Saturday, July 15, 2017

Quarterback Prom Queen 2

http://amzn.to/2voOp1N

Despite publishing over 110 eBooks on female domination and forced feminization, sometimes I hit on something I really haven't explored much before. Even though I have two covers of sissies getting feminine hair styles, I have never written a salon scene like the one in this book when Kristine takes Ryan to the young woman who cuts her hair and the two of them proceed to spend the next 3,200 words totally humiliating him. This story contains so much humiliation from when Kristine meets Ryan's mom, to the salon, to his first bra fitting, to walking into his sister's party with his new ultra-girly blonde hair. This story really picks up with this book.  I hope you'll give Quarterback Prom Queen 2 a chance.



"I wouldn't want to cut off too much length and his hair is short for a lot of styles. I think I could do a decent shag or maybe a pixie, but I can't promise it'll look much like a boy's haircut," said Erin.
"Wait," I complained. "I can't walk around school with a girl's hairstyle."
"I don't think you really have a choice," said Erin. Before I could really react, Kristine had grabbed my shoulders and was holding me down in the chair. Erin shoved a red ball gag in my now gaping mouth and together, they zip-tied my wrists to the arms of the chair.  When they raised the chair and tilted it back, I felt particularly helpless.  I hadn't noticed that Erin's station was secluded in the back of a very busy salon. I might make some noise even through the ball gag, but I doubted anybody would hair me over the hairdryers.
"Is that gag going to be a problem when you're cutting his hair?" asked Kristine.
"It would be, but I'm sure after your sissy calms down, we won't really need it," replied Erin. "Would you like color?"
"Truthfully, I hadn't thought about it," said Kristine.
"I think he'd look great as a platinum blonde and I may not dye many guys' hair, but I still do it from time to time. People may think it's odd, but they won't necessarily know what's going on," assured Erin.
"Mmmph," I complained through the gag.
"I'm assuming that's just your way of telling me that you're excited about your new look. You see, I cut Kristine's hair and I like her very much, but as a hairstylist a lot of my friends are other stylists and a lot of the male stylists like other men. I think they're amazing guys," began Erin. "So I don't think much of macho asshole football players who bully people for their sexual orientation."
"Mmmph," I yelled into the gag, but only a small hum came out.
Erin went to work and other than being restrained, it wasn't too different from any other hair cut I'd ever received. Erin cut my hair into a short pixie that could really only be described as feminine. Even worse, the hair would only be able to be styled into this sassy little hair style. "What do you think?" asked Erin after declaring my hair complete.
"That both looks great and will be so humiliating for the little sissy to explain," said Kristine squeezing my shoulders. I cursed her out, but of course that was all cut off by the gag.
"He doesn't seem very enthusiastic," joked Erin.
"I think that's his way of saying he wants color."
"Alright!" exclaimed Erin. "So let's begin, shall we? We don't even know if his hair will take to the bleach."
"Oh I hope so."
Like a true pro, Erin applied bleach to a single piece of my hair and then wrapped it in tinfoil.  Then we waited. The girls discussed what kind of prom gown Kristine should make me buy while I tried to escape the zip-ties. When it was finally time for Erin to peel away the foil, she checked my hair and proudly proclaimed, "Perfect!" Kristine was so happy she literally clapped for joy.
It took Erin about an hour to wrap my hair in over 100 pieces of foil. I felt like a human leftover. Then I sat there for literally hours before, Erin wheeled over a four headed heater. This caused the bleaching agent between the foils to do its work and take my hair from brown to an orangey-yellow shade. Occasionally, she would rinse out strands at the shampoo bowl. 
"This would be a lot easier if we hadn't had to tie him to the chair," complained Erin.
"Until he ran out of the store screaming," said Kristine.
"Yeah, there is that," agreed the young stylist.

Friday, July 7, 2017

Quarterback Prom Queen

http://amzn.to/2tSppmd

The writer Ann Michelle had a question on a feminization fiction forum about what people love about the genre. One of the top answers was the thrill of watching an alpha male suddenly discover that he wasn’t top dog anymore.  You don’t get much more of a fall than going from football star to dancing at prom on another guy’s arm.  

Quarterback Prom Queen is the story of a guy who takes just such a fall. It’s a four book series, but I have already completed the first three books and two are already edited so I won’t keep you waiting. I think you’ll like this story of a clever girl who puts a guy in his place and it seems a lot of people had reason to have a grudge against him.  They use this opportunity to get their revenge.too. It’s my typical forced feminization story with a little bit of extra humiliation including one of my favorite scenes I’ve ever written involving a reluctant sissy and a beauty salon.

Sunday, July 2, 2017

Forced Fem Noir

http://amzn.to/2uyCM7I


Because I published The Jaguar: The Birth of a Predator this weekend and that was previously available outside the United States, I wanted to give my non-American readers something different to buy from me, so I decided to release a collection for them.  Fortunately, it's available in the United States too.

Forced Fem Noir contains the stories Property of the Cheerleaders, The Mean Girl Mafia, and Perfect. It comes to just over 21,000 words of forced feminization fun.

Property of the Cheerleaders was written as an homage to Goodfellas. It mirrors the plot of the movie and contains dialogue that's also very much inspired by the movie:



To me, being a cheerleader was better than being a Kardashian. Long before I picked up my first pom poms, I knew that I wanted to be a part of them. It was there that I wanted to belong.
To me being a cheerleader meant being a somebody in a school full of nobodies.  They wore the trendiest clothes, dated the cutest boys, and went to all the best parties. They did whatever they wanted. They never did homework or studied for tests, but somehow they didn't flunk out.  Everybody knew they smoked and hung out in the second floor girl's room, but nobody ever gave them a hard time.  No teacher ever came to bust them.

That said, it got great reviews even from people who never saw Goodfellas.  Bibary was one of those people.  She gave it five stars saying, "It is an engrossing tale, full of genuine tension, and I was very pleased to see Kylie and Claudia did not shy away from the necessary conclusion."

The Mean Girl Mafia was a blast for me to write.  It's the story of a world weary former mall cop who is forced to take a job as a high school dean. He stumbles onto a conspiracy where the worst troublemaker boys at the school are being feminized, but nobody wants him to investigate it. Soon he gets drawn in and he finds himself threatened. I tried to write in the style of the old hard boiled detective stories and I think I succeeded. In any event, it was a fun exercise that's been well-received.
 

"I'm the new dean.  My name's Mr. Webb."
"Oh yeah, I forgot they hired a new one after we chased off Mr. Dipshit."
"Yeah, that's me."
"They got you playing truant officer now?  Even Dipshit wasn't an errand boy."
"You ready to cut the Brando act so we can talk?"
"Who's Brando?"
"A movie star," I replied. "Word is you're becoming quite a movie star, too." I got the reaction I was looking for.  He was paler than an Osmond family reunion.
"Y-you don't make any sense. Go hassle somebody else.  I'll be back in school tomorrow."
"Get out of bed kid," I instructed him.
"Fuck you," he spat.
"You could get in trouble for talking that way."
"What are you going to do? Suspend me?"
"Yeah, you got a point." I said ripping the covers off him.  I couldn't believe my eyes and couldn't hold back a laugh.  He was dressed in a bright red baby doll nightie, with black thigh high stockings, and the highest pair of CFM pumps I'd seen outside of Vegas.
"You want to explain this?"
"I'm not telling you anything."

The third story in the book is Perfect and it was first published in the anthology Lipstick for Her Leather. It doesn't quite fit as neatly as the theme as the other two, but it's about a college freshman who finds the perfect girlfriend.  She thinks he's perfect too.  The only question is "perfect for what?"



"You know," she said gazing into my eyes, "you're like the perfect size for a guy."
"What does that even mean?" I asked.
"Well, I don't think I'd want to date anybody shorter than me and I've never cared for guys who are so tall that I feel like I need a step ladder just to kiss them."
"That's cool," I replied trying to sound nonchalant, but just the thought that an actual female didn't find my skinny five-foot-eight frame repulsive was alright with me.
"Weight too," she said. "There's not an ounce of fat on you. I can tell you work out."
"Three times a week," I lied. The truth is that working out was so fruitless for me that I never could stick with it.
"Do me a favor and take off your shirt. I want to see something," She said.
"Really? Here?" I asked.
"I won't bite, unless you want me to," she cooed and I was putty. With barely a second thought, I complied and pulled my shirt over my head. She went to her dresser drawer and pulled out a pink plastic tape measure. She used it to measure my stomach, chest, and shoulders before declaring to me, "You are just perfect."
"Thank you," I replied.
"What size shoe do you wear?" she asked.
"Seven," I replied embarrassed. I'm sure you've heard that old story about the size of a man's feet. Well in my case, it was definitely true. She surprised me by smiling and just purring again that I was perfect.