tight latex outfits that squeezed his tidy breasts and brand new pussy – but the chip made him behave like a different person too. In his former life he had been a quiet introverted junior producer, barely more than an intern – and now he was a hyperactive loud dominatrix with a basket of dildos about to get to work on her latest client. Or so the chip demanded... The chip was the real dominatrix here... And still he obeyed, he yelled, he whipped, he insulted, he spanked...and ultimately he sat on the dick until the customer was satisfied. It humiliated him that he found that bit the easiest. He wanted to hate Femnonymous for what they had done to him – but in his rare moments of quiet when the chip wasn't whirring and issuing demands, his thoughts of revenge were for someone quite different...

Back on the island, Angela awoke with a start. She immediately felt vulnerable, being forced to sleep naked will do that, but even more so when someone is standing over you shaking you awake. She tried to scream but a strong hand clamped over her mouth.

“We're getting out of here right now!” Martin hissed in her ear. “Let's go! Celia is waiting outside...”

The Apprentits Lost Tapes Part 2

 5/25

Angela knew the remaining guys were fucking Hannah. It was some kind of end of the world shit. They knew they were doomed and Hannah had been a drooling insatiable mess since Angela had jammed three doses of the aphrodisiac into her. Femnonymous were keeping the remaining producers in bamboo huts on the beach. There were no doors or locks since there was nowhere for them to run to, and so all throughout the night, the restless frightened guys took turns in crossing the sand to screw the sex-crazed former office-mom stupid – or even stupider. Angela sat in the doorway of her hut and watched them come and go. Hannah would be roused to shrill screams of ecstasy and then they would leave again, sometimes even crossing paths, their gazes averted.

Celia watched too. Her usual stony bravado was much subdued since the first game. Angela wasn't sure if it was getting double teamed in front of the cameras that had done it or witnessing Jason's abrupt and dramatic transformation into a huge chested blonde sex doll. If they hadn't known the stakes before, they sure knew them now.

“If you try that shit you pulled on Hannah on me, I will crush you!” Celia called out flatly from her seat in the doorway of her hut. Angela just nodded silently. Hannah wasn't the first bimbo she had been responsible for creating. In her time working for the Network, she had been responsible for the sabotage of numerous shows that resulted in the unwilling transformation of the male contestants. It had been her that waved the red flag for Femnonymous to come swooping in and punish her stupid company. Sure, they had taken her too. But she supposed that was part of the grand plan. Once a mole, always a mole, right? Celia would be resigned to bimbodom like the rest of them. She thought being facefucked by Jason was bad? Just wait until Femnonymous turned her into some kind of playboy's silicone plaything... She would be praying for the day the worst thing to happen her was sucking Jason's dick. “What are you grinning at, bitch?” Celia called over and Angela realised her daydreams of Celia's inevitable future had surfaced as a dopey smile all over her face.

“I was just wondering where this is going to fit on your resumee?” Angela said softly. “Does getting kidnapped by vigilantes and turned into a mindless drone fit with your lofty career ambitions?” Cecil scowled and finally went inside her hut leaving Angela to listen to the rhythmic clapping of one of the guys going at it with Hannah.

The second challenge came the next day. Five women clad head to toe in latex led the contestants to a clearing where four large perspex containers stood about two feet high and five feet square. Two of the containers were filled with some kind of transparent jelly substance – lube the producers realised one by one. The game was simple. Split into two teams, it was a straight race to move all the lubricant from one of the containers to one of the empty ones – the catch being that none of them could use any tools except for their own naked bodies. Whichever team lost would lose one of their members to the throne, which had been set up ominously in the centre of the clearing.

Angela was paired with Chris and Hannah and as they were getting ready to begin, she could see Celia looking around at the treeline surrounding the clearing. She's looking for the cameras, Angela realised. After everything they had been through, the stupid bitch was concerned how the humiliating experience they were about to undertake would reflect on her. Angela felt a sudden desperation to win the game so she could see Celia's downfall...so everyone could see her degradation right there, right now...

Alas, it wasn't to be... The usually self-centred career climbers of Martin and Celia may be a lot of things but they were also resourceful. After a short discussion, Celia adopted a boat-like sitting position and Martin began to frantically scoop handfuls of lube into her lap. Once she was holding a good amount, Martin grabbed her underneath her knees and armpits with his strong lean arms, and hoisted both her and her quarry to the empty container. Angela glared disapprovingly at her teammates. There was no chance the weedy Chris could do the same for her and Hannah had already sprawled in the tub of lube, furiously fisting herself and moaning loudly. With a feeling of futility, they got to work trying to grab armfuls of the goo and carry it to the target. Within minutes, all five of them were gloopy slippery messes dripping with the jelly. It was a horrible mismatch and Martin and Celia ran out resounding victors in about fifteen minutes – about the same time it took Hannah to have six orgasms, who was then carried awkwardly by four latex clad amazons to the throne despite still having a full hand thrust into her own sex.

The transformation was as quick as it had been for Jason. Hannah may have already been a woman, but it was no less dramatic. The tubes fixed to her glistening skin even as she continued to masturbate, and filled her with the chemicals while some kind of mask fitted itself around her face. The other four producers and all the cameras watched in silence as she was mechanically crafted into something unrecognisable.

Hannah was breathing hard as she leant back on the bed. She didn't know how long she had been there anymore. She didn't care. She just knew she had been waiting too long for the next man. The last one had left her unquenched. They always did. It was because of her new body. She knew that much. Her new tits...her massive round new ass...even her fat new lips. They were why the men didn't last long now. It didn't matter matter if she put them in her mouth, let them shoot it up her butt or rode them like a good old rodeo, they could only hold it in a few minutes. Good thing there seemed to be an endless supply of them. Finally, there was a knock at the door and a huge man entered. She could already see his erection throbbing inside his jeans – ready to please her. Ready to try. She parted her silk-stockinged legs invitingly so the man could see up her crotchless panties as he approached, and opened her mouth – ready to feast...

The Apprentits Lost Tapes Part 1

 4/25

Angela learned three things in the first ten minutes after they were herded from the boat onto the island. There were cameras everywhere filming their every move. They had each been fitted with neuro-chips that would ensure their absolute compliance. Only one of them would be leaving as anything but a caricature of femininity stretched to bursting point with silicone.

There were six of them, all producers working for the Network on their gameshows in what was now surely a former life, and now stripped naked and sizzling in the tropical sun. There was Martin, broad-shoulders and confident – a leader in every way except having actual authority. Jason was the production team's resident joker - everything was a game to him and he had laughed endlessly at the predicaments the Network's contestants found themselves in. Angela wondered if he found humour in their current situation. Chris was the youngest of the group – barely more than a intern really and extremely introverted.

Then there were the girls. Hannah was the team Mom. She was their shoulder to cry on when life got stressful and the supplier of endless office snacks. Angela hated her endless optimism and bubbly nature. Celia on the other hand was you typical career climber – she acted friendly but there was no doubt she would stab you in the back if it came down to you or her. And then there was Angela – the brown haired betrayer of the Network and architect of Femnonymous's claiming of its employees as their playthings.

Angela wondered if they had actually fitted her with a compliance chip. Her alliance didn't need to be coerced. She had brought down the Network's shows from the inside – her sabotage instigating the raid. So why was she being used as a ringer like this? Why did Femnonymous need her as a contestant in their extreme version of the Apprentits? Surely, it was to guarantee that the five real Network producers got the bimbo transformations they deserved. Angela couldn't wait.

Tall athletic amazons dressed in black latex dresses led them to their first game. In a copy of the opening round from the Network's version of the Apprentits, it was to be a product pitch. Only in Femnonymous's twist they were all nude and the products in question were all sex toys. The six producers were split into two teams – Angela was matched with the trembling office Mom, Hannah, and Martin the wannabe team leader, with Celia standing tall between the other two guys. As they were breaking off into their teams, two of the latex clad women approached them, each holding three small syringes. They were doses of potent aphrodisiacs and would need to be injected before either team could start their pitch.

Angela watched as their three opponents gingerly collected a syringe and after some hesitation injected themselves in the arm. A hushed silence grew and Angela glanced from their syringes to Martin. She smirked softly before scooping up all three syringes and plunging them straight into Hannah's right shoulder.

The chemical was fast acting and within ten minutes the former team Mom was a cross-eyed drooling mess on the floor furiously debasing herself with an assortment of dildos and plugs while Angela and Martin stood over her competently explaining the features of each toy, pausing occasionally to allow Hannah's howling orgasms to punctuate their claims.

With their turn over, it was time to enjoy the show. Their opponents performed not so much a pitch but rather an orgy. Angela sincerely enjoyed watching the once cool and ambitious Celia be bent over and frantically pounded from either end by Jason and Chris. She struggled to stifle her laughter as the usually bookish Chris mounted her from behind and followed up his pistoned thrusts with hard spanks across her ass. Her delirious moans were muted by Jason's throbbing cock buried deep in her throat and the team clown cackled wildly as he screwed her mouth with abandon. It was Jason who came first, shooting his hot load deep inside Celia and causing her to choke slightly even as she screamed out her own orgasm. Very shortly, all three lay in sweaty panting pile – very much the losers of the first game.

That was the first time the contestants saw the 'throne' – a terrifying dentist chair-like contraption that rose from the floor intimidatingly. One of the latex clad women pointed at Jason and even in his state of exhaustion, his eyes went wide with horror. He got up to run but his compliance chip was activated, and with a strained look on his face, he climbed into the throne. Shackles snapped shut over his wrists and ankles and tubes began to slide out of the chair's surface and attach themselves all over his body. There was as gurgle as a viscous fluid began to flow freely into his body and the other five producers watched on it terror as it warped and expanded Jason's body beyond recognition.

Jason had always played the clown, and though he saw the irony in his predicament, the punchlines escaped him. He had blacked out on the throne and when he finally came to, his new life awaited him. The compliance chip ensured his swift integration into his role at the sperm back. It quelled his complaints and ensured his obedience. The vision of Celia's bug eyes as he shot hot spunk down her throat replayed over and over in his mind as he attempted to free himself from his bimbo prison. It was hopeless. He had been transformed into an absurdly proportioned blonde doll and compelled to use his new assets again and again to bring rich men to orgasm by any means necessary at an elite sperm depository. His breasts were enormous, his cock was gone, and his ridiculous pink uniform hugged both. He saw the nurses smirk as he wrapped his slender fingers around dick after dick, enticing them further with his bloated lips, and pumping them until they blew their load into glass recepticals - as he had blown his load into Celia to become the deranged game's first loser. There were no more jokes for him to make now. He was the only punchline necessary.

Model Citizen

 1/25

Alex brought a hand to his face and fingered the tiny scar behind his ear where the tiny device whirred away. It was one of the few things the mesh allowed him to do by himself – one of the few things it trusted him to do. A fleeting moment...and then it ended as quickly as it began and the mesh regained control, stretching his plump pink lips into a smile at the black suited man across the table. The restaurant was full of people but none of them looked at Alex and saw anything but an attractive young woman dining with a well-dressed man. They didn't see the device implanted behind his left ear. They didn't know that it had chosen the sexy red dress he was wearing that evening. They didn't know that it had chosen his tits.

“Oh, I would love to do that with you!” Alex felt the device strumming his vocal chords as it pulled him even deeper into the new life it had created for him.

When Alex had aged out of juvenile detention, he been given a choice – transfer to the big house alongside hundreds of hardened adult criminals, or take part in a new experimental trial where an AI mesh would be implanted in his skull. The device was designed to help calibrate its owners actions and decisions to guide them to being a functioning member of society and reduce their propensity to reoffend. As much as Alex didn't want something like that in his skull, he certainly didn't want to go to prison and so he opted in to the trial. He hadn't made a choice since.

Perhaps the AI was dialled up too high, or maybe it was working as intended in its own flawed way, but it quickly concluded that given the vast majority of crimes were committed by men, the most reliable way to avoid recidivism was to be a women. The mesh immediately started dressing him in feminine clothes and growing his hair out. The trial supervisors dismissed the idea this was due to the device's influence and concluded simply that he was a young man going through an identity change. The mesh next decided that to further drop the risk of re-offence, he needed gainful employment, and not having any qualifications, the easiest way to achieve that was to look and dress sexy – hence the curves, breasts and red dress. Alex quickly got work as a Personal Assistant and the mesh decided he needed a promotion to be truly secure, and the best way to do that was to network with the right people. And that's how we got to tonight, with Alex dressed to the nines and dining with one of the company directors.

“The guys are going to love you,” the man grinned broadly, “you are simply charming.”

.The whirring stopped behind Alex's ear. Relief flooded him realising the device had just turned off. It must have decided its job was done. But then the dread started to build. If went back to being himself, the man opposite him would surely find a reason not to keep him employed. And if he lost his job, surely the trial would be called a failure...and he would go to prison. Alex forced a smile at the man, realising nothing had changed at all.

Whatever Happened to Robert? (The Apprentits)

 Robert last appeared on my Apprentits series - specifically this episode. All my Network captions are available on my index page.

“No sex in the champagne room,” The Juggernauts security guy said dryly as he lifted the velvet curtain for them to enter. “No cameras either!” He pointed to the device on Bryan's shoulder. “Come on, hand it over or you're not going in!” Bryan relieved himself of his equipment and followed Madison into the smoky room. The Frontline Entertain Media team were looking for another scoop ahead of the premier of the lost tapes of Femnonymous's perverted version of the Apprentits, and they were surprised to learn that a former Apprentits contestant was still working at a local strip joint. In the room a curvy bottle blonde wearing a black bra and thong underwear set swayed side to side on a pair of six-inch stilettos.

“I know you're here to interview me,” The woman purred from behind a face full of makeup. “But do you mind if I practice my routine while we talk? A prepared dancer is a well-tipped dancer!” Madison made a little surprised 'o' with her mouth but waved for the stripper to continue. “I suppose you're surprised I am still here after all these years... My forfeit on the show was only for a year after all.” The voluptuous woman who had once been Robert Williams, former child-star and losing contestant on the Network's Apprentits smiled wryly. “In some ways this is the best job I have ever had. The tips can be good too... Of course it helped that my trust fund was cut off after I apparently humiliated by family name on that freaking show.”

“Is it true the Network bought this club during the show just to force you to work in it?” Madison followed the sight of Robert's naked flesh as it gyrated and quivered before her. It was mesmerising to think this creature had once been masculine. “We've been interviewing Femnonymous victims over the past few weeks, and it's some freaky stuff. But what happened to you is just as extreme?”

“Oh yeah, they pulled no punches with me.” Robert said as he bent over with surprising agility and wrapped his arms around his calves, pushing his ass high in the air right in front of the two interviewers. “Of course, it's all Bryce Murphy's doing. He's the Network's CEO. Total psychopath. As you would imagine a guy who owns a line of game shows fixated on transforming men into women...into bimbos...” Robert put his hands on his knees and sank into a crouch. “You know he gets off on this stuff? Does that even surprise you? He visits the club sometimes too. Gets me to dance for him. He makes me feel like his own personal toy.” Robert finally stopped his routine and stood up high on his heels. “He brings his wife sometimes too. She's a bit of an airhead in her own way...a bit of drone. He has us do a bit of girl on girl. Not that I mind that bit – she's hot as hell... It's just...well, creepy. I know everyone thinks Bryce is crazy for wanting to release the Femnonymous tapes, but if you met the guy, you'd know it was right on brand.” He picked a bottle of champagne, popped the cork on it, and collapsed into one of the leather sofas. “We all know the Femnonymous show is going to be extreme – but Bryce is going to be watching with his ideas notepad in one hand and his dick in the other!”

Whatever Happened to Lance? (A Queen's Ransom)

 This continues my Femnonymous/Network stories, but the flashback is for one of my first captions - A Queen's Ransom. Part 1 is here.

Madison and Bryan knew it was a risk but the time was now or never for getting Frontline Entertainment Media on the map. Online gossip sites were already saturated with stories and scoops on the upcoming airing of Femnonymous's presumed lost version of the Network's own Apprentits and their interviews with past victims of the underground group had barely made a splash.

They stood in front of the large town house, microphone and camera at the ready, and they burst forward the second the door opened, knocking a flustered housekeeper to one side in the process. Senator Laney Charleton, formerly Lance, stood before them in the lobby leaning to adjust the ankle strap of an open-toed high-heel shoe. Her mouth dropped open until she saw the camera slung over Bryan's shoulder, and her politician's mask instantly reformed.

“Senator Charleton...” Madison gasped breathlessly. “How do you respond to allegations that your public gender transition eleven years ago was a total sham? And in fact you were actually the victim of one of Femnonymous's transformations? There first victim in fact...”

“Allegations from whom?” The Senator spluttered. “I will sue them, and you, if any such allegations are ever made public.” The blonde politician scowled and straightened her suit. “Do you really think I would persevere with these blasted shoes if it wasn't what I wanted? Now leave, immediately, before I call the police!”

“It has certainly been the making of your political career,” accused Bryan. “I hear you're in the running for the next vice president...” He shifted his camera to the other shoulder. “In a couple of weeks everyone is going to find out what really happened to those six Network producers who were kidnapped and forced to play the Apprentits. Who's to say some of Femnonymous's other victims won't also be on the tapes?” The Senator's face was suddenly ashen.

“Senator Charleton...” Madison took another step forward. “What about speculation that the airing of these tapes will anger Femnonymous, and provoke them into returning? You may have transitioned, whether willingly or not, but your policies have remained as misogynist as ever. Don't you worry that if Femnonymous do return, you might be high on their target list?”

“Target list?” The Senator repeated mechanically. The blood had drained from her face and she was fidgeting with the top button of her blouse. “Listen to me carefully and turn off that camera!” Madison nodded to Bryan and he lowered his equipment. “If you quote any of this, I will deny it. I don't know what's going to be on those tapes...or who is going to be on those tapes. If it is those producers, you're going to see them transformed into silicone messes for the entertainment of the masses. But if Femnonymous do come back because of this, it won't be me they go after. They will have their sights set much higher. They will have plans far beyond what your little brains could imagine...”

Whatever Happened to Dick? (Recasting Couch)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever Happened to Trever? (Freebee)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hot House Part 4

 23/25

Despite his sissy maid experience being the harbinger of what was to come, Jared left the house relatively shortly after Emi had led her inglorious takeover of his and his male housemates' manhoods. It had only taken a few jolts to his scrotum, a few unsolicited spankings, a few impromptu outfit changes to convince him to cut his losses and beg the the Hot House producers to let him leave. The final straw had been one evening where Emi and one of the other girls had dressed him and Robbie in cheerleader outfits and forced them to make out with each other while the rest of the girls, and millions at home, watched on in glee. The other boys tongue had slid between his plumped glossy lips just as the cages wrapped tightly around their groins buzzed in unison.

Jared had begged for the return of his socials but what could he do? He had signed a contract and legally he didn't have a leg to stand on. The producers laughed in his still cosmetic caked face and had security remove him from the studio with his only source of income in their possession. He had tried to put it behind him but what does a 22-year-old motocross influencer do for money once you take away his social media accounts. Every time he attempted to play it straight he was thwarted by the fact he was now world famous for being a simpering sissy that made out with other sissies while having his cock lit up like a Roman Candle. Hot House was a global sensation and Jared was collateral damage.

Within two months Jared was on the verge of homelessness and Hot House was still reaching peak levels of popularity. He tried one last time to beg for the return of his social media accounts and when the producers refused, he requested to be let back into the house. To his surprise the show runners responded with a counter offer.

The other housemates had been amazed to see Jared return to the Hot House, and they were amazed further still when they saw the saw the price he had paid for it – two huge new breasts that bounced buoyantly on his chest. The girls were quick to put them to use, rubbing oiled up dildos, the latest of Emi's introductions between them, before pushing them into Jared's new collagen filled lips. He became an instant favourite for when the girls selected their toy for the night and trades were frequently made to gain his company. There were now six sissified boys shared between four female housemates and two, sometimes three, of his fellow sissies were exchanged for his nightly services. The biggest effect of his return, however, was on the other boys. Now they were truly broken. For, if Jared was willing to get tits to get back into the house, what chance did they ever have of getting out? They now knew that they were residents of this feminised hell house for the long haul. They were pathetic human sex-toys being played with by a gang of horny girls in the shop window of the world...and there was nothing they could do about it.

Whatever Happened to Raphael? (Shipshape)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever Happened to Saul? (Rescue Package)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pre-emptive Measures Part 3

 

The taste of expensive Champagne was about the only thing Daniel had allowed himself to get used to over the last six months. Alice limited his intake, of course – she didn't want to let her toy get sloppy. But, she did allow him to sample many the top shelf bottle on their many trips together. Whether the visit was to fulfil one of his many 'upgrades', or simply an excursion to another luxury resort, there was always a day set aside for indulgence and that included a bottle or two of bubbly.

Each time, after each new piece was added to his quickly transforming body, Alice would be there to appreciate him as if he were the fine wine. She didn't sample, didn't taste, she just stood close, drinking him in with her eyes, breathing in the delicious notes of his new breasts, his fat new lips, his long new hair extensions. The hormones were hitting hard now too. He had grown curves – his skin had become soft as silk. These were things Daniel had not got used to.

Finally, it was on a trip to the Mediterranean coast of Turkey in a boutique hotel that Alice prepared to take her first sip. Daniel's hands were flat on the room's desk, their latest bottle of Champagne empty before him as Alice sat on the edge of the bed admiring his latest new feature. His ass implants had been added less than a month before and his backside was still tender as he lent forward to give the LoanRanger attorney the view she wanted. The six inch heels were a size too big but they served the purpose of serving his pert ass on a silver platter. The Vektor silk stockings were top of the line, as was the matching silk panties tugged up between his cheeks – again things Daniel was yet to get used to.

“Even Raphael's wasn't as fine as this,” Alice was breathing heavily behind him. He caught her reflection in the mirror and saw that she had removed her top. She was practically drooling while completely fixated on his new ass. She stood from the bed and something caught in his throat. She wasn't just topless – she was completely naked but for a thick pink dildo strapped around her crotch. Flashes of every action he had taken in aid of Raphael's insider trading scheme flashed through his mind and now more than ever he regretted all of them. This was surely better than prison, better even than fawning over some billionaire while wearing a tiny bikini on a yacht – but in that moment Daniel wished to be anywhere else but that room.

“Wait...” Daniel gasped, but Alice didn't listen. She stepped up behind him and kissed the back of his neck whilst expertly pulling his panties to his ankles with one hand. The cold lubricant of the dildo pressed into his lower back and the soft silk of his underwear caressed his legs all the way down. When Alice entered him, she was slow but firm and soon she was all the way in. He felt the front of her hips press into the cheeks of his new ass as the rest of his body screamed in a combination of discomfort and a niggling quiet but growing pleasure. “Wait..” he moaned it this time just as Alice pulled at his hair, arching his back and pulling his vision up to the reflection of his beautiful feminine face. His eyes held for a second and then rolled back as Alice began to slowly pull out. “There was no way he was going to get used to this...”

Ace at Bass

 My Gloria Honeypot captions are in no particular order but they now have their own section on my index page

“That's it, Babe, just lean your arse back on the sofa and strum the guitar a bit. That's it! Lovely!” The record company scout barked orders at Finn and the photographer simultaneously – his grating British accent spreading around the penthouse apartment like a rash.

“It's a bass,” wanted to scream. “It's a fucking bass.” Not that there was any love lost with his instrument. He wanted to throw that cursed thing through the 47^th floor apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows even more than he wanted to do the same to the indomitable Mr. Gilbert. Yet, it sat glued to his grasp as it always did – inseparable from its prize.

Looks will get you a long way in the music industry. Even before what followed, Finn was an attractive specimen. His slender build and delicate features captured the attention of women every time he took the stage. It didn't matter that he couldn't play for shit and that the rest of his band only kept him around because his ability to draw in the local ladies was 90% of what got them booked. Two songs of him fumbling awkwardly around with his bass and you could bet your life a pair of panties would be thrown. Now the panties are already on stage, Finn thought bitterly...

The problem started when Finn made the foolish decision to try to improve his musical skills. Like any bad workman, he blamed his tools, and set out in search of a new bass. Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly had seemed like as ideal a place as any – its endless shelves holding a menagerie of treasures to be discovered. The bass guitar had hung from the back wall and Finn had bought it without even a test drive.

He did actually improve at bass. However, the instrument wanted so much more. He couldn't explain why, but he felt compelled to have it with him at all times – or maybe it was the other way around. Yet, the bass was not just satisfied with a dedicated player, it demanded magnificence. Finn didn't remember when he started to wear the makeup, or to wear mini-dresses while he practised. He didn't even remember when he started the hormone treatment. His instrument demanded perfection of its craft and it was sculpting the musician it wanted to play it. By the time he got the breast implants, lip fillers and hair extensions, his bandmates were too caught up with all their new-found male fans to care. So, what if Finn was a woman now. He was hot and that was making them money. They didn't see that their bassist had been enslaved by his cursed instrument.

“We're almost finished here,” Mr. Gilbert waved his hands. “I almost have everything I need to the team and make my recommendation. Almost...” The man started to unbuckle his pants. Finn felt the bass hum in his hands and he knew then it would have him do whatever it took to get to right to the top.  

Method Acting Part 4

 

Something had broken in Oscar when he saw the latest studio he was to film in. It didn't even have a parking lot and was little more than a converted condo. It wasn't even clean and while 'Pillow Fight' had been a complete and utter flop, it still had a full stage crew. This setup was just a few cameramen and a director. He hadn't even seen another cast member yet. It seemed absurd that they felt empowered to have such demands for him. Still, Agnes had said they were legit and he was grateful she stuck with him this far, even if she was an insufferable cow.

Oscar was once more on a bed for what he assumed was another sex scene – he had stopped reading scripts months ago as at this point he couldn't afford to turn anything down. He hadn't even had the money to remove the implants from 'Pillow Fight' yet and a good thing too since the latest role had demanded he keep them and then some. Not only had they paid for him to have his lips filled to bursting point, they had given him a weird ass prosthetic to wear that had fit over the lower half of his body like an ultra-realistic glove, albeit one with globed buttcheeks instead of knuckles. Gone was the long dress, he lay on his hands and knees in skimpy lingerie and glittering heels – his fake backside oiled and sticking in the air. As he began to grow impatient, not to mention uncomfortable, a familiar figure entered the room. He looked up sheepishly from his degrading pose.

“Hello, Oscar,” Agnes smiled. Her relentless grey remained, but she seemed like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Aren't you the perfect little whore?” She watched Oscar's collagen filled lips part in surprise and added. “Perhaps things would make come sense to you if you knew my real name was not Agnes Crowe, but Agnes Frain – Bianca Frain's mother. You ruined my daughter, and unlike those other women you hurt who will get their day in court with you, she will never see a penny. And why, because she dared speak up first.” She paused to watch a sneer form on Oscar's bimbofied features. “Well, don't worry, because every cent you have made in your ridiculous roles in your time with me has been paid in her name. Good thing you are too arrogant to read contracts beyond the fee, hey? Every cent that is except for this current role. As a Mother, I couldn't bare to see my daughter paid for pornography!” Agnes drank in her client's confusion. “As I said, you aren't a strong reader...or you would also know that isn't a prosthetic. You are wearing the lower half of a state-of-the-art female bodysuit. As we speak, it is bonding to your spinal cord to ensure that you receive a truly authentic experience over the next ten months. You owe my daughter hundreds of thousands of dollars and you are soon to owe other women millions. I suppose you could break this contract – cut off your only source of income and owe hundreds of thousands more in severance in the process...I just don't see how you could afford to... It as good as air-tight, which coincidentally is, I believe, the title of your next movie...”

Agnes left then and was quickly replaced by three muscle-bound men – all naked, all sporting enormous erections. Oscar didn't know if the experience was authentic but as the first man pushed a giant cock into his new pussy and reached over to gape Oscar's asshole open for his mate, only one word filled his mind – 'whore'. It bounced around his skull as he was invaded and split In half. Whore, whore, whore. He opened his mouth to say it and the third man plunged himself deep inside. The hulking men tossed him around the bed effortlessly for the next two hours, switching positions and taking turns with his sopping holes. He wasn't exactly sure when he started to moan but about an hour in as one of the men was slamming his meat into Oscar's grunting mouth while another mounted him from behind, his whole body went stiff and he began to tremble. The men kept plugging away as his first female orgasm ripped through him. The man pounding him from behind slapped him hard across the ass. “That's it you dirty whore!!”

Whatever Happened to Frank? (Doll House Arrest)

 We last saw Frank here as part of a three part story

Frank stood in front of one of the apartments many mirrors and looked back into the kitchen area. Lola has posted a newspaper cutting on the fridge. He stepped back into the room and snatched it from under the magnet. His nails were still tacky from the coat of rose-pink polish Lola had insisted on. He flexed his fingers carefully so as not to smudge them, though the article before him made his stomach churn.

FUGITIVE BANK ROBBER PRESUMED DEAD

His mugshot stared back from the page: hard eyes, rough jaw, a man who didn’t smile for cameras. According to the story, the police believed he’d drowned in the river during a botched escape. Case closed. Investigation terminated. Dead. He was dead. He looked at another mirror. A stranger stared back. Her cheekbones were sharp, her lips plump and glossy, her hair pinned up elegantly. The white miniskirt she wore clung to her curves, curves Lola had paid surgeons handsomely to sculpt. Not a fugitive. Not a man. A doll.

“Isn’t it romantic?” Lola’s voice floated in from the doorway. She breezed in carrying a breakfast tray, humming, her bubblegum-pink robe swishing around her ankles. “Our anniversary gift! The state has declared you officially deceased. It’s like a second wedding certificate.” She set the tray down and kissed him on the temple, leaving a faint lipstick print. “No more police. No more hiding. No more of that dreadful mugshot.” She snatched the paper and flung it into the trash. “Now you can live as who you really are. My perfect, beautiful doll.”

Frank stared at his reflection again, heart hammering. He cursed how many mirrors she had put up. Her ceaseless reminders. “Lola, I can’t keep doing this.”

Her smile stiffened. “Can’t?” She leaned over him, her perfume thick and sugary, her nails resting lightly on his throat. “Darling, you are doing this. You’ve been doing it for a year. And I’ve never been prouder.”

He tried again, weakly. “Maybe it’s time I… left. Started fresh.”

Her nails tightened, just a fraction. “And go where? As who?” She laughed, high and sharp. “You're dead. Everyone knows it. You want to stroll into a bank looking like this and shout, ‘Remember me?’ You’d last five minutes.” Lola softened, stroking his cheek with mock tenderness. “Besides, I’ve booked something wonderful for us. A little touch-up on that voice of yours. Permanent this time. Once it’s done, nobody will ever doubt you again.” She kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear, “When they hear you speak, Frank will be gone forever. But, sugarplum, forever looks so good on you, so why don't you smile?”

The stranger in the mirror with the soft eyes and painted lips stared at him. A stranger who had his heartbeat, his thoughts, his prison sentence. He tried to imagine the man in the mugshot, the man in the article. But the harder he tried, the blurrier that face became. Finally, he did as he was told. In the mirror, the doll smiled back.

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.  

What If...Femnonymous Ran Society?

 It's been five years since my last Femnonymous cap. Time for a comeback?

Ada looked up from her desk at her next parolee waiting on a foldable chair near the entrance to her office. Predictably, he was fidgeting with the chain that ran from the leather harness around his waist to the six inch heels on his feet, simultaneously locking both outfit and footwear securely in place. The parole officer rolled her eyes. It was the heels, she knew, it always was. In spite of everything these men had been subjected to since the new Femnonymous government had instituted Ammendment F, it was the shoes that drove them over the edge. It was as though if they could somehow remove them, the rest of their ordeal could somehow be reversed.

“Next,” Ada coughed and opened the file on her desk, watching her subject as he rose unsteadily and shuffled over. Standing removed the slack from the chain connecting his ankles and he had little choice but to half-hobble half-wiggle his new body over to her. “Please sit,” she beckoned and smiled thinly as he failed to meet her gaze. “It says here that as Gary Pines, you were convicted of gross disturbance of physical and phycological female dignity and sentenced in Houston, Texas under federal jurisdiction of Amendment F for immediate rehabilitation. Your identity has been reassigned to that of one equivalent to the victim...your victim, and you have been subsequently referred to me, your state parole officer, for monitoring of your progress. Correct so far?” The man formerly known as Gary gave a tiny nod, just enough to send his newly grown out hair cascading over his hormone softened cheeks. “There's just a few administrative details to iron out before we discuss the conditions of your parole. According to my file, before your reassignment, you had a four and half inch penis,” she paused to smirk at the blushing prisoner. “What is missing however, is the new length post-transformation...” She held her pen ready but the man muttered something inaudible. “I didn't catch that...”

“They took it all!” Gary raised his head in wild yell, his frantic eyes bulging beneath false eyelashes. “The bastards took the whole thing! Give me fake tits and pumping me full of all this shit wasn't enough for them. Was it?! They had to take my dick!” His pink lips trembled with rage.

“Ah! That would explain it!” Ada spoke delicately. “Well, if it's any consolation, the dosage of hormones you are currently on would have rendered it almost useless anyway. Not to mention tiny. Well, tinier...” It didn't seem to be much of a consolation.

“This is bullshit!” Gary was crying and panting. “One grope. Just one grope! It was nothing! Just a squeeze of the ass, and what... I get all this...” he gestured at his new body. “How is that fair?”

“Well...” Ada sighed like she had heard the rant a thousand times. “That is just how things are now. Zero tolerance. It may have just been a grope to you, but that grope could have ruined a life.” She looked at her parolee sternly. “It's a new world out there. And those who don't adapt will be adapted to fit it.”

Shipshape

 16/25

I hope everyone is enjoying the new captions. Sadly I have been really busy with work lately and am really burned out so the next batch is lagging badly. I only have about four or five finished so far.

zoli

After her boss had acquired the failing firm 'LoanRanger', Alice, the new company lawyer, was put in charge of auditing the company's finances and plugging the leaking liquidity. It became quickly apparent that the travel expense account was being abused and abused badly. Tens of thousands were being spent every month on trips that had no clear purpose and further investigation led everything back to one man, the company's Head of Sales and Investments, Raphael.

Alice hired a private investigator to do some digging and it turned out that Raphael had been taking monthly trips to Vegas and staying in the most expensive hotels on the Strip. To make things worse, he had been using his time to smooze with rich businessmen and take bribes for insider trading tips relating to the recent takeover. Fortunately this is where he made his fatal mistake. To cover his tracks, he hid his profits in bank accounts registered in the company's name and upon finding this, it was very easy for Alice to freeze the assets. The next time Raphael went out to Vegas he was met with an angry lawyer and an ultimatum involving a lot of potential prison time. Needless to say, he returned from the trip a changed man – a very changed man.

“How does it feel to actually be doing your job for a change?”Alice gazed coolly at LoanRanger's Head of Sales and Investments. She stood on the dock and admired the rows of yachts gleaming in the Malibu sun. Raphael glared back at her, his eyes filled with hate and caked with cosmetics. Realising how the pouting probably looked on him, he turned his attention to the jumbo boat he was about to board belonging to the wealthy financier whose investment he was being made to win and found himself wondering if it cost as much as his new butt implants did. They were both objectively spectacular.

“I hate you!” Raphael spat petulantly. You could have made your point without making me such a...such a...”

“Bimbo?” Alice raised an eyebrow. “Maybe, but even a legal type like me knows that sex sells. Besides, I would kill for your figure. I wouldn't stretch to the massive boob job, facial reconstruction and getting two ribs removed, but kill...maybe. Anyway, you'll need this...” she held out a roll of tape that coordinated in colour to the salon toned hue of Raphael's skin. She smiled as his confusion gave him a classic dumb blonde expression. “Hey, I know you've been taking your hormones and there won't be all that much to hide but we still don't want any slips.” Raphael batted his eyelashes with further puzzlement. “Oh right, I guess it would have made more sense if I gave you these first...” With her other hand she presented a shopping bag over flowing with brightly coloured bikinis. “They will look great with the heels by the way.” Alice smirked on seeing the hate return to Raphael's face. “I recommend wearing the skimpier ones. We really need this guy to invest in the company. Someone has been stealing from us don't you know?”