Paying his Invoice

Transcript:

No spy is without his or her gadgets and the Chameleon was no exception to that rule. Whether his operations were state sponsored, backed by corporations or even funded by rich or poor individuals, there was only one man he turned to when it came to low-cost but ingenious spy tools: Elijah Mendel, a young twenty something engineer that loved tinkering and spy films. His place of residence? His basement, alone.

The Chameleon remembered the time he met Elijah, it was in some engineering convention that the Chameleon had to infiltrate in order to get closer to his target. Along the way, he bumped onto an unkempt Elijah Mendel who was fruitlessly showing off his ‘useless’ gadgets.

“Mostly useless,” the Chameleon recounted. Those same gadgets were crucial on how he managed to finish that particular assignment and that was how Elijah and the Chameleon business relationship started and flourished.

However, the partnership is not exactly normal. Elijah knew the Chameleon is a master of disguise and the Chameleon knew Elijah was too busy for a relationship, let alone talking to a girl. So in return for affordable, quality and exclusive gadget, the Chameleon got to be his girlfriend for a day or even longer depending on how exquisite the gadget is. The ‘girlfriend’ changed for every request, from celebrity to old crush and sometimes girls from his wildest wet dream.

The Chameleon smiled at that deal. Elijah was a simple man and the Chameleon liked him for that. Usually, people like him would be milked dry but the Chameleon preferred a lasting business relationship, he had enough enemies around him already.

The Chameleon stared at his latest creation, Mrs Roth, Elijah’s 7th grade English teacher. With arms akimbo, he lectured at his own reflection in a feminine briton accent. “Mr Mendel, not doing your homework again? Very well,” her whole demeanor changed as she smirked with lustful eyes, “looks like I have to punish you,”

Satisfied with the performance, the fake Mrs Roth took her purse, time to pay my invoice, the Chameleon thought.

Social Butterfly

Transcript:

Matt Hold is never one who hangs around with people. When you ask his colleagues about him, they will say he is a nice, quiet kid, a bit creepy and awkward but when for anything IT related, you can count on ole’ Matt to fix it. After which, they will grumble about his privilege of working from home.

When you ask his neighbours about him, they will say the same thing, nice quiet but creepy and awkward. After which, they will grumble about his hot girlfriend, Ericka. Man would be bewildered by how a shut-in will get such a hot girlfriend while women will gossip how inappropriately dressed she is sometime.

When you ask his girlfriend about him, she will smile and say that they are not exactly a couple. Matt is just a very good friend and although she knows Matt never socialises much, she assures you that Matt is not a creepy serial killer, just an introvert that likes to spend time alone.

That is true and Matt hates himself for that. He wants to be more sociable and likable and most importantly, he wants to be the center of the crowd. So he turns to Ericka for help, except Ericka is a mask and a realistic bodysuit; a cocoon to shelter Matt’s ego and an outlet for him to be bold and daring. It took him time and money to perfect the art of femininity: the voice, the posture, the walk and the mannerism but at the end, it was worth it. The attention, the opportunities and the intimacy he get is what he wanted, a social butterfly courted by many.

And so here Matt is, comfortably encased in his silicone persona, talking about himself. He is enjoying the attention that you are giving him and as you are about to leave, Matt stopped you. In a practiced, dulcet feminine tone, he asked “we can talk later if you want to, do you wish to talk over a cup of coffee?”  

What’s your reply?

Chameleon: The Perfect Heist

This was supposed to be saga which includes an earlier work, The Masterplan but I stopped due to writer’s block. Also, readers may have noticed similarities to Kendall's Disguised as an Angel which is a gorgeous cap by the way (do read it if you have not).

Transcript:

Part 1:

The Eyes of Lovelace, a ring worth of many fortunes. Rarely seen, this necklace would be finally unveiled to the public in an upcoming charity event. Many admired it, few wanted it for their own including the Chameleon's client.

The Chameleon was no stranger to a heist but when he reviewed the security and itinerary of the event, it had dawned on him why his client wanted him to do this.

First thing was to get close to the host family. Particularly, the Chameleon was interested in the young master, Aldric Armistead, a sheltered mommy’s boy who never really saw the outside world much. So with eager hands, the Chameleon started his work.

After three weeks, the stage is set and the Chameleon was ready to bring Aldric’s potential partner-to-be out to the world. Finishing squeezing himself to the tight corset and flesh girdle, he wore the specialised flesh-toned bodysuit that he had made for this occasion, its texture no different to a young woman’s skin.  The skin encased his whole body, covering his false padding and modifications; the tightness was  unbearable but the Chameleon had grown to enjoy this. Small perky tits, lithe and feminine body; smooth, young and supple skin, slightly marred with blemishes (something the Chameleon took pain to add for the sake of realism) greeted the Chameleon's mirror but it was not done.

The Chameleon took a face off of the dressing table and from the opening, he put it on and secured it around his head. Adjusting his new face, the Chameleon proceeded to put on a dirty blonde wig, a favourite of the young master, and examine himself in the mirror. The young woman in the mirror mimicked his every gesture like a puppet. Covering the seam with a special flesh-toned cream, the shell is complete. The Chameleon had superficially become Velma Tanner.

Crafting the perfect partner was a bit of challenge. The Chameleon knew his overbearing mother would scrutinise Aldric’s partner so first impression counted and that meant her looks, demeanor and gestures; something innocent would disarm all observers and looking into the mirror, the Chameleon knew he had nailed it.

Next was her clothings. Preparing to change, the Chameleon allowed Velma personality to surface, his identity quickly replaced to that of a meek, innocent 28 years old; his demeanor became gentle, his gait mellowed to a slower pace, the body’s hip swaying to imitate that of a woman and the gestures becoming more feminine. Finally, Velma had arrived.

Picking up the white stocking, Velma relished the feeling of silk against her soft skin as she rolled it up her leg and carefully secure it with the garterbelt. Velma then proceeded to wear the white lacy panties, the lace fitted snugly and felt sensual against her nether region. Once done, Velma finally put on the white backless evening gown, a slit on the side would reveal her toned leg, throwing subtle hints that Velma may not be little miss innocent after all.

Looking in the mirror, Velma smiled and posed. White. The colour of purity and virginity. Traits that would definitely appeal not only to the young master but the overbearing mother as well. The trojan horse was set however would the Armistead allowed her in?

Part 2

It had been 1 month after Velma was welcomed into the Armistead family. However, the heist had just only begun. Velma was merely the trojan horse, a bait for a bigger fish: Emilie Armistead, mother of Aldric Armistead and matriarch of Armistead family. For those 3 months, the Chameleon closely scrutinised Emilie under his silicone disguise, her mannerism, behaviour, habit, routines, schedules, personality and voice, all detailed and noted by the observant imposter-to-be. Getting close to the reclusive Armistead family not only allows him to do all that but also to take the mould of her face and body.

On the day before a charity event hosted by the Armistead family, the Chameleon was ready for the next phase. Under his Velma disguise, he had earlier lied about a family emergency and regretted not being able to attend the charity ball. The night before Velma left, the Chameleon invited Emilie for some wine in her hotel room. Bringing Emilie’s favourite wine, Emilie would definitely have no reason to reject the Chameleon. Spiking it with sedative, Emilie would definitely have no reason to reject to the Chameleon replacing her as well.

After a few minutes of idle chatter over the wine, Emilie fell to a deep slumber. Checking her pulse and reaction, the Chameleon started to strip. The disguise was stripped off quickly and reaching under his bed, he took out tools of his trades: a corset, a crotchless girdle, a pair of breast form specially tailored to Emilie’s size and shape, the bodysuit, wig and finally, the mask. The foundation was first donned, the corset, girdle and breast form, shaping his male figure into that of a feminine one. Next, was the bodysuit which the Chameleon meticulously wore, covering himself with soft, smooth and human-like silicone, its skin tone and imperfection identical to that of Emilie’s. Last was the mask and wig. The mask was lovingly crafted from Emilie’s mould, her wrinkles, blemishes, eyelashes and even eyebrows carefully copied from the original. Nothing was left unchecked, even the small bump at the back of her earlobe was copied as well.

When the Chameleon opened his eyes, he liked what he saw in the mirror, a naked Emilie Armistead, her movement followed the Chameleon’s commands and her facial expression mimic whatever the Chameleon wished. It was perfect, nobody would know. Satisfied with his handiwork, the Chameleon proceeded to finish the impersonation: replicating the real Emilie’s makeup, stripping of her clothes and wearing them. The Chameleon reveled in how snug the blue silk panties fit around his padded hips and relished the feeling of silk of her black stockings. Donning the rest of the attire on, he tied and gagged the still sleeping Emilie up while injecting a fresh dose of sedative in her, hopefully enough to last till the next day. And with that, the false Emilie left the hotel room.

That day, nobody suspected a thing when Emilie returned. Not even her husband when he was in the mood for some intimacy. The imposter brushed him aside exactly like how the original would initially, moaned like how the original would when the husband fondled the imposter’s fake clit, teased her husband’s weak spots like what the original revealed during her drunken stupor, imitate her climax perfectly in their favourite position.     

The next day came and the charity ball would soon began. The fake Emilie started to don her evening dress, the garment the original intended to wear, the Chemeleon knew of course, he picked it out for her as Velma on one of the shopping trip. Despite the bodysuit, the fake Emilie could mentally feel the silkiness of the gown, how it glided across the silicone skin as she wore it. The richness of the red in her dress would be attention grabbing. Additionally with her alluring, confident aura and dignified pose, both of which the imposter had spent most of the time practicing, the presence of the Armistead family would be felt and omniscience in the ballroom. That was of course according to the Chameleon's plan, the more eyewitnesses, the better.

Once she donned the black evening gloves, she moved onto the zenith of the evening: the Eye of Lovelace. Under the deepest secrecy only known by Mr Armistead, the ring was transported to the Armistead household from the impregnable vault of a Swiss bank. Only for high profile occasion such as this would the Armistead family exposed the Thus, this ruled out the traditional heist. Additionally, the Armistead family members were surrounded by bodyguards at all times except if they wish for privacy, so traditional kidnapping was out as well. So the only way was trickery and deceit, both of which the Chameleon excelled at. The fraud Emilie admired the unnatural cyan glow of the jewel, the prime reason for its exquisity and exorbitant price. However, it was not the latter of which the Chameleon’s client valued. It was its haunting beauty that attracted it, this the Chameleon understood. Too bad, he was not interested despite his fascination with the opposite sex.

Crossing her nylon clad leg, the imposter smirked. The next day after the ball was over, she will perform her disappearing act using another set of disguise that she had prepared under the watchful eyes of her bodyguard. An ‘anonymous’ tip-off will disclose where the real Emilie was all this while and with so many people witnessing the fake Emilie on the ball, it would be impossible to cover up her replacement without embarrassing the Armistead family. By the time the Armistead family launched a manhunt for Velma, the Chameleon would be half a world away, preparing his next mission.

The Stepford Affairs

Transcript:

How does one infiltrate a recently found secret society whose members are young billionaires and influential figures in their respective industries?

While most other intelligence agencies would bug the crap out of their mansions or even insert agents under minor cover into their midst, Agent Vann would like to think otherwise. “You see,” he proposed to his superior, “if you not only want to know what they are doing, you have to get close to them figuratively, and literally.”

And so the plan begins, funds are low, manpower is scarce and the highe-ups are doubtful of Vann’s crazy idea but Vann shrugged, he has expected this and getting approval was merely a formality

Appreciating the fine furnishing of the toliet he is currently in, he snaps himself out of it and strips naked, exposing his lean, androgynous body. Despite his genes granting him a short and lithe body, he still have to go through a strict regime of diet and exercise to make sure his body doesn’t turn too muscular or obese. It has been tough but he is sure that the result will speak for itself.

He then proceeded to put on his breast form, a modest C-cup to say the least. Vann would have preferred them bigger but his mission had spoken otherwise, else he would stand out too much. Satisfied with the position of the breast form, he proceeded to put on the hip pads. This with the breast form will create a silhouette of femininity however, it doesn’t end here.

With great anticipation, Vann takes out a piece of bodysuit. Feeling the softness and elasticity of the suit, he could not help but marvel at this fine piece of engineering. ‘R&D had really outdone themselves this time,’ he thought as he puts it on, squeezing and smoothing any wrinkles that creased along the suit. When it’s all done, he looks into the mirror and grins. Staring back at him is a willowy body, its breast, full and soft, its skin, smooth and fair and its nether region, flat and void of any masculinity that was present; instead, only a slit and trimmed bush hides its engorged member. However, what marvels Vann was not the perfections but rather the imperfections; the acnes and blemishes even the vein was painstakingly added and detailed, exactly what Vann specified.

Yet, the transformation is not complete as what he sees is that of a grotesque human, a female body with the head of a man. ‘Time for a disappearing trick,’ Vann smiled as he pulls out his triumph card.

The mask stares back at him, hollowed but lifelike. Hair was attached to the mask so as to prevent wig lines. After putting in the dentures and blue contact lenses, Vann puts the mask over his head and he felt the persona that he has trained himself for months washed over him. Vann Colton is washed away and in turn, bringing a Caitlin Henson in. The transformation is complete.

When Caitlin opens her eyes, she is disturbed by how she looks, her hair was a mess and her face was void of make-up. A person of a status should not walk around like that at all! Combing her hair and reveling in the silkiness of it, she calls a number on a rather unremarkable phone.

“It’s done. 30 minutes,” her voice was deep and gravel, uncharacteristic of her sweet face. Hanging up, she exits the bathroom to carry out the final phase of the plan. On her bed was a sleeping figure, her face, body and hair are identical to Caitlin's. In fact, one would be convinced that she’s Caitlin's clone, much less a twin. ‘And soon, there would only be one Caitlin,’ Caitlin smirks as she starts tying her twin. In 30 minutes time, her clone would be sent off to a faraway place and the imposter would take her place as the wife of the billionaire, Adam Kaufmann.

Picking up the phone, Caitlin knows she has to call her hubby as part of her routine to report to that ‘paranoid old man’ as she remembered in her conversation with the housewives of Adam’s inner circle of friends. How does she know? Why she’s Caitlin, of course she knows.

“Hi honey, how are you? Aw, you miss me, that’s cute. Well, I miss you too, can’t wait for you to come back. Eh, what did I do today?” Caitlin tilted her head, gone was the masculine voice and replaced was a sweet voice of british descent. “I, I got a makeover. Oh yes. A makeover. I will send you a selfie later,” Caitlin replies, her tone conveying mischief and lust.

Behind every successful man is a woman, so what if you replace that woman? That is the point of Operation Stepford, to wield the powerful influences of these men through where they care the most, their loved ones. This secret club of wealthy people is the starting point and if Vann makes it, this could expand to other areas as well, tipping global politics to the agency’s favour.

“But what if I don’t make it?” Caitlin thought as she puts on a tight white teddy, “well, I will enjoy it anyway,” she smiles as she prepares for the next day.

Joy of Youth

And this is the last of the batch I'm uploading. Whew, I'm saving this post to apologise for my absence. As what many could attest, I've been busying myself in meatspace and sadly, this trend will worsen. So all I could do is to sporadically update with multiple content rather than updating every week or so.

That said, I sincerely hope you have enjoyed the caps I have created. Thank you.

Transcript:

Wealth is a double-bladed sword, especially so when it comes to love and friendship. My wealth has invited many shallow people into my circles, the gold diggers, male and female alike and I grow weary of second guessing their intention. And now, I am 69 years old and still single, as you can probably tell, I grow desperate to seek companion and perhaps, to feel youthful once again.

So I pick Kristie as my wife.

Kristie isn’t very different from all the gold diggers I knew but she is probably one of the most beautiful ones I’ve known. That was however, not the reason. I chose her because I had tasted the forbidden fruit. As you perhaps know, a man of my wealth have many hobbies and one of them being toys collection, specifically antique toys; toys of a forgotten era when children actually actively play with and run around the house with them. A few weeks ago, a toy ray-gun was delivered to me, its design was something out of a 60s science fiction, coils at the tip and colourful, something that reminds me of Flash Gordon. More interestingly, it came with a note and an instruction that stated that it could turn people into wearable skins. Naturally I laughed it off but I added it into my collection anyway.

My strange hobby was pretty much common knowledge to those who knew about me so guests naturally wanted to see them whenever I have a social function in my home. Kristie was one of them. She was alone when she wanted to see my collection and chanced upon the toy-gun. Amused, she took and triggered it while aiming herself and blacked out.

How did I know it? I wore her on that night. The instruction was right. Chancing upon it, I hid her skin until the crowd went home and inspected it. Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to wear her out. The skin was smooth, delicate but firm, her insides were warm and slick, like wet lace. As I fit my 69 years old frame into her voluptuous 29 years old skin, my body squeezed and conformed, my hips flared, my chest expanded, my belly flattened and my gentials fused with the skin, aligning it with her nether region. When I pull her head over mine, I saw her life flashing in front of me. And it was then, I knew I had become Kristie Penner, 29 years old financial consultant. The vitality of youth flowed through me and I was addicted to it; her zeal for life, her boundless energy, her health and her sex. It was more than what I could ask for so I decided, I need her.

So I courted her and spoilt her with my wealth and power. I gave her everything she wanted and in return, she gave me her body, literally and figuratively. Initially, I wore her to feel young again in the hope of capturing my youthful days; I would run, go to the gym, swim and bask in the sun as her. Soon after, curiousity got the better of me and I began exploring my new found sex; fondling my ample bosom, fingering my moist snatch and caressing my creamy thigh. The masturbation sessions were intense and the ecstasy felt was beyond of what I am capable of in my old body.

Thereafter, my lifestyle change, I would jog and go to the gym in her tightest running short and tank tops, and swim in her sexiest bikini outfit, flaunting my erotic body to everyone I meet, the attention and envy I received was exhilarating. From there, it escalated; I begun to indulge in femininity, I learn about makeup and fashion and soon with my allure, attracted males and females partners alike. Sex was just the icing on the cake with my new found youth.

Alas, I know nothing lasts forever. Soon, I will die and Kristie will inherit all of my earthly possessions and life goes on. At least that’s what I would like people to believe, but I, Delroy Dirkson, will live on forever as Kristie Dirkson, widow of a once lonely, desperate billionaire.

Trouper: The Work Continues

This one took quite some time; it's something I've always wanted to try. The attempt to feel what it feels like, undergoing the transformation. I must apologise if it's too boring.

Transcript:

Today’s a sunday but my work never ends.

I put on my padded girdle, carefully sliding it up my freshly shaved legs, stretching it and squirming my body to get the tight garment up to its position. Next, the flesh-toned training corset. Putting it over me and adjusting it to my abdomen, I took a deep breath and laced it, pulling and tightening its string; constricting my figure that is every bit like a woman. Next, I try on the C-cup breast form. Using a silicone adhesive, I carefully applied it to the fake assets and slowly attach it to my chest, making sure that they are at the correct position.

Now, comes the bodysuit I crafted specially for this; picking up a garment that looks like a deflated headless body, I bunch it up and fold it like hosiery and slip into it, legs first from the top and proceed to wear it. Tight but elastic, I carefully fold and stretch it from my legs and over my newly attached breast forms while, fitting them into the breast pouch that I have created. Fitting them in, the arms are next, turning them into lithe feminine arms. In the mirror I see, stands a freak of nature with a head of a bald man and the supple body of a women; her skin fair, her nails manicured, her breast ample and her crotch flat, leaving no trace of masculinity that was before.

But soon this freak of nature will soon disappear as I approach the make-up table. On it are the tools of a magician, a wig stand, make-up kits, contacts and most importantly, the human mask worn over a head cast. Next, I open one of the many contact boxes on the table, take out a pair of olive green contacts and wear, one more aspect of me gone. I pick up the mask and wear it, covering what the bodysuit couldn’t cover, the neck and the collar area. Smoothing it and aligning the mask to my face, the man disappears and a bald woman stands in his place; her face brimming with the youth of a young adult, her eyes sharp and her lips full. I smile, being glad that the fourteen hours of effort had not been wasted, and in return, the woman smiles as well.

Lastly, comes the blonde wig. Wearing it over my head, I press the scalp line against my forehead and pull it down, fastening the wig. There, the transformation is complete. The Trouper is no more and in his place, Lyla White, age 22, graduate of an art college and amatuer actor,  is born.

Now, a lady isn’t expected to prance in her home naked so I walk over to my wardrobe, taking care to put into practice the walk I have developed for my character; a slight sway of the hip and a certain ‘bounce’ and haste in her gait; characteristic of a cheerful and spirited girl who just graduated into working society. Wearing a blue sweater dress, a pink thong (she’s a kinky one, after all) and matching socks, I started the video camera and prepared myself in front of it.

“Hi, I’m Lyla White, an amatuer actor and I hope...”

And another successful character created for the sake of theatrics and drama. The work never ends and most importantly, it never gets stale.

The Trouper

Hi guys, apologies for the irregular updates! I wish I could blame it all on my university but I am partly to blame due to my procrastination. So here's a few caps that I've created. I hope you enjoy them.

 

Transcript:

To some, ten years is a long time; to others, it may well be the opposite. To me? It’s long enough to master a set of skills.

“Diana, can you look this way? Yes, smile for the camera. Yes, this is good,”

It’s long enough to learn the many different mannerisms of the fairer sex; how they talk, how they walk, how they present themselves, how to pull off those subtle body languages. After this long, one could even learn how they fuck.

“Now Diana, we need you to strip the cardigan off. Give me a sultry look. Great, very lovely, your subscribers are going to love this!”

It’s long enough to master the art of masking; crafting the mask using different materials and methods, adding those little imperfections to fool those who are sharp and most importantly understanding the different definitions of beauty and how to compromise at all.

“Alright Diana, you know what to do. Let’s show off some of those beautiful skin,”

It’s long enough to maintain a suitable figure; enforcing a strict exercise regime that tones and develops the hip, butt and leg and following a relatively strict diet that maintains calories and fats intake.

“Beautiful darling, absolutely dazzling. Lie on the bed. Lovely.”

It’s long enough to craft the perfect body; customising paddings for the pelvis and wearing a corset to emphasise the girly figure, studying different body types and crafting the different bodysuits for them - skin tones, blemishes, customisable breast size, permeability, etc.

“That’s all for the shoot, Diana. It’s a real pleasure working with you again. Dear, you have to share with me your beauty tips. You look stunning everytime I see you.

And it’s long enough to practice and combine all of these together to create the perfect illusion of femininity.

“Well, Chrs. It’s a secret” I winked.

The Chameleon: Two Stories

Hello, apologies for the lack of updates; life got in the way but nevertheless, I have managed to squeeze out two captions involving our affably (hopefully) evil impersonator.

The Chameleon is at it again with his industrial espionage. This time, he impersonates a cute secretary and creates an alluring vixen persona for himself.

Effective Persuasion

Exploring Alternative Market

Costume Gun: Short Detour

The Mimic and the Actor

Apologies if it's a bit too long for you to read; this time involves two men at different locations doing the same thing.

The Actor: Win-win Situation

The Mimic: Second Step

Dave's New Wife

The Chameleon Strikes!

Long time no see, that is if anybody is checking this out. Haha...

Anyway, 2 new caps. Hopefully, this time I will update this regularly.

What a mess

Part 1 and part 2 of "What a mess"

All the clothing he wants

The creative demons are chasing, not that I mind though.