Regmore Rigmin
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New Waitress TG
🕑 Added 2025-03-07 12:00:06 +0000 UTCRandall had always lived an ordinary life, but that changed the night he was abducted. He awoke in an unfamiliar room, his body restrained. A woman named Isabella stood over him, a smirk playing on her lips.
"You're going to be our newest waitress," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "And if you refuse, well... we have ways of making sure you comply."
Before he could protest, they set to work. His body was stripped bare, his skin waxed until it was soft and smooth. He gasped at the unfamiliar sensation, his chest tingling as a cool gel was applied. Moments later, he felt his skin stretch and swell—his pecs morphing into full, round breasts, weighty and sensitive. He tried to protest, but a tight corset was wrapped around his waist, forcing his figure into a delicate hourglass shape. His hips widened, his legs grew more toned, and a strange warmth filled his groin as his manhood was taken away, replaced by something far more feminine.
Randall's arms and shoulders slimmed, his fingers lengthening into delicate, graceful digits with manicured nails painted a seductive red. His face tingled as subtle changes reshaped his features—his jaw softened, his cheekbones became more prominent, and his lips plumped into a luscious pout. The sensation was overwhelming, and he gasped as his voice cracked and shifted, turning into a sultry, feminine tone.
"You're coming along beautifully," Isabella teased, running a hand along his reshaped curves. "Now, for the finishing touches."
A lace-trimmed, revealing mesh dress was slipped over his new body, clinging to his curves like a second skin. The fabric was sheer, offering tantalizing glimpses of his new form underneath. His legs were encased in sheer stockings, fastened by garters, and tall stilettos were strapped onto his feet. He could barely balance in them, but Isabella merely laughed, pressing him down into a chair as a team of stylists went to work.
Long, dark locks cascaded down his back as his hair was transformed, while expert hands painted his face into perfection—dark lashes, glossy lips, and shimmering highlights that made him look nothing like his former self. His ears were adorned with sparkling earrings, and a choker wrapped snugly around his neck, completing the sultry ensemble.
Then came the final touch. Isabella held up a small vibrator, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "This goes inside you," she announced, pushing it into him despite his protests. Randall gasped as it nestled deep within him, his new body reacting in ways he couldn't control. "If you ever stop working, hesitate, or slack off—well, let’s just say you’ll feel it."
Randall shuddered as the device settled within him, knowing escape was not an option. His new body was unbearably sensitive, and the mere thought of the vibrator activating sent shivers down his spine. He was led onto the club floor, where pulsing lights and pounding music filled the air.
"Smile, sweetheart," Isabella whispered in his ear. "You're a waitress now. Act like one."
Forced to smile and serve, he moved from table to table, swaying his hips as the crowd’s eyes drank him in. Every hesitant step, every moment of hesitation, was met with a teasing vibration inside him, making his cheeks burn with humiliation. The clients were relentless, their hands brushing against his exposed skin, their compliments laced with desire.
"Such a beautiful waitress," one murmured, slipping a bill into the strap of his dress. "I hope you're enjoying yourself."
Randall couldn't respond, his body betraying him with every teasing pulse of the device. He had no choice but to obey, to play the role he had been forced into. He bent gracefully, served drinks with a practiced smile, and endured the lingering touches that sent heat through his transformed body.
Hours passed in a blur of flashing lights, sensual music, and whispered comments in his ear. By the end of the night, he had lost all sense of himself—no longer Randall, but the perfect, obedient waitress Isabella had crafted him to be. The vibrator, now a part of his existence, was a constant reminder of his submission. And as he stood there, dressed in shimmering mesh, heels clicking on the floor, he realized there was no turning back.
