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This is the first of a series of stories following the continuity of the Tiresias stories. The Fantastic Four and all other characters involved are property of the Marvel Comics company. Well, here goes nothing. The following story contains characters owned by DC Comics/Warner Bros. It is written as a fanfic parody story not intended to make any use of actual story lines in published books. The story is purely for fun, with no profit to be made by the author.
Ben Grimm pressed his trench coat tight about him. As he walked through the streets, people may have stared, or whispered, or waved slightly, but nobody ever said 'Hello'. It was simple, and may have seemed small compared to 'Hey big guy!' or 'You rock Thing! Get it? Rock!' but he missed it all the same. Shaking it off, he looked at the paper in his hands to remind him of his important mission.
"Eggs, milk, some Tylenol...aww Stretcho, why didja hafta go off on some dimension exploring without me, and leave me to do all the hard stuff?" Thing muttered to himself. Reed (Mr. Fantastic), Sue (the Invisible Woman), and Johnny (the Human Torch) had all entered a portal earlier that was being explored to see its potential as a storage place.
"I hate grocery shopping. I'd prefer Doom to having to sort through all these coupons Sue gave me. Ah, great, it's starting to rain. Wait a sec, there ain't a cloud in a..." Ben said as he looked up into a huge red water balloon smacking him in the kisser, drenching him.
"Hey look, its Shopping Fun Freak!" one of the young boys said from across the road as traffic flew by. All of his companions laughed derisively.
The following story contains characters owned by DC Comics/Warner Bros. It is written as a fanfic parody story not intended to make any use of actual story lines in published books. The story is purely for fun, with no profit to be made by the author.
I thought I was going to get away with being an avid spectator on this story binge, but the bug bit, so to speak. I thought to myself, 'How am I going to do this, and do it right?'
Then I just threw caution to the wind and let my fingers do their thing!SZ
I usually get most of my stories on Fictionmania from the list traffic. I go to the site about once every couple of days to check on what has been added to the archive recently, and often find some real gems that I'd bet a lot of readers who just read list stories never see. Usually the first thing I do when the site comes up is to go to my own file of stories and see if anybody has left any comments recently. I like to thank those who left them, or comment on replies if such is warranted.
Even though I knew it was probably going to be Morpheus or Eric who would be the lucky author of the fabled 2000th story, and that it was due to happen any day, I still checked on my most recent stories first, then went back to older ones. Sure enough, somebody had read one of my earliest stories about Lois Lane becoming Catwoman and turning her husband Clark, otherwise known as Superman, into her super powered female kitten. It was a bit of a surprise that they actually liked it! I hadn't looked at the story myself in nearly a year, so I pulled it up and reread it. Hell, if nothing else, I'd be adding to the hit counts on my story!
As I read, I wished that I'd had the skills I now had when I wrote it. I saw so many ways that improvements could be made that I studied it all that much harder. That way, if I went back to my own filed copy, I'd be able to work on it later. I had all the images and plot lines pretty well embedded in my mind.
The following story contains characters owned by DC Comics/Warner Bros. It is written as a fanfic parody story not intended to make any use of actual story lines in published books. The story is purely for fun, with no profit to be made by the author.
Catwoman had been exploring an old abandoned grotto in search of hidden loot when she came upon what appeared to be a long unused complex of rooms and offices. Further inspection showed that the facility had once been used by one of the most notorious criminal scientists of the immediate post-WWII period. His disappearance was one of the unsolved riddles of crime fighting, which had even great detectives like Batman completely puzzled. As Catwoman scrounged her way through the facility, she came upon what she thought might be the answer to the old question.
In one of the larger cave/offices, she found a large, intricate machine, the purpose of which was unknown to her at first. Carefully blowing dust off the desktop, Catwoman found notes describing the Psyche Exchange Device, and instructions on how to operate it. Seeing a collapsed skeleton against one of the walls, which just happened to be clad in a laboratory smock, she smiled and said, "I'll bet that somewhere around here is the remains of a rat or other cave creature that died with an IQ of 185 or so!" Just then a thought came to her. 'I'll bet even money that I could use this machine to get out of all my problems...'
Catwoman had disassembled the PED and taken it to an abandoned warehouse. In the first part of her master plan, she put up a false ceiling in one of the larger rooms of the warehouse, then reassembled the PED in the gap above this false ceiling. The second part of her plan was the construction of an X-frame in the office below the PED. Clasps were installed in the extremities of each arm of the X. The next part of Catwoman's plan was more fun, as far as she was concerned.
SUMMARY: Getting a mysterious pair of magical shoes in the mail, a cross dresser has a field day as he realizes that the shoes will turn him into the feminine version of what ever male clothes he chooses to wear.
Steve sighed and pushed away from his computer. Climbing to his feet, the man rose to his full - if not exactly impressive - height, and stretched to work the kinks out. After hours at the computer, many parts ached slightly...
...including his eyes. Removing his glasses, Steve rubbed wearily at the bridge of his nose before returning the glasses to the small crease that they'd created over the years. Scratching at his military-style crew-cut, Steve ambled toward the small 'efficiency' kitchen his reasonably-priced apartment 'boasted'.
The knock on his door changed his direction. As he approached the door, he hoped it wasn't another one of those damned Jehovah's Witnesses. Not that he had anything in particular against any given religion, mind you - but those smarmy oh-so-polite Witnesses were a little too invasive for Steve's taste. He preferred his religion in the churches, where it belonged - not coming to the front door.
Opening the door, Steve was relieved to discover that this wasn't the case - the man outside the door was dressed in the familiar brown uniform and carried a small parcel.
"Mr. Zank?" the man asked, holding up the clipboard he carried.
I am now making all my money strictly from forcing lowly slaves to grovel at my feet. I'll take anyone into my dungeon, be they male or female, but it is fellow crossdressers that I prefer to humble the most. Yes, that is right. I said fellow crossdressers. What? You don't think your Mistress is really a male, and not the beautifully vicious vixen you're viewing? Let me tell you my story...
I had been a crossdresser for all of my adult life, having started while puberty was just making its first changes. For all I know, it may have been a slight variation in hormones that made me go from a boy to a man who loved looking like a woman. I usually just dressed at home to excite myself, but occasionally I would go to a dominatrix who would make me change while degrading me for being such a sissy. I don't know why I was so willing to give my money to someone who was only making me think of myself as a baseless fool. That is probably part of the whole background of myself and many other TV's. We just feel a need to be degraded.
Two years ago at this time, just before Halloween, I was getting the usual yearly longings to join in all the costuming and let my feminine side stand out. Well, at the parties, anyway. I still wouldn't dream of dressing in public for all the world to see. I did get the urge to visit another dom, though, and started looking through the ads that were in the back of one of the CD newspapers. One ad in particular caught my eye, because I had a fetish for high heeled boots. Mistress Monique said in her ad that she could turn any slave into a whimpering whore. It was her picture that really got me. She was dressed from head to toe in glossy black vinyl, with thigh high boots that had impossibly high heels. I noted the phone number, and later that day, made an appointment that would forever change my life.
Steve Zink Stories 
