Prize or Penalty Ch. 03: Back for More

"Are you ready?" the voice in my ear asks, even as I ask Ellie the same. She nods, her expression etched with fear and uncertainty.

"It's not too late to back out," I reassure her.

"Oh God, please don't," the voice says. Sarah is the show's director, and co-conspirator in tonight's mischief.

I can't help feeling a little guilty that I'm putting Ellie through this. Even though I've given her plenty of opportunities to back out, her determination to stay by my side is both romantically endearing and utter folly. "No," she says, calming her nerves with an effort of will. "Let's do this."

I blow her a kiss. If I weren't so worried about my make-up, and hers, I would kiss her for real.

On the screen, the current round of Prize Or Penalty is nearing its end. Today it's a rare celebrity special, the prize money going to charities nominated by the studio audience. The only thing contestants get out of it, apart from random mutations, is exposure - of both kinds.

Skin - and media. There's never a shortage of low-grade celebrities (usually former soap stars and ex-reality-TV contestants) desperate for the spotlight.

The format of Celebrity Prize Or Penalty is different, however. The early general knowledge rounds are skipped and contestants just play the famous final round itself, starting with ten pieces of clothing and continuing until all five prizes are won.

But also, two contestants play at once, the stage laid out with two rows of golden boxes. Usually, like now, there's a man and a woman. Both are naked, and both have opened all five prizes - and suffered two or three penalties along the way. Eddie Cochran (not the singer) sports huge nipples, almost as big as mine, and fluorescent pink pouting lips. Izzy 'Dizzy' Jones has earned herself a pair of supersized breasts that make mine look positively normal.

They leave the stage to cheers from the audience. Another ten million will be going to charity - a generosity that keeps the regulator quiet on the ethical violations of mutating people for public entertainment.

"Two minutes," Sarah says.

Just enough time, in other words, for me to remove my nipple shields and ease the gold buttplug from my ass.

A quiet drum roll begins. "Only twice in the history of Prize Or Penalty has a contestant opened all five penalties," Charlie says. "I'm sure you remember them - two gorgeous girls - please give a warm welcome to our final celebrity contestants, Victoria and Ellie!"

Ellie and I are celebrities purely on the basis of this show. The number of appearances on morning television we've had since then to talk about our lives 'post-PoP' is quite astonishing. Especially me, since Ellie is still shy about her beautiful tail, and neither of us minds me doing naked shoots for magazine spreads. (Not when we burned through Ellie's prize money so quickly, although we did get a lovely house out of it.)

We wave excitedly to the audience as we cross the stage. Although she has grown more confident over the months at walking in high-heeled stilettos, they do inevitably make her look like a stripper on her day off. Of course, when she's naked, she looks even more like a stripper, and I don't complain at all...

For now, though, we're both in high heels, blue button-up shirts and black skirts, but while I am a busty blonde with a daringly short skirt, Ellie is a petite brunette with a long, severe skirt. Before Prize Or Penalty changed her life, she seldom wore skirts at all, and never wore high heels, but I must say I like the new her.

"Welcome, Ladies," Charlie says. "May I say you both look irresistible." On cue, Ellie's face scrunches up and she clutches hold of me for support as she almost loses her balance. As a murmur of laughter ripples through the audience, Ellie's face turns bright red. She hates when anyone other than me does that to her. If we hadn't both expected it, I would have been furious. As it is, it just makes me more determined to go through with it.

"Not only are you the only contestants to get five penalties," Charlie continues, "but I believe you're the first contestants ever to play the game twice. Are you so sure your luck will be better this time?"

"No, Charlie," I say, "but we're sharing the risks and rewards tonight. Ten items of clothing between us, and we'll be taking turns to open the boxes."

Charlie's smile falters. "Is that allowed?" he asks quietly.

"Yes, Charlie," I hear Sarah say. "The girls get to nominate another celebrity to play opposite them."

This is not at all in the script, but Charlie recovers swiftly. To the audience he says, "It's not just these gorgeous girls who will be opening boxes." The stage lighting reveals the two sets of boxes behind him. "But who is our mystery guest? Ladies and Gentlemen, even I don't know..."

"It's you, Charlie," Ellie announces loudly, and the audience cheers loudly as Charlie's smile fades into fear.

"I'm not doing this," he hisses into his mike.

"Of course we can't force you, Charlie," Sarah says. "But given the damage it will do to the show, you won't get your bonus if you don't."

The bonus is the major part of his agreed salary. Almost as bad as losing that, I imagine, would be disappointing the crowd. They will see him as a coward if he refuses now. "Fine," he mutters through clenched teeth. Grinning abruptly at the audience, he says, "Well, I'm not a real celebrity, but it's all in a good cause. I'll play."

I cheer along with the audience. "Ten items of clothing, Charlie," I say, and Ellie joins in as I shout: "I don't know, but I think we're -"

The audience completed it: "- overdressed!" Laughter gave way to the ritual chant: "Strip! Strip! Strip!"

Around us, crew members arrange two seats on the right for Ellie and me, and one seat on the left for Charlie. Ellie and I perch ourselves on our seats, and a camera zooms in as I reach beneath my shirt to remove my large pink bra; without my nipple shields, the bra is torture. Another stays focussed on Charlie as he stands looking down at himself uncertainly. "I only have seven items," he says.

"Here, Charlie," Ellie says. "Have my stockings." She throws them to him.

"And mine," I add, laughing. "This too." My bra sails through the air to him.

The audience roars with laughter as Charlie finds himself holding our underwear. Normally this would be the perfect opportunity for him to make some lewd remark to embarrass the contestants, but this time he is the contestant. He bows to conceal his own embarrassment, and says merely, "Thank you, Ladies." Then his devilish grin returns. "Allow me to be a gentleman and insist that you go first. To open a box, you must surrender an item of clothing."

"Yes, Charlie," I say, quickly unbuttoning my shirt to reveal my Prize Or Penalty T-shirt stretched tight by my large breasts, my nipples making sharp points in the fabric. "Number Seven, Charlie. My lucky number..."

He brings the box and opens it to reveal a test tube with dark blue liquid. Despite my determination to risk it, I hesitate a moment before drinking - but only a moment. It tastes like lemon juice. With a defiantly cheerful grin, I open the envelope. "Yes!" I scream, showing the card to the camera for a brief instant before wrapping my arms about Ellie and kissing her hungrily, uncaring about the make-up I was probably ruining. The evening's first prize was won. "Your turn, Charlie!" I cry. "Go take your seat, and I'll be over in a minute." I turn back to my girlfriend and we kiss again, briefly, conscious of the cameras circling around us.

Charlie's smile looks fragile as he takes his seat as a contestant and I take over the role of host. No doubt it's only the thought of the bonus he will earn after tonight that keeps him from bolting. "Well, Charlie?" I ask. "Have you selected an item of clothing?"

With a deliberate smirk, he hands me my own bra. "Oh, Charlie," I say, holding it against his chest, "you would look so pretty in pink... Have you chosen a number?"

"Seven," he says, unable to hold back a snarl. Seven worked for me, maybe it will work for him. I know I'll be thoroughly upset if he gets all five prizes and no unpleasant penalties.

For the first time in his life, he is the one drinking the liquid. Despite his confident grin and practised charm, his hand trembles as he lifts the test tube of clear liquid to his lips and drinks it down bravely.

"Well, Charlie? Shall we find out?"

He takes the card from the envelope - and blinks, surprised but not unhappy. Smiling with relief, he shows it to the camera: "Stallion Length".

The audience murmurs, perhaps enviously, and Charlie shuffles a little awkwardly in his seat, the mutation already in progress. "Ooh," I say. "At least you won't need to worry about that any more."

*

"Are we seriously planning on doing this?" Ellie asked me, at least a dozen times.

"It's in a noble cause," I would say.

"Great for the charities, but what about us? What if I get something worse than a tail?"

"But I love your tail!" And I do. In the months since her appearance on Prize Or Penalty, it has grown into a long, dark horse's tail that I can hardly keep my hands off.

"Or what if you get a chastity belt too?"

I shrugged. "I can live without orgasms, just so long as I can have something filling me. It's the emptiness that drives me nuts. But the point is, I can live with the penalties, and so can you. The question is: Can Charlie? It's time he got a dose of his own medicine."

Ellie sighed. "He's just the face of Prize Or Penalty. Even if he goes, they'll find someone else to present it."

"Not easily, if they know there's a chance they'll end up as contestants too."

*

The next four boxes are all prizes - which is a relief when it's Ellie and me, and irritating when it's Charlie. I want to see him squirm, not gloat. Ellie surrenders her blue shirt to reveal a T-shirt that matches mine, choosing Number Five; and I ignore my suffering nipples and surrender my pink knickers for Number One. Charlie surrenders the stockings we gave him, finding prizes in Numbers Two and Nine, and is left now with only his own clothes.

But it's Ellie's turn again. "Number Six, please, Charlie," she says, handing over her T-shirt and revealing her black lace bra to the world.

It's a penalty: "Purr-fect Pet". Ellie frowns as she shows it to the camera. It's not one I've heard about either, but I must admit it sounds interesting.

Charlie chuckles. "I bet you're quite the animal in bed," he says to her, and she glares coldly at his back as he returns to his seat. Removing his jacket with casual indifference, he hands it to me. "Number One, please, Victoria."

This time the colour drains from his face as studies the card. With great reluctance, he shows it to the camera: "Cum Slut".

The sound of my laughter is drowned out by the roar from the audience. This is always a popular penalty, despite the lack of any visible evidence. It makes the smell of cum into an aphrodisiac, causing not only arousal but a lowering of inhibitions. Past victims of this penalty say that eventually even just thinking about the smell of cum can trigger the effects.

Charlie actually looks sick. "Rather you than me," I commiserate.

And then it's me, and I can no longer endure the coarse fabric of my T-shirt. Off it comes, exposing my bare, beautiful breasts to the public, my thick nipples jutting out almost angrily. The temptation to take them between my fingers and crush them is almost irresistible. "Ten, please, Charlie."

It's a thick white liquid that resembles male cum, but fortunately for both Charlie and me it smells of pineapple. The look of alarm on his face when he opened the box for me was priceless, however. I wink at him as I wait for the last drop of it to fall into my mouth. Then I open the envelope, and, "Sh-"

I catch myself mid-swear. It's not exactly a bad penalty, but it's bloody inconvenient. I show it to the camera: "Dripping Wet".

Charlie snorts with laughter, my discomfort cheering him up no end. I'm already wet from the excitement of the show, but it's about to get a whole lot worse.

"Your turn," I say, and wave him back to the chair, following swiftly after.

"Number Ten for me too, Victoria," he says, still grinning as he hands me his shoes. And it's another penalty. Not so bad as before, clearly, but he winces as reads the card before showing it: "Base Balls".

"Wow," I say. "If you can manage to suck your own cock, you'll be set for life!" I give the audience a sly wink this time, and get a surge of laughter in response. (I try not to react as a trickle of liquid runs down my inner thigh, to below the hemline of my skirt. I won't be able to hide it for much longer, though.)

At halfway through the round, Ellie and I still have two prizes still to find, and Charlie still has three. Ellie joins me in baring her breasts, giving her bra to Charlie in exchange for Number 2. One test tube of yellow stuff later and she's staring at her card in shock. "Um," she says, and shows it reluctantly: "Leopard Skin".

Even I can't help laughing at that. Leopard Skin is one fashion Ellie wouldn't be caught dead in. In fact, she won't even let me wear leopard skin. She says it's tacky. "Um," she says again, and studies her arms worriedly.

"Mmm," Charlie says, "a real animal..."

The next two boxes - both Number Four - are both prizes. Charlie hands me his socks, and I give him my skirt, leaving me wearing nothing but a garter belt that conceals absolutely nothing. My thighs are now so wet they gleam in the stage lighting, and I'm almost tempted to part them for the cameras.

And the following two boxes - both Number Eight - are both penalties. In exchange for his shirt, Charlie gets "Man Boobs". It has the audience and Ellie and me all in hysterics. Sarah, the director, is laughing too. "Marvellous," she says. "Cum Slut and Man Boobs. It's just perfect."

Charlie glowers at me murderously, as if this is all my fault - which I suppose it is. Sarah and I dreamed up this very special celebrity show. We've become good friends during the year since I played Prize Or Penalty, and she has plenty of reasons to dislike Charlie. Apparently he is as much of an ass off-screen as he can be on-screen.

I stare at his chest, trying to discern the outline of his growing breasts through his vest, but I think I'm just imagining it.

Ellie removes her skirt to reveal a garter belt that matches mine, but the cameras and audience are far more interested in finally getting a look at her tail. It's long like a horse's, dark and glossy, and twitches nervously. And although it's still subtle, there is a pattern developing on her skin as if she has been kissed all over.

Her penalty makes her laugh: "Fit Clit".

*

Fit Clit has tormented many previous winners, being effectively the same as the Chastity Belt - except that jogging causes arousal and eventually orgasm. There are plenty of clips on Youtube of Fit-Clit women out for a morning run and suddenly leaning against a wall, shuddering in violent ecstasy.

For Ellie, already a victim of the Chastity Belt, Fit Clit is effectively a reprieve. In the future, she will start her day with a run in the park, necessarily wearing high-heeled running shoes. People will stare openly in amazement at this Leopard-Skinned woman with her magnificent tail. They will surreptitiously film her with their phones and upload the clips to porn sites.

And I will be more in love with her every day.

*

Charlie opts to remove his trousers rather than his vest. There is a definite outline of breasts now, and a very definite bulge in his boxers. He breathes a sigh of relief at finding another prize in Number Three.

And then it's my final box! My garter belt for Number Nine. I almost feel sorry for Charlie. He looks so miserable now, and can't even summon the enthusiasm to say something mean to me as I swallow the bitter black liquid and open the envelope. It's a fifty-fifty chance, prize or penalty, and I find I want it to be the latter. Ellie has already had three penalties and it would be unfair for her to get a fourth.

A penalty... I sigh with relief, even as the words on the card send a thrill of fear through me. I feel myself blushing as I show it to the camera: "Supremely Spankable".

"Yes!" Ellie cries, though whether with relief that she is not the one who will soon crave a good spanking, or with excitement at being the one who will administer it, is unclear. I stick my tongue out at her, and laughter ripples through the audience.

Relieved that it's almost over, I'm back on my feet again, ready to demand another number and another item of clothing. I'm so wet I'm literally dripping. One of the cameras even does a close-up of my pussy, a long strand of glistening lubricant swinging between my thighs, and I'm struck suddenly by the thought of my family watching this on television. ("Tasty," Sarah murmurs in my ear. "You look so fuckable right now.")

I certainly am.

Charlie's down to two boxes. Reluctantly, he removes his vest to reveal a nice - if incongruous - pair of breasts. A cup, maybe. I hope they get a lot bigger. "Five, please, Victoria."

It's the final penalty. He looks crushed. The card reads, "Horny Satyr". It's a new one on me, but I'm not surprised to see the bulge in his boxers become a sharp tent as he walks over to get Ellie's final box for her.

The leopard-skin pattern is really developing now. Her chest and face are growing pale while the rest of her is turning a warm gold, and everywhere seems to have been kissed by black lips. It's quite stunning.

"Number One, Charlie, please," she says, throwing him her garter belt. It's a prize, of course, the fifth and final. I'm startled to hear Ellie purring like a giant cat as I kiss her.

There's only one box left. I'm not conscious of rubbing my cheeks until a camera zooms in on my rear. Damn, but I really could use a spanking. That would feel so good right now.

"Well, Charlie?" I ask. "Shall we finish this?" Already he's up another cup size.

He nods wearily and tugs his boxers down to his ankles. The longest cock I've ever seen springs out, atop two huge balls. He's erect, too, and leaking precum. It's the very picture of masculine virility, but framed by those sweet, feminine breasts.

With a profound sigh of relief, he opens the last box, Number Six, a prize, and shows the card to the audience.

Sarah appears on the stage, waving to the audience, and carrying a bag. "Ladies and Gentlemen," she says. "I hope you've enjoyed this special show. There's just one last thing to do, and that's to reward our celebrity contestants for playing to the end and earning so much for your chosen charities."

From the bag she takes a golden collar, and presents it to Ellie. "Every cat needs a collar," she says, and Ellie allows her to fasten it. To me she gives a leather paddle etched with the Prize Or Penalty logo. "Who here wouldn't want to spank this fine ass?" she asks, still speaking to the audience.

Finally she turns to Charlie, and I'm startled to see there are horns growing from his head - small ones, but still. And his breasts are quite lovely now, though his nipples are still tiny. "And Charlie, you poor, horny devil. I think you'll be needing this." She hands him a can, but not before lifting the lid to show the camera a very realistic pussy. "An extra long vagina, for an extra long cock. Enjoy!"

*

There's a hidden camera in Charlie's dressing room. Sarah invites us to watch as Charlie tries and fails to resist the lure of the canned vagina. It's not long before he is thrusting the full, astonishing length of his cock deep into the synthetic flesh. (I still can't get used to seeing him with breasts.) His orgasm, when he comes at last, seems to last forever, and when he withdraws his cock from the can it is slick with cum, with more cum leaking from the vagina too.