Whatever Happened to Brett? (Empathy Training)

 Original caption is here 

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

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

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

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

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

The Unusual Suspects

 7/25

Standing in front of the dresser, Officer Chet Stephens couldn't deny that the station's makeup artist had done a fine job on him. Tubes of cosmetics lay around him like spent ammunition, remnants of a battle of which he surely was the loser. A glossy brown wig hugged a skull cap concealing his own hair and below his face was coated with layer upon layer of products he didn't even know the names of postmarked with thickly painted red lips. He wanted to choke on the perfume that the beautician had sprayed liberally on the lacy negligee. What even was the point of that? Could the witness really smell him through the one-way glass of the viewing room?

“Ready?” Detective Pam Larsson entered the room and immediately broke into wide grin. She took her time looking him up and down. First at his thick feminine mask, then the round breast forms that plumped out his chest, and finally at his long slender legs encased in shiny silk stockings. “Oh, Darling, you're ready!”

It hadn't supposed to be like this. As a third generation police officer and station rookie, Chet Stephens was desperate to prove his worth to the force and make his mark just like his father had, and his grandfather before that. And so, from day one, he listened, he asked questions, and fatefully, he volunteered. Police line-ups were a rite of passage for any newly minted officer. The routine was always the same – one witness, one suspect, and five alternates. Sometimes the alternates were suspects of other crimes, but more often they were police officers standing in to make up the numbers. So when Detective Finn Collier had entered the break room looking for volunteers, Chet had immediately offered himself up.

Things started to go wrong almost immediately. Despite being new to the force, Chet knew lineups didn't take more that a few minutes, so when he was standing next to five other men for over quarter of an hour, he knew something wasn't right.

“It's inconclusive,” Finn said gravely as he exited the room. “This is an assault case at a cabaret club. The wit says he only saw the perp in full drag queen get up. We need to bring in our undercover prep team and run this again.” The penny hadn't dropped on what exactly this meant until Chet was being pushed into a makeup chair and having his uniform unbuttoned by an overly-enthusiastic makeup artist, and by then he was already regretting ever volunteering.

“Come on then!” Detective Pam Larsson smiled, shaking her head in disbelief of her junior colleague's transformation. “Just wait until the boys in vice get sight of you. They will be chomping at the bit to get you undercover. They've wanted someone in those cabaret clubs by the river for months. You already have a reputation as an eager beaver too!”

Whatever Happened to Wilson? (Playing the Market)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

Appraising Jeanie

 Jeanie and the Ministry of Manipulated Wishes appear in a number of my other stories, so I have added them to my index page.

Jeanie sat across a desk of mist and rainbows from her line manager. All the offices at the Ministry of Manipulated Wishes were like this – simultaneously light and whimsical and bone crushingly intimidating. Today was her annual appraisal and it had not been a good year.

Her team leader folded her arms and frowned down at her direct report over a faint moustache. She glanced down at the document before her and cleared her throat. “So, Miss Jeanie, it seems in the last twelve months you have provided our wishers with 75 blowjobs, 132 handjobs, brought 19 men to climax with your breasts and given 3...” she raised the report closer to her eyes, “earjobs!” She raised an unplucked eyebrow to Jeanie. “In that same time, you have successfully corrupted 14 wishes.” The exasperated line manager sighed. “Miss Jeanie, are you operating as a djinn, or a common whore?”

Jeanie flushed red but tried indignantly to hold her manager's angry stare. “Fourteen? Does that include Gavin from last week?”

“The idiot who wished for tits the size of coconuts that leaked actual coconut milk?” Her team lead rolled her eyes. “No, it doesn't include Gavin. You can't manipulate a wish that is certifiably stupid to begin with.” She shuffled her report and rested her chins on folded hands. “Look Miss Jeanie – as hard as you try to prove otherwise, we both know you're not an imbecile. You see how the economy is and with the recent redundancies, you are being asked to cover the work of three djinns. But, you are failing! And, we also both know that with your current numbers, the only reason you are not one of those redundancies is because of who your Dad is.” She sat back in her chair of mist. “However, I give you my word, if there is no improvement soon, I will make sure you're looking for a new job before you can say 'Abra Kadabra'.”

Jeanie felt a small smile creeping over her face and urgently tried to hide it as soon as she realised her manager had noticed.

“Don't gloat too soon,” the line manager glared and, without further hesitation, snapped her fingers. Jeanie's jeans and shirt instantly vanished and were replaced with a cartoonish and revealing costume. A highcut leotard rode high on her thighs and orange striped stockings climbed her legs. Finally, a huge silly witch's hat appeared on her head. “That should make sure you remember who you are!” Her manager smiled thinly as Jeanie tried unsuccessfully to cover her body. “From now on, any titjobs you give out better be at least double-Ds!” Jeanie scowled as she realised how easy it would have been to convert another 19 of her sex-acts into successfully manipulated wishes.  

A Date with Destiny Part 3

Julian's heels clacked on the wooden floor of the outer-office of Destiny Engineering to where the full length mirror hung of the wall. The area was where clients and investors were greeted and would wait before being led in to meet with Marcus and the mirror was the frequent recipient of practice pitches and tie-straightening...and now where Julian checked and reapplied his makeup fifteen times a day. He hated the mirror. It was a constant reminder of how he had fallen. Yet, even though he could see his reflection in it from his seat behind the mahogany desk it the reception office, it never ceased to draw him closer like a moth to a flame.

Julian stared into the mirror disbelievingly as he always did, and, as always, a prisoner stared back. His work wear was more professional and less revealing than what he had chosen for his first date with Marcus, but humiliating all the same. A stiff pencil skirt hugged his hips revealing just a hint of a pantyline and the fitted blouse was so uncanny in its similarity to the pressed white shirts he was used to that in its own way it was more feminising that the seamed stockings that encased his legs. As he stood there, the familiar doubt crept in. Could he really continue to pass as a woman? Surely, by parading himself publicly like this, he was asking to get caught and be carted off to jail... Using both hands, he pulled his long blonde into a bun above his head, revealing the shape of his face and the full extent of how the hormones had altered his appearance. He shuddered. This wasn't second thoughts – that had happened immediately after he had told Elena about Marcus's offer. That had been when she had laid out in detail the consequences of what would happen if he didn't take the job. No, his regret could be comfortably counted in the triple figures by now.

“Excuse me, Miss?” A gruff voice with a whiff of an accent sounded behind him. He whirled around to see a small academic-looking man standing in front of his desk. “Is this you?” The man pointed at the nameplate. 'JULIA'. “I'm here for my 10 o'clock with Mr. Grant. He should be expecting me.”

“Ah, Michael!” Marcus entered the room from his private office before Julian could react. “I see you've met Julia, my latest secretary!” The million dollar grin was back as the CEO of Destiny Engineering held out a hand. Julian forced a polite smile and a gave a small feminine nod. As ridiculous as it seemed, he felt betrayed by Marcus. Sure, Julian was the one acting, presenting himself to the world as someone who didn't exist. But so was Marcus – on their date he had felt like he was being hired because Marcus looked at him and saw...something. And now, the walls were back up, and he felt used. “Believe it or not,” Marcus winked at him before turning to their guest. “Julia was actually my Valentine's date...and now she's the eye candy for my company. I guess Destiny really is the right name for it!”  

 

Whatever Happened to Martin? (Work Release)

 This will be my last Flashback Friday for a few weeks until i am caught on my commission backlog. It is for Work Release

Good Morning, you're through to UltraReal Bodysuits Customer Care, my name is Felicity. How can I help you today?

Oh, God. I don't believe it. I'm through. I actually did it... All these years of playing the good little employee have actually paid off. It will all be worth it.

Slow down, Speedie, how can I help you today?

Yes, well, my name is Martin, and you probably don't remember me but I am calling from Bedfellows Escorts and I would like to report a gross misuse of your bodysuits.

I am sorry sir, but I can only speak with the named person on that corporate account and that is...

Sam Sparrows! I know! That evil bitch has been keeping us as her whores for years!

Excuse me?

She hired a bunch of your suits to put the guys at our company through supposed sensitivity training, but it was all a ruse!

A ruse?

Yes, there was no training. Not in sensitivity anyway. She turned us into the company's newest escorts. And the bodysuits...oh God...they made us want it!

Ah, yes, the Ladies of the Night range! They are some of our finest...

Don't you think I know? The extra libido alone has made me do things that will never wash off. But no more. Over the past couple of years I have been sucking up to Sam Sparrows and as of yesterday I am her new personal assistant...with full access to the company accounts and records.

I really am sorry sir, but I can only speak with Ms. Sparrows herself.

Would it help if I had the account number? I'm at the bitch's desk right now.

Well, yes...but...

It's 67983538X

Okay...I am pulling it up now...oh wow!

Yes, 'oh wow'. I am sure now you can see the scale of what that perverted bitch has been doing. There are hundreds of us. All humiliating ourselves for her profit. Even now that I am behind a desk again, she still treats me like a slut. You have to release us from the suits and call the police right now!

No, I mean 'oh wow' as in this account is worth 26 million a year. That's one of our biggest. My stock options... This would decimate them...

What?!

Sir, I think this connection is breaking up.

But, I can hear you just fine.

No, it's....def....break...up...bad...tion

Ms? Ms? Felicity, wasn't it? Are you still there? Please help us!!

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...

The After Party

 

“That's it, Ladies. Get under their nice and deep. Your gifts are down there somewhere...maybe right at the back!” Mr. Henderson's gameshow-host baritone echoed across the room and over the heads of the prone figures of Freddy and his Mother.

“Hey, Mom!” Freddy hissed, giving a furious side-eye. “Maybe your promotion's under here too...” His Mother didn't return his glare. Her makeup caked face just kept on looking earnestly under her boss's office Christmas tree as if the keys to her future career did indeed lie down there somewhere. Freddy sighed and chewed on his ruby coated lower lip. How had he allowed himself to get roped into his Mom's shameless scheme like this? Was his dignity really worth so little? Behind them, the magnanimous Mr. Henderson was lighting a fireplace and Freddy felt the flames warm his exposed buttcheeks. He wanted to reach back and pull the Christmas jumper back down over his ass but the last thing he needed was to draw any further attention to his rear than necessary. It was bad enough that the panties his Mom had given him to wear were on full display.

“Oh, Sir, you are far too generous!” His Mother announced in a liquorice sweet voice as she laid her hands on a pair of wrapped boxes Really, these gorgeous Christmas jumpers were more than enough!" She leaned in close to Freddy so that her dark hair became intermingled with the blonde highlights of his wig and gave him a stern look that said 'Don t ruin this for me!' Freddy rolled his eves and felt his heavy lashes as he did so remind him he was wearing even more makeup than his mother. The jumpers really were more than enough. His mother had flirted shamelessly with Mr. Henderson throughout the party and when he had insisted they stay for champagne in his office after the rest of the guests had left, he had presented them with a pair of Christmas jumpers - the figure hugging kind that were meant to be worn like dress - a dress that rode up mercilessly when you started crawling around on your hands and knees.

“Oh no...” Freddy gasped as he saw what his mother had produced from the first of the gift boxes. She was holding a pair of pink fur-lined handcuffs from one of her French-tipped fingers. The cogs of greeds were turning behind her eyes as she pondered how much she wanted this promotion. Meanwhile, Mr. Henderson's son had taken his place in the doorway of his father's office and the two men gazed down at the two women on their knees beneath the Christmas tree with matching grins stretched across their faces.

“Don't worry, Jessica. You have a pair too!” Mr. Henderson smiled and put his arm around his son's shoulders. “We are a family company here. If you can make my boy happy, I will be sure to make your mother very happy indeed!” Freddy's pretty mouth dropped open in horror just as his mother thrust the remaining gift box triumphantly into his hands.

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...”

Pre-emptive Measures Part 2

 

Daniel padded over to the glass wall of the hotel balcony and found that he couldn't help but walk on his toes, so much had he become accustomed to walking in heels. He caught a flash of his reflection in the divider and almost didn't recognise himself. With Alice's guidance, he had become skilled with the makeup brush and his new diet had crafted a slender figure that fit easily into outfits such as the semi-transparent pink negligee he was wearing.

The sun beat down over the luxury resort below and the ocean stretched off to infinity ahead of him. He imagined Raphael out there somewhere on a yacht baking in the sun in a tiny string bikini. It was typical, Daniel thought bitterly, they had worked together to sell LoanRanger inside trading secrets and it was always Raphael that got to swan off to the exotic locations and rub shoulders with the money – even now. Not that he envied him in this instance.

“I bet your pal, Raphael is out there somewhere,” Alice spoke from behind him as if reading his mind. “I can just see him lying there as some pool boy rubs lotion into his big silicone tits while he desperately tries to think up ways to sell our products to the rich businessmen on board.” Alice laughed cruelly. “Guys like that only respond to one thing... Maybe the answer is to provide them with more of it. You'd look great in a g-string bikini, Daniel. Once we have given you the ass for it, anyway...”

“No...” Daniel could only groan with despair. He raised the bottle of Champagne to his fat pink lips and took a slug. He knew the other foot was about to drop. Alice didn't just bring him out here to make idle threats, she wanted something, but if the alternative was being pumped with silicone and thrown on a yacht to be a billionaire's plaything, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear her offer. She had paraded him around this resort for two days now and he still had no idea why. What was she waiting for? She had all the evidence of his collaboration with Raphael by now. She held all the cards, so when was she going to play her hand?

“You will make a very good toy, you know Daniel?” Alice said softly. “For someone...” She approached him from behind and placed her hands on his shoulders. They felt surprisingly strong on his sunkissed skin. “You should know, you're getting the full works either way – tits, facial reconstruction, an ass to die for – but you still have a choice. Option one – we do the surgeries and take you bikini shopping. You will be lying on a sun lounger giving a billionaire a handjob faster than you can say 'Pamela fucking Anderson'. Option two...” she pushed back his long grown out hair so she could whisper in his ear, “we give you a long comfortable recovery and you and I continue to visit exotic locations like this one together from time to time. The choice is yours...but don't keep me waiting. I don't like to wait once I know what I want!”

Pre-emptive Measures Part 1

 This is a continuation of my LoanRanger series. All related captions are on my index page.

Alice leafed through papers from her position in the LoanRanger boardroom, using a fountain pen to check each document line by line before adding her signature to the bottom of the page. To her left sat Vivienne, the company's owner and CEO since the hostile takeover from her ex-husband Saul.

The sound of the office door opening caused both women to look up to see a slender figure entering the room holding a folder. She had long dark hair that cascaded down her back and wore a tight fitted blouse over a flat chest with a pink micro-skirt and glossy nylon pantyhose. The woman walked over to the desk and put the folder down in front of Alice before placing both hands down flat seemingly in an effort to take the weight off her towering heels.

“That will be all, Daniel,” Alice said with a dismissive wave and they watched the feminised man totter out of the boardroom.

“One of yours?” Vivienne raised an eyebrow to her legal council beside her.

“No...” said Alice thoughtfully. “Daniel used to be Raphael's assistant. You know, the scheming Sales Manager who was taking bribes in exchange for insider trading tips, and is now the jiggling platinum blonde with the great rack who takes trips on private yachts wearing micro-kinis to court new clients? We caught Raphael through using a private investigator to audit our expenditure, but he never turned up anything on Daniel. Except, now I am thinking...”

“Now, you're thinking if Daniel really didn't know anything about what Raphael was doing, why did he just come into our boardroom dressed like Erin Brockovich?” Vivienne finished.

“Exactly,” said Alice. “I think he knows something. And for some reason, he thinks we know he knows something, but he also thinks that if gets hair extensions and throws on a pair of heels anyway, we won't look too hard for what that is.” Alice placed her pen down and looked at her boss. “What Daniel doesn't realise is that I am not the kind of lawyer that is going to be satisfied with a couple of socks stuffed into a bra. If Daniel really does know something, and I am betting he does, I am going to find out what that is and when I am though with him, Daniel is going to have substantially bigger assets to be extorted...if you catch my drift...”

Subliminal Part 2

 11/25

Fashion mogul Max Vektor hadn't been seen in a month. Since that fateful day when the pictures of the unfortunate Kevin had shown up on his boardroom projector, he had been walled up in his luxury city apartment praying that the subliminal ad he had watched two days earlier wouldn't have the same effect on him that it did on his poor video tech. Nearly a week passed and he began to think he had dodged such a destiny when suddenly one day the packages began to appear on his doorstep. Parcel after parcel of his own company's products – dresses, shoes, underwear, and cosmetics, and all in his size too. He didn't remember ordering any of it but sure enough when he checked his browser history and his credit cards, the purchases were all there and paid for in full in the middle of the night when he was sure he had been sleeping.

He stuffed all of the merchandise to the back of his closet even as it was still turning up at his door, but just a few days later he started waking up in the morning wearing the clothing. It was just one or two things at first. One day it was a single high-heel, the next a bra, but as the days continued to pass it started to happen more frequently and more acutely. One afternoon he apparently blacked out and came to wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a full face of makeup. It actually seemed like the more he tried to fight it, the stronger whatever force was guiding him became. He started to dream of women – glamorous beautiful women dressed head to toe in Max Vektor products and they were him. And he needed to be them.

Within a week of the first clothes arriving, beauticians and stylists began to turn up at his door. They were visibly confused upon seeing that their client was a man but seeing as he was partly dressed in bits of female clothing and they had already been paid for, they were more than happy to groom and primp and apply hair extensions and Max was powerless to resist. Each time they left their subject a step closer to the frolicking models in his dreams.

Fashion mogul Max Vektor hadn't been seen in a month and now as he sat on the steps of the office building bearing his name, no-one would recognise him. Sat next to one of his company's own limited edition handbags, he pushed his long dark hair away from his immaculately made-up face. A long wool coat wrapped around a black figure hugging dress and his stockinged legs sprawled out before into a pair of patent leather stilettos. Part of him screamed and tried to claw himself back to his apartment where he would rip off the clothes and pull out his hair extensions. But something else drove him on. It wasn't the same as Kevin – it was deeper. He didn't just need the products, not just crave to drape them over his soft feminised skin. It was his company – his life's work and he needed to do what was best for it. He pulled himself up onto his heels and started to totter up the steps. He quickly checked the thumb-drive was still in his handbag as he prepared for his meeting with the social media team. He needed to release that ad, and nothing was going to stop him...

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!!”

Method Acting Part 3

 

The words of Bianca's final message played over and over in Oscar's head as crew members urgently worked to reset the scene around the bed he lay on ready for the next take. The stench of sweat and stale aftershave from the male lead still clung to his body as tightly as his red latex dress from the last attempt to film the scene. Had she been right? Had he become the whore she had prophesied? He was a filming a sex scene after all...with a male actor...or at least trying to... He leant back into the cushions in frustration. Bianca hadn't done this. How could she have? Still he needed to get this fucking scene done so he could move on with his life...

Oscar's life had someone taken a turn into ever direr territory when his bimbo housewife character had been killed off from 'Playing House' after just a single season. Not only had he had to go through the indignity of being crushed by a giant wedding cake and all the batter and cream and batter that went with it, but he was once again left without a pay-check. Agnes had lectured him sternly, or as sternly as the old woman could muster, about his mounting debts and growing legal challenges, and continued to present to him zero good offers of work.

Three months passed before Agnes brought the contract for 'Pillow Fight' – a low budget romcom about a boxer who loses his killer instinct after falling in love. It was a female part once more but this time the studio had conditions. They loved his bombshell character from tv but they were also aware that his hormone cycles had lapsed since his on-screen death. If he wanted the new role, he would need to get silicone implants, at least temporarily for his breasts and lips and have some minor plastic surgery on his face. He would also need to film a sex scene for the movie.

Finally, the crew had finished resetting the scene for the next take. A make-up girl skipped over to freshen up his lipstick and liven up his hair, slipping in a quick 'God, I love your dress' that made him want to murder her. She was exactly the kind of bimbo he would of pumped and dumped back in his prime... Now he just hated her almost as much as he hated the dress she had complimented – the one that hugged his still fresh surgery scars painfully. 'I couldn't fuck her even if I wanted' he thought bitterly of the tiny cock between his legs shrunken by the new higher dosed hormones the studio has been feeding him.

“There you are, my little whore!” Oscar's painted lips dropped open at the sight of the huge man standing over him aggressively at the foot of the bed and it took a moment for him to realise the director had called action. “How about you show me what you have for me?” Oscar leaned back on his elbows so that he could spread his legs in spite of the tight dress as his his bottom lip in practised sexuality – all the while, Bianca's words echoed...whore, whore, whore...

Method Acting Part 2

 

“You have fan mail.” Agnes presented a pile of envelopes held together by thick rubber bands. “I suppose I should say you have MORE fan mail. The audience loves you. It seems your reputation is steadily improving.” She said encouragingly. “And the acting contracts are doing wonders for the money situation.”

“Just give them here!” Oscar demanded – his voice now considerably softened by multiple rounds of hormone cycles. He was between scenes and didn't want to delay restarting filming because of any such bullshit – especially today. Wardrobe had once again put his character, and subsequently him into liquid latex leggings. He didn't care that it was one of her signature looks – he fucking hated them. They squeezed his oestrogen bloated ass like a shiny black gumball and squeaked when he walked around the set in the velvet stilettos. “Any chance any of these is a job offer where I can actually play a guy again?”

Oscar's part as a transgender pianist in the recent smash hit romcom had gone well, very well in-fact, and despite its low budget and limited audience, it had been enough to land him in a part in a brand new show. Agnes had delivered the contract offer to him in his office and he had immediately started pulling off his acrylic nails – that is until he actually read the contract and realised it was for a female part. His recent portrayal had been so convincing that the studio wanted him to play Claudette – a bored housewife turned cougar who spent her screen time tottering around her home all day in outrageous outfits while her husband was out at work. Oscar had almost ripped up the contract on the spot until Agnes showed him what they were offering.

“All these creeps know I have a dick, right?” Oscar spat as he started to tear open the first envelope. The progression of his treatments and the further growing out of his perma-bleached hair made this statement almost comical. For everything else, there was prosthetics and makeup – for which he would spend hours every day in from a mirror while some bimbo painted him and cooed over the softness of his skin. He skim-read the letter, balled it up and tossed it over his shoulder. The latex of his leggings squealed painfully against the counter top as he adjusted his position to pick up the next one. He paused after reading the first line. It was from Bianca.

“This is your last chance,” it read. “You think your career is in the gutter now? You think you can't sink any lower? Tell the world what you did to me, or I will show you the meaning of rock bottom. I will turn you into the whore you made the whole world think I am!”

“Agnes,” Oscar shouted balling up the letter, “make sure I don't get any more of these!”

Method Acting Part 1

 This is a four part commission done for DeviantArt

“I don't get it,” Oscar frowned, “I thought transgender actors were supposed to play transgender roles now. It's the latest industry bullshit...representation...” He practically spat the word. Had it really come to this? Was his career really so deep in the shitter? Since the sexual harassment scandal, it had been hard enough finding a new agent. So hard in fact, that he had to settle for the impossibly grey Agnes Crowe, who seemed ancient enough to remember silent film, and now, here was the old bitch telling him to put on a dress to revive his waning acting career. He rolled his eyes at her. “Okay, next! What else is there?”

“There is no 'next'.” Agnes stammered. “That is it. It is incredibly difficult trying to secure you offers given your...reputation...given everything that came out in the press – not to mention the ongoing lawsuits. The only other correspondence you have is from Bianca – she wants you to come clean.”

“Fuck her!” Oscar snorted. “I only have so many pounds of flesh to give...” Bianca had been his original accuser. Back when he was still a big-shot star, she alleged that he had made her sleep with him to secure a role that she never even got. When she came clean to the media about it, he had publicly ruined her – making sure that the entire industry saw her as nothing more than a gold-digging whore. When the allegations from the other women came out years later, Oscar's reputation was indeed in tatters but it was still far too late for Bianca. The world had kept turning and the movie business had left her behind.

“Noted...” Agnes pressed her lips together and looked at her feet. “Well, the reason the studio is willing to cast their net a little wider for the role is that they need an accomplished pianist. They could use a double for the key scenes, but they'd rather not and they remember your part in 'An Affair in Dmajor'. I really think you should consider it. Your legal fees are growing by the day and you don't currently have any other income.”

Oscar replayed the conversation in his head as he stood in front of a firing range of cameras and lights. Four months had passed since he signed the contract and from day one, the producers had insisted on a cocktail of hormones to get him into the 'shape' the role demanded. He hadn't read the script before signing because he never really thought had much of a choice but he now wished he had if for no other reason than to prepare him for what was to come. The lingerie scene tested his hormone treatments to the limit and as he leaned back against the piano waiting for the director to call 'action', he may may as well have been naked. The makeup chair, growing out his hair, all the walking up and down backstage in heels, could only do so much. Once the cameras started rolling, it was all him...for as many takes as it took to get his career back on track.

Subliminal Part 1

 10/25

“So, what's this then?” Max coughed loudly from his place at the head of the conference table in the boardroom of his high-end fashion empire. Women squawked excitedly as they gathered around an image projected on the screen at the other end of the room. There were obvious benefits to stuffing one's company board with attractive young women, but at times it really was like herding cats. “Ladies!”he finally barked, “explain!”

“The panel...” Anita his CFO turned to face him at last, her eyes bulging with wonder. “The test audience. The one we ran last week for the new ad... You know...” her voice dropped to a whisper as if there might be spies in the room, “...the subliminal one.” She turned back to the projector screen and Max followed her gaze. It was a shot of a young red-headed woman walking in the snow whilst dripping in Max Vektor merchandise – not just the dress and knitted roll-neck from their latest line but also a bag, a watch, boots – all high-end and very expensive. The penny dropped. It had worked. “Boss...” Anita turned back to him. “This is Kevin.”

“Kevin!?” Max almost spat out his morning coffee. “You mean this is a guy? And the ad did this to him?”

“Well, technically he did this to himself,” Anita replied. “But, yes, after watching the ad. His wife sent this picture in last night. Apparently he is completely addicted to our products now. He is completely obsessed with trying to look like the models from the commercial. She is threatening to sue.”

“But...” Max tried to stifle a smirk, “I thought the test audience were all women. Didn't Marketing only show it to our usual demographic of customers?” His smirk quickly disappeared as he began to ponder the potential legal consequences.

“They were,” said Anita. “I mean they did. But Kevin, he's the video tech who ran the test screening.”

“I see...” relief washed over Max and his grin returned. “So, he works for us... Well then, it should be pretty easy to keep this out of the press. We just need to give Kevin's wife some shares in the company and make sure that ad never sees the light of day!”

“Aren't you forgetting something, Boss? Anita responded urgently. “We previewed the ad in our last board meeting two days ago.” She glanced back at her colleagues frantically gathered around the screen. “We all watched it! You watched it!”