[TG Story] Title-less Contest Entry
by
ADude4Now
What does it take to bring a dude back from the dead? A chance to win $400 bucks!! Drey911 is hosting a contest, the grand prize being a 400 dollar Amazon gift card. The only rule? Feature Draven in some way. Hope you like bimbofication! Oh, and sorry about the title, but costume-themed Tgs are so played out, I could think of a way to make this one sound original. It is though! Very original! Hope you enjoy!
//——//
“What the hell, man? You’re late! And it’s a costume party! Why didn’t you dress up?” Carter asked his entirely too normal-looking friend at the door of the house party. He glared at him angrily with one eye, the other covered by an eye patch for his elaborate pirate costume.
Draven simply smiled: “Relax, man! Of course I got a costume!” Draven pointed at his red t-shirt, “I’m Thing One! From Dr. Seus!”
“That’s just a t-shirt! You wear that thing all the time!”
“Well, it’s comfortable, and it’s what I had.”
“Did you even get someone to be Thing Two?”
“That’s the genius part: I’ll find my Thing Two at this party! Chicks love dressing up as Thing One and Two! Instant conversation starter!”
Carter shook his head. “Whatever, man, it’s fucking embarrassing. I heard Trish has some game to play with the costumes, and whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll lose.”
“And I’m sure I’ll have fun, which, if you recall, is the point of a party. Not showing off stupid costumes.” And with that, Draven pushed his way past Carter and into the party.
Almost as soon as the conversation was over, Draven felt bad about it. He knew it was a costume party, and had actually planned to go all-out. Like, REALLY all-out. He’d bought a wig, razor, makeup, hip pads, a bra, panties, and finally, a full-body Samus bodysuit from overseas. He planned on being a total stranger, completely unrecognizable. But last night, when he tried it on and looked in the mirror—he wasn’t a stranger. He just saw himself in a costume, and suddenly he was certain he’d be recognized, and certain he’d be laughed at. At the last minute, he decided to switch to the stupid Thing One backup plan and threw his old costume in the trash. Well, almost all of it. One piece covertly remained, one that he couldn’t bring himself to throw away, one that he thought he could wear without anyone knowing, one that was now riding up his asscrack: a baby-blue thong, tightly hugging his curves under his jeans.
The night was going so well that Draven almost forgot about it. He talked, he laughed, he danced, he drank. Almost everyone commented on how lazy his costume was, and he held his tongue about the old one. He just had a good time. Until midnight.
All of a sudden, the music cut out and an ear-aching feedback came over the speakers. Instantly, every head turned toward the source: Trish, standing on a chair in the kitchen next to something covered in a black sheet on the counter.
“Good evening, ghouls, ghosts, goblins, and… others.” She shot a dirty glance at Draven, and he looked away in embarrassment. She had clearly put into her costume all the effort Draven had tried to, and more: her clothes screamed Victorian Era, and her skin was so pale and covered in so much blood that if she ever laid down particularly still she was indistinguishable from a corpse. Plus, her rack was on full display. Draven’s cock throbbed with a confused jealousy.
“I’m sure you have all heard that I’m planning a costume game, and I am. It’s a drinking game.” She pointed towards the black sheet, and it flew away, revealing five bottles of liquor, all green like the color of absinthe.
“The rules are simple: at the stroke of midnight, everybody takes a shot!”
If anyone was a little more sober, they might have realized that this wasn’t really a game so much as an open liquor cabinet. Then again, it’s not like the drunken crowd really minded. They passed around the bottles with surprising speed, each red solo cup getting a shot of liquor, more or less. Even Draven, in his piss-poor attempt at a costume, took part, eager to see where the game would go.
“TEN, NINE, EIGHT,” the crowd began chanting, led by Trish from the front.
“SEVEN, SIX, FIVE,” they continued. The excitement was palpable, fists shaking and drinks sloshing.
“FOUR, THREE, TWO,” they screamed. As excited as they seemed, Trish seemed even moreso, though she was holding no alcohol. Her fists clenched in anticipation and her arms squeezed in front of her chest. It’s like she’d been building to this moment for a long time.
“ONE!” She screamed, but she is alone. No one else can because their lips are to their cups.
Draven downed the shot in one gulp, expecting it to be cheap, nasty-tasting vodka dyed green. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised: it was viscous, a little salty, a little sweet, and maybe a faint taste of pineapple, and not a hint of alcohol. It was delicious. Around him, though, people were having mixed reactions
“Was that rum? With a salted rim?” Asked Carter, standing next to him.
“I don’t think so?” Replied Draven, “mine was kind of… thick.” He looked down at his cup and saw a couple stray droplets and, to his surprise, they were white.
“What the hell?” Carter said, looking over Draven’s shoulder, “mine’s different!” Draven looked over and, sure enough, the liquid in Carter’s cup was brown, and salt crystals lined the inside.
“Hey, guys,” a guy dressed as a firefighter chimed in, “did yours taste like ash?”
“No?” responded Draven
“What the hell is going on?” The firefighter demanded, his voice now rough and gravely, like he smoked.
“I think everyone’s tasted different,” Draven said before looking at his friend in shock: “Did you grow a beard for that costume?”
“What? No, it’s just grease paint,” Carter responded, putting a hand to his chin before his eyes went wide with shock, saying “What the fuck?”
He ran to the bathroom, but all around, similar confusion abounded, and within moments, the whole house had erupted in chaos.
Somehow, though, Draven kept his cool. He reasoned that there must have been some sort of hallucinogen in the booze, so he took a few steps to the couch to try to sit down, breathing deep and trying to enjoy the high. But as he walked, it became harder and harder, like he was swimming through molasses. His muscles seemed to be straining with all their might just to move his limbs normally, cramping and shaking as if it was a herculean task. He hadn’t made it halfway to the couch before he gave up and sat on the floor, breathing deeply as his muscles, unknown to him, melted until they were svelte and petite, hardly noticeable at all. That was the source of the difficulty: his new muscles, what little there was, were simply not up to the task of moving Draven’s body. So he sat, dainty and weak, on the floor.
“Well this is pathetic,” Trish practically spat at the man. She was walking around the room, inspecting the chaos her game had wreaked, and now she was standing over Draven’s collapsed body.
“What?” Draven asked back defensively.
“Your costume,” she kicked at his limp form on the floor, “honestly, you deserve what’s coming to you.”
Draven thought the remark sent a shiver down his spine, but really, it was something else: his back was compressing. One by one, each vertebra popped, painfully curving Draven’s spine to push out his chest, while robbing him of height. At the same time, a profound itchiness took over Draven’s scalp, causing his choppy, slightly messy brown hair to grow, and grow, and grow.
Within moments it intruded on Draven’s field of view: lochs and lochs of wavy hair, cascading down to his neck, his shoulders, his back, silky-smooth and dark brunette. He raised a shaky hand to touch it, to confirm it was his, only to find the hand fingers uncontrollably. He only barely managed to run them through his gorgeous hair as they shank, softer and slimmer, while his nails grew into long glossy tips and most of the hair in his body fell out, leaving only a slight bush around his crotch.
“Well now, that’s curious,” Trish commented, more to herself than anything, “That hair isn’t particularly “Thing One.”
“What was in those dri—!?” Draven tried to shout at her, but before he could get it all out, he wheezed, as if he was going to puke, but he wasn’t: he was simply winded, the compression of his ribs and torso practically strangling him from the inside. His abdominals shrank to match, his core sucking in until it was almost big enough for Draven to put his hands around. Well, not anymore; his hands had shrunk significantly. Now, he’d need someone with bigger hands, a man, with big, strong hands to gently hold and caress his delicate body—maybe that pirate over there?—wait, what? Where did that come from? And isn’t that Carter? Why is he so… buff? And handsome? Draven wheezed for breath, confused thoughts swirling around in his mind, hardly even noticing as his hips cracked wider than his shoulders ever were, augmented by the cascade of fat that flooded into his sides, pushing them even wider until his jeans were on the brink of ripping off.
Draven winced as Trish ran her hands along the strained seam, tracing his broad hips in disbelief. She clicked her tongue as her fingers sank into the soft flesh around his pelvis.
“What the hell is happening to you?” She asked, again to no one in particular.
“You spiked the drinks, you tell me!” Draven yelled back.
“The drink was a potion I learned from my aunt,” she explained calmly, “it turns participants into real life versions of their costumes.”
Suddenly, Draven’s eyes went wide as silver dollars.
“No. Nonono. That—that can’t be—” Draven whimpered, cut off by a strange pressure in his ass that confirms all his worst fears. Encouraged by his gorgeous hips, the skin began to stretch as fat accumulated in his buttocks in a slow, rolling ripple, like waves at the beach. Within seconds, it was a bubble butt, cradled by his more-than-skintight jeans. Draven bit his lip, trying to supress a moan as his now incredibly right panties give him the most pleasurable wedgie of his life.
“F-fuck…” Draven managed to gasp, fumbling at the button of the jeans to release just the tiniest bit of pressure. But he was too slow. All at once, the sheer mass of his huge ass proved to be too much for his Levi’s denim, busting every seam so that he lay half-naked on the cold floor, exposing his booty, his erect cock, and most importantly, his sky-blue panties.
Trish smiled smugly, giggling: “Yup, that would do it.”
“Don’t just stand there! Give me the antidote or… something!” Draven begged, but Trish just watched his ass jiggle as her broad hips swayed side to side.
“Hon, it’s not a poison. It’s a potion. There is no antidote. But if you ask me…” she squatted next to the writhing figure on the floor, “this is what you wanted all along.” With that, she slapped Draven’s fat ass, prompting a yelp, and walked away. Draven might’ve thought of something more to say if just then his his thighs didn’t begin to soften into a thick layer of fat until they were the texture of soft serve, and then tremble as more unctuous flesh rushed in to help. Clutching his thighs in shock with his dainty hands, he could do nothing but watch as they sank into pillowy flesh, the thighs growing wider than his head. It wasn’t long before they began to run against each other and, critically, his member in between the two. He could hardly move without making the cock throb with pleaasure, the pillowy flesh and skin simply a divine combination, but as much as he enjoyed it, he knew in the back of his mind that something was deeply wrong, and as he felt his heavenly lower half jiggle as it became perfectly robbed and heart-shaped, supported by juicy, tree-trunk like thighs almost as grand as the pillars in the Parthenon, he couldn’t help but think that the part of him that was in the wrong, was his dick.
For a moment, Draven simply laid on the floor, panting. Apparently, the transformation had lulled, and so he allowed himself to take stock:
“Well, the hair is definitely new,” he said, not even noticing that his voice had taken a higher, almost valley-girl inflection.
“And the, uhm, butt…” she trailed off, “that has to be new, right?” But as she said it, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“But, like, I remember going to the gym, and I definitely didn’t go to get these noodles,” she reasoned, gesturing to her lithe arms.
“What about the, uh, nails?” He continued, but as he tried to scan his memory, all he found was a soup of things he wasn’t even sure he’d done. A shopping trip to the H&M? Seems reasonable. What about that trip to the mani/pedi place that afternoon? He inspected his nails and, finding them to be perfectly trimmed and painted, as always, she had to assume that that was a real memory, too. He didn’t even notice his feet crunching a few sizes smaller with perfectly pedicured toes. What about making out with Carter during their freshman year dance, did that happen? Makes sense, he knew he and Carter went together—but no! He and Carter were just friends! That sexy-looking pirate looking lustfully at Draven’s booty with his one good eye would never make out with him. It was Craig, the firefighter, that kissed him, and when they did it tasted like ash. Delicious. He smiled in snug satisfaction, knowing he’d beaten the swirling influx of memories
“Well done, Danny,” he congratulated himself, not even remembering his own name, “you beat the magic.”
There wasn’t long to celebrate, though. All around him, people’s changes seemed to be wrapping up: Carter was limping around with a peg leg, an angel was experimenting with trying to fly with her comically small but now very real wings, and one poor couple who had dressed as ketchup and mustard stood on the kitchen table, lifeless. Danny’s change, though, was still going, particularly in one area that he had a lot of anticipation for: his chest.
“Here….we…goooo!” He gasped between ragged breaths as his ches pulsed with the power of the potion. Eagerly, he ripped off his shirt and looked down, seeing his nipples hard and perky and his areolas double their normal size. Fat that had once filled his thighs and ass began to flow into his chest, accumulating under his nipples and pushing them out into budding semispheres. “Yesss…!” was the sound of his exhilaration as he cupped his expanding tits, feeling his puffy nipples poke against his soft palms as layers upon layers of fat built up inside. Danny could see the left one pulse as his heart rate quickened, moaning loudly as they grew full and weighty.
“Mmmmm,” someone purred, “that’s what we like to see.” Danny looked over and saw two figures, a man and a woman, approaching her, each covered in red pain—no, red skin. Each sported a pair of small horns and a long tail that swished seductively as they walked, and when they talked, a forked tongue flicked out of each mouth. They felt no need for more words as the man grabbed Daniel’s chin with a single strong hand and locked lips with her, his forked tongue exploring her mouth while his partner expertly navigated Danny’s ballooning tits with her own tongue. Despite the conflicting imagery, Danny knew: this was his heaven.
“Begone, demon! The power of Christ compels you!” A voice shouted over their collective moans and gasps. Instantly, the demons recoiled as if physically struck, and Danni could see the source of the voice.
“What’s you do that for? I was having fun!” Danni asked defensively.
“They’re succubi, or at least they think they are, so basically I was saving your—Hey! Stop looking at my chest!” Admittedly, Danni had been staring, perhaps even more than he had when he was fully a man, but it was no longer out of lust; it was jealousy. Compared to Trish’s massive E-cups, his breasts that had stopped at B’s were pathetic. Silently, he consoled himself by reminding himself that his booty was ten times the butt that Trish’s was as she continued talking:
“Look, your transformation was a little more extreme than the others, so you need a little extra push. If you want to finish this, drink this.”
Trish handed him a shot glass full of the same green liquid as before.
“And by ‘finish,’ you mean…” Danni trailed off, featuring to his crotch. He had no reason to mince words; his cock was still hanging out between his heavenly thighs, plain as day.
“Yeah. It’ll get rid of that. It might even fill out your tits a little.”
Danni took no more convincing. He grabbed the shot from Trish’s hand and downed it expertly, finding that it tasted the same as last time—salty, a little sweet, viscous—but now, somewhere in his new memories, he recognized the taste: cum. And he loved it.
Danni stood in the middle of the living room, naked except for his sky-blue panties, squeezing his breasts in his hands and positively throbbing with anticipation. Eagerly, he scanned his body for any sign of change as Trish watched, almost equally excited, until finally an intense heat began to build on his crotch. His dick and his nipples grew hard almost in unison as his cheeks burned with arousal.
“Here… we… go,” Danni managed to mutter as he just barely caught a glimpse of his own cock poking out from under his breasts.
Moans and expletives flowed out of his mouth like water as he instinctively stroked his dick with the slender fingers he’d recently acquired. Just touching a cock made his mouth water as some sort of muscle memory kicked in, his hand pumping and massaging the shaft just like so many masturbation sessions he could no longer remember. But they were mixed with something new: a teasing, feminine coyness, telling him exactly where and how to touch to turn a moment of pleasure into an eternity of ecstasy. Tragically, though, that eternity came to an end as Danielle’s panting, quivering body finally gave in, his knees growing weak as cum sprayed out onto the floor, every squirt ejecting more of his old life as his eyes rolled back in bliss. He was still reeling as her empty balls slurped into her crotch to become ovaries and his shaft shriveled up and fell off, leaving behind a tight slit.
“Mhmmm… my cunt…” Danielle moaned, massaging the new pink folds blossoming out, her juices already dripping down her thigh.
“I’m… gonna go,” Trish excused herself, clearly uncomfortable with Danielle’s exploration of her new womanhood. Danielle, for her part, didn’t even notice as she left; she was knuckle-deep in her own snatch. Soon, she had found the clit and began to rub, her knees buckling dangerously as she pushed deeper, exploring anatomy that she didn’t even know women had mere minutes ago. But as intoxicating as this was, it was no substitute for the real thing—she needed some dick, asap.
As she pulled the fingers out of her tight pussy, she didn’t even notice her jawline softening and cheekbones popping higher. She walked—no, strutted, to the nearest man that might satisfy her itch: a pirate that she thought she should recognize, but didn’t.
“You. Me. Master bedroom. Anal. Five minutes.” It wasn’t a request, it was a command.
“Aye, ye are a feisty lass, ain’t ye?” He responded. The pirate shtick would get annoying, but he was hot.
“If you, like, say another word I’ll find someone else. Understood?” It was getting harder to think; her voice was beginning to sound vapid and she was starting to use fillers unconsciously. But then again, she didn’t really mind.
“Aye aye, miss,” the pirate reported dutifully, raising his hand in a salute before turning on his peg leg and making for the bedroom. Danielle turned to a firefighter standing nearby.
“And you. You, like, want some oral?”
“Oh, I don’t know… I’m on-call right now…”
“Like, pretty please? I’ll make it worth your while…” Danielle batted her eyelashes expertly, as if she’d done it a hundred times before, and as she did they grew long and full.
“Well, I suppose I can make time…” he practically ran to the bedroom, following the pirate.
“And then there was one,” an angel standing nearby chimed in. Finally, some foreplay! She cuddled up close to him as layers of makeup dusted themselves onto her face and he hugged her body close, first with his muscular arms and then with his surprisingly large wings. As short as she was, Danielle’s head leaned against his toned pec.
“Are those real?” She asked about his wings, but her finger was tracing the nipple that poked out of his white tank top. The angel said nothing. He simply flexed his pecs one by one, causing them to pop and eliciting a ditzy giggle from Danielle.
“You, like, get the grand prize,” she giggled, “now come on. We don’t, like, want to keep the others waiting…”
Even as they walked, her skin tanned and the last of her pubic hair disappeared as if it was waxed off. The angel furrowed his brow in confusion as he watched the girl in his arm’s hair slowly bleach itself blonde, from the roots to the tips, until it looked completely normal.
“Hey, uh, babe? Were you always blonde?”
He asked. Danielle looked at him like he was stupid.
“Do you even really care?” She cooed, feeling his abs. As she spoke, her makeup became thick, and her already plump lips inflated like bicycle tires until they were impossibly full and bright pink.
“You know what? Not really,” the angel said, kissing her new lips.
“Like, that’s what I thought,” she chided back. Idly, she wondered where she got her knack for seduction. Her job as a stripper? An escort? Her mind was foggy as new memories flooded in. No, those jobs had no opportunity for teasing, no small talk, no foreplay. No, she learned this as her current profession: a sugar baby. A professional whore. She smiled at the memory of her daddy, probably fast asleep somewhere, completely oblivious to what she was doing.
“Hey, babe, let’s go,” the angel said, pushing his body against hers to move her forward. In her daydreaming, she’d stopped moving towards the bedroom.
“Of course,” she said, smiling to herself, “the others are waiting.” The mere thought of getting dicked down by three men at once ignited a fire in her crotch that was impossible to ignore. The angel squeezed a breast, eager to get her motor going, and beneath his strong hand the pair swelled into hefty D cups. The angel knew better than to question it. Instead, he simply opened the bedroom door for Danielle, revealing the two mostly-naked men inside.
“Cmon, babe, don’t be shy” the angel whispered in her ear, his warm breath against her neck, his toned body and strong arms around her torso. She could feel some wetness dripping from her new pussy. She always was a sucker for foreplay.
“Alright. Let’s, like, give ‘em a show!”
//——//
“Draven? Draven, where are you?” Trish shouted. It was six am, and more or less all the various creatures had found their ways back to their houses. The sun would be up momentarily, and a single ray would turn them back to their normal selves—most of them. Draven, having taken two shots, wouldn’t be changing back, but she figured he’d prefer it that way, anyway.
“I’m, like, right here, you uppity bitch!” A shrill voice echoed from the dining room. Trish followed it and found Danielle, sitting on the table.
“I found this dress in one of the closets, hope you don’t mind,” she said, pausing to take a swig from the beer she held daintily between her manicured fingers, “like, you shouldn’t; it looks better on me anyway.”
“Draven, you look—“
“Fuckin hot?”
“—like a whore!”
“Like, what did you expect?”
“You were dressed as a normal woman! You should’ve turned out …normal!”
Danielle looked at her like she was stupid.
“Do you, like, even remember what I was wearing when you gave me that second shot? Nothing but a pair of panties! That’s not, like, what ‘normal women’ wear at parties. I was dressed like a total slut!
“… so you turned into a slut?”
“Like, the biggest one you know!” She took another swig and raised her arms in a victory cheer, her massive tits almost spilling out of the much-too-small dress. “Now, like, c’mere. I haven’t had sex with a woman yet, and I want to see if I’m bi.”
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