Prize or Penalty Ch. 04: New Season

Prize or Penalty was back! A new season at last of the transformative game show that everyone loved to hate. The tabloids and morning television were full of it, reminders of past winners - or losers, really - and speculation over who the new host would be. No doubt, the headlines the next day would be all the moralists and religious nuts complaining about how grotesque and sexually fetishistic it was, and how abusive it was of the laws of God and Nature, and that such obscenity should certainly not be on public television.

The ultimate objectification of the human body for cheap entertainment, in other words, and I loved it. And that was no secret either. "Guess what," my boss said, brandishing a couple of tickets to some show or other, but, judging by the wattage of his grin, could only be one thing.

"No way," I said. "No fucking way!"

Bill sighed dramatically, though his eyes were bright with mischief. "But who to take with me? Melanie, maybe? Or Sandra?"

I knew what he was fishing for. "I will suck your cock every day for a week if you take me," I said. It wasn't like I hadn't done it before. Bill was a good boss for the most part, attractive with brown hair and blue eyes, in his early forties and thus nearly old enough to be my father - and married with two kids. His wife and daughters glared at me from the framed picture on his desk.

At the previous office Christmas party, we'd all had too much to drink, and Bill had led me away from the crowd to the privacy of his office and I'd eagerly taken him in my mouth. I'd knelt on the plush carpet, extracted his impressive length from his fly, and wrapped my lips lustfully about the hard shaft, sucking, savouring, swallowing. For weeks afterwards we'd both been too embarrassed to talk about it, but over time our relationship had turned to one of none-too-subtle flirtation.

"Okay..." he said slowly, "but only if you promise never to wear panties to work under those short skirts." The grin was back again.

I rolled my eyes. "One day a week - and I'm not telling you which day." It simply wasn't practical to do it every day.

"Fine," he said, pouting in an exaggerated fashion. "But you have to take off the pair you're wearing now." He held out a hand for them, the other brandishing the tickets significantly.

Sighing with pretended indifference, I tugged down my panties (without flashing my privates - he hadn't earned that) but hadn't realised until that point just how wet I was. There was no concealing it either, and I felt the heat in my cheeks as I handed over the incriminating underwear, my blush intensifying as he made a point of sniffing them. "Divine," he murmured. "Now, about that other..."

*

The show was six weeks later, giving me plenty of time to change my mind again and again over whether to be merely a spectator or potentially a contestant. Each attendee had to fill their details in online, and state whether they'd be willing to participate. The chances of being selected were low, and the chance of making it to the final, famous round were lower still, but someone would get there.

Someone would have the chance to get rich, perhaps even five-million rich. Or they might be sent away with their bodies transformed in various fascinating and erotic ways. Some, like Voluptuous Victoria and Ellie the Leopard, became genuine celebrities. I followed both those lesbian lovers on social media, and often fantasised about meeting a similar fate.

But fantasy was one thing, reality another. Bill refused flatly to be a participant. ("And don't you dare either," he growled whenever I mentioned it. "My wife watches the show. If she sees me in the audience, she'll kill me.") I procrastinated until the end, but realised that I would regret it forever if I chickened out.

Thinking about it made me horny as anything. I treated Bill to a blowjob a day for a week, as per the deal, but seldom a day passed thereafter when we didn't end up fucking. It wasn't exactly a secret either. Half the office had to at least suspect that I spent much of my lunch hour with my legs wrapped about Bill's waist, his cock pounding me hard. The walls weren't that well soundproofed.

But it was just sex. I wasn't a pining mistress praying for him to leave his wife. I was a young woman with a hyperactive imagination and a need for a hard cock, and Bill's served me very well indeed. More often than not, my mind was elsewhere, wondering what it would be like to have huge breasts or supersensitive nipples, or a cock and a tail. Because these were all possibilities. As was being rich. I could finally buy a house instead of struggling each month to pay rent and also pay off my credit card.

At last I filled it in. Name: Erica. Age: 26. Sex/Gender: Cis Female. Orientation: Bi. Participant: Yes!

And on the night itself, I dressed with care. Ten items: Shoes, stockings, garter belt, thong and skirt; bra, vest, shirt, jacket and scarf. I was ready. Nervous as anything, but ready. "Aren't you a bit overdressed?" Bill asked in the car. He was in jeans and a jumper himself, not suspecting for a moment that I was prepared to risk it all.

"You can undress me later," I said, lifting my skirt to show him my stocking tops and garters.

"I can't wait," he said, grinning affectionately.

In the end, of course, I was the one who undressed me, and Bill was just a spectator.

*

The music crashed to a halt, cutting Charlie off mid-sentence. I stared at him anxiously, catching my breath as I tried to count up how many I got right. It was all a blur now. "Sorry, Erica," Charlie announced. "Time's up, but you have answered eight questions correctly."

I sighed with relief, and gave the applauding audience a grateful smile. Eight wasn't bad at all. Eight guaranteed me three prizes, if I played to the end. If I was really lucky, I could end up going home with five million in the bank and no cruel penalties. As long as I didn't get Chastity Belt, I'd count it a win.

Bill was there, somewhere, I hoped, still watching and enjoying despite the shock of hearing my name called earlier and having the spotlight pick me out. Would his wife recognise me, and guess who sat in the shadows next to me?

Somehow, amazingly, I had fought my way to the final round. Luck was on my side. The questions had been good, and my reactions fast, and now there was only me and the boxes that would decide my fate.

"Well, Erica," Charlie said, "you can walk away a winner now with this beautiful golden necklace" - he held it up to the audience, who oohed and ahhed on cue - "or you can risk all and play Prize or Penalty..."

Charlie was a living example of the game's magnificence and absurdity. He strutted about the stage with a confident and commanding manner, casting lecherous glances at all the female contestants, which at this point was only me, making me the principal target of his very naked lust. The leather trousers he wore had an open crotch, so that nothing inhibited his stallion cock that jutted out proudly and wetly. Nothing concealed the huge balls that hung heavily below.

How many times I had watched the Celebrity Prize Or Penalty show where Charlie had been crushed by the penalties inflicted on him. How ridiculous and pathetic he had seemed. Not now, though. Even the leather bra holding his breasts - so much bigger than my own - failed to detract from his virile, masculine sensuality, and his horns complemented his devilish grin.

"Well, Erica? What will it be? Play? Or pass?"

I had imagined this moment a hundred times, but never once had I believed it could come true. Suddenly I could feel the weight of their attention, the many watchers - not just Charlie and Bill and the five hundred or so in the live studio audience, but the millions watching knowingly from the future: Bill's wife, my parents, my friends and colleagues, strangers that one day I might meet, others I never would.

All now waiting to see if I was a coward - or a fool.

"I'll play, Charlie," I said, tearing my gaze away from the drooling cock that was pointed at me.

"You know the rules, Erica," Charlie said, once the cheering died away. "You scored eight in the last round, and that entitles you to eight items of clothing. I don't know, but I think you're -"

The audience completed it for him: "- overdressed!" Laughter gave way to a chant of, "Strip! Strip! Strip!"

Laughing too, I removed my scarf and jacket and handed them over. Already I could feel the tingling excitement of erotic exposure. The whole show was basically an extended striptease, and a very public one too. It was too late to act the shy virgin now. Better to be a rich slut than a prim and proper drudge.

The lights focussed on the gold-coloured boxes behind me, numbered one to ten. "Ten boxes, Erica," Charlie explained. "Five prizes, and five penalties. Remember, at any time, you can quit and go home with this beautiful necklace." He held it up enticingly, and I shook my head emphatically.

"To open a box," he continued, "you must surrender an item of clothing." He winked lecherously and his cock pulsed with excitement, a fresh oozing of precum thickening the glistening strands that dripped from the formidable shaft. There was something almost hypnotic about it. "Are you ready, Erica?"

"Yes, Charlie," I said firmly.

"Excellent! Then let's play Prize or Penalty!"

Audience cheers gave way to the roll of a drum. "What item of clothing will you remove first, Erica?"

"My shirt," I said. It was a long-sleeved button-up shirt, white with red trim, and one I was quite fond of. Easy to remove, but hard to part with. I wouldn't be getting it back. I handed it over with a sad sigh, conscious of the cool studio air against my bare arms.

"An independent adjudicator is responsible for selecting the five penalties and arranging them randomly," Charlie said, "but let's hope you find a prize. In just a few minutes, Erica, you could be going home a multi-millionaire! Choose your first box..."

"Number Three," I decided.

"My favourite number..." Charlie carried the box over to me and opened it to reveal the envelope and sealed test tube. "It's still not too late to back out and go home, Erica."

I snorted my opinion of that, and unstoppered the test tube. The liquid was orange with a citrusy aroma. It tasted bitter too. "Yuck," I pronounced.

Charlie chuckled. "Open the envelope, Erica. Let's see if you've won... or lost."

It wasn't a prize. "Traitorous Tongue," I read out, and the card up for the camera. I had no idea what it meant.

"Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen," Charlie said, speaking to the audience. "A whole new season, and a whole new set of penalties to discover. Even I don't know yet what Erica's Traitorous Tongue will delight us with."

He grinned at me and I scowled back. My tongue didn't feel any different, but I couldn't think what 'traitorous' might mean. Nothing good, I was sure.

"Shall we continue?" he asked.

By way of answer, I tugged off my white cotton vest, revealing my white lace bra, the only thing I now wore above the waist. I suppose I could have given him my shoes, but I felt unsexy wearing the vest and was glad to be rid of it. "Number Eight, please, Charlie."

Box Eight had a sickly sweet green liquid - and another penalty. "Fuck," I whispered as I read the card.

"Read it out for us, please, Erica," Charlie said, his eyes glittering with amusement.

My cheeks burning with embarrassment, I read out, "Cum Craving."

I watched as he gave his cock a few gentle strokes and licked his fingers. I knew Charlie himself had got Cum Slut, and I wondered how Cum Craving was different. It sounded worse, somehow. "Shall I feed you mine, Erica?" he asked.

"Yes, please," I said instantly.

I slapped my hand over my mouth. Had I really just said that? The words were an impulse, crossing the distance between us before my brain had a chance to stop them.

The audience was in hysterics, well ahead of me in understanding what had happened. A Traitorous Tongue indeed, confessing a truth I was not yet conscious of.

"Maybe, later," Charlie said. "Still want to continue?"

Box Seven, in exchange for my shoes, was yet another penalty. I glowered sulkily at the camera as I read out, "Pouty and Perky." It wasn't terrible, but it was irritating. And it certainly wasn't a prize. My luck was awful.

Worse was the way Charlie's cock played in my imagination, becoming a veritable fountain of creamy cum for me to drink and smear all over my breasts. I kept my lips firmly shut for fear of saying so.

Box Six, for my skirt, was a prize. "Yes!" I screamed as I held the card up, showing the gorgeous zeros to the audience and the cameras. The clouds of gloom that had been building up since the first box dissipated in a burst of metaphorical sunshine. I was bouncing with joy in my seat, grinning to where I guessed my now-ex boss Bill sat. All my money worries over in one fantastic instant.

I was also down to my underwear, like some kind of erotic lingerie model. A rich erotic lingerie model. A horny one too. Charlie's throbbing, dripping cock looked like the promise of future pleasure. I could almost taste it, and licked my lips hungrily.

My lips... were different. Almost swollen. Certainly pouting. I glanced round at the big screen, seeing myself there as the television cameras saw me: a scantily clad maiden with bee-stung lips. Me, and yet not me. Something different about my breasts too...

I unclasped my bra and handed it to Charlie, and stared in disbelief at my new breasts. They weren't much bigger than before, if indeed at all, but they were so perky they seemed to demand to be looked at. My nipples too, jutting out like two bullets, begging to be sucked on. "Yummy," I said, and laughter rippled through the audience.

"Box Number Two," I said irritably, and clamped my mouth shut. My traitorous tongue was doing its best to make me sound like a bimbo.

A clear, tasteless fluid this time, and a fourth penalty: "What a Doll!" I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, and by the audience's murmuring neither did they.

Shrugging, I swapped my garter belt for Box One, and my stockings for Box Ten, relieved in both cases to see zeros. The healthier my bank balance was, the more relaxed I was about being turned into a pouting bimbo with perky tits and a cum fetish. If I was really lucky, I'd get a fourth million in exchange for my thong. Four penalties was quite enough.

I was still puzzling over the fourth transformation. Something was happening to my skin. It was growing pale and smooth, and I had shed the soft fuzz of my body hair. In places there was an awkward tightness to my skin too. I had never been so conscious of my own body.

Reluctantly, I surrendered my thong. There was no disguising its wetness. "How sweet you smell," Charlie murmured, holding it to his nose for a long moment before hooking it onto his beautiful cock.

"Oh, God," I said. "Please just fuck me."

Charlie laughed, and the audience along with him. I could feel the heat of shame in my cheeks, but my face on the huge screen had a startling lack of colour. My pouting lips were scarlet red and my shocked eyes a crystal blue, but my skin was a creamy white, against which my normally dark hair seemed even darker. I really looked like a doll - a life-size doll with a very fuckable mouth.

Looking down at myself, my pussy was the only other splash of colour I could see, the pinkness of my labia brightly visible against the creamy smoothness of my doll-skin. The tightness of my skin was worsening too, and I shifted in my seat to try and ease the discomfort.

"Three boxes left," Charlie said, interrupting my horrified self-inspection. "Two prizes left, and one penalty. Which will you choose?"

I'd been prepared to risk all, but I was starting to wonder if there was anything left to risk. Being turned into a literal walking, talking sex-doll wasn't one of my fantasies. "Number Four," I said distantly.

Box Number Four, my final box, had a test tube with a purple liquid that smelled like vanilla.

"Before you open that envelope, Erica, let's check the others." One by one, Charlie opened the other two boxes, taking the cards from the envelopes, showing zeros and more zeros

Mine wasn't a prize. Like Victoria and Ellie before me, I had found the fifth penalty. "Come Hither," I read for the audience, and showed it to the camera. I didn't really care. I was still in shock over what was happening to my skin.

It was becoming hard, almost like an exoskeleton, encasing me from the tips of my fingers to the balls of my feet. Only my mouth and pussy remained soft and exposed, evidence of the human within. I was still sensitive to the caress of fingers, but I was hard to the touch and flexible only at the joints, more like a piece of machinery than flesh and blood. I wondered if I was still human enough to cry.

"I'm so sorry, Erica," Charlie said, looking thoroughly delighted. "No one goes home empty-handed, however. You get a pair of Prize or Penalty sunglasses." It seemed a very odd consolation prize - until I saw myself in the screen again. The expression in my glittering crystalline eyes, fixed now perhaps forever, was one of hot, lustful invitation. Come Hither eyes indeed.

Sunglasses firmly in place, I exited the stage to loud audience applause.

*

I glared at my reflection in the mirror, feeling like a prisoner in my own skin. The face staring back at me reflected none of this. "Fuck this self-pity," she said. "'Fuck' being the operative word."

She had a point too. I needed a hard cock inside me. Charlie's, Bill's, anyone's, I didn't much care so long as it delivered what I craved: lashings of hot, creamy cum.

A young woman slipped into the room to give me my jacket and scarf, and a long black Prize or Penalty T-shirt that only just concealed my all too visible pussy. "Your friend" - she hesitated, clearly questioning the truth of the word - "said to say he was going home and that you'd understand. He left this for you." It was my handbag with my phone and my keys and cards.

I understood all right. I understood that he was a lousy, selfish bastard and could go fuck himself. "I don't suppose Charlie's free, is he?"

She laughed. "No. We're only halfway through the show. But maybe I can help. Give me your phone."

Intrigued, and frankly desperate, I unlocked my phone for her. She tapped in a number, and after a few rings a male voice answered. "Dai," she said. "It's Sarah. I have an answer to your prayers. How quickly can you get here?"

*

Dai was a Welsh lad in his early thirties, quite cute with reddish-blond hair, and, it turned out, as uniquely cursed as I. He also had a sporty two-seater Porsch and didn't spare the accelerator. And not just because he was in a hurry to get his new sex-doll back to his posh country barn conversion. "I was in the final two years ago," he shouted over the roar of the road. "Four boxes. Two and two. Base Balls and Trigger Happy. I come fast, and I come loads. It's a fucking mess. Literally."

I could see how that would be a problem for most women. I was no longer 'most women'. The thought of all that cum had me licking my lips and squirming in my seat. "Can't wait," I shouted back.

He flashed me a grin. "Then don't."

It took me a moment to work out what he meant. "Oh," I said, and leaned across to extract his swollen member carefully from his jeans. It was a little above average in size, but it was his balls that truly impressed. The thought of all the goodness they contained made me dizzy with hunger.

The confined space and motion of the car made it awkward to bend down, a manoeuvre already made difficult by my doll-skin, but my need was great and I soon enveloped his cock with my devouring mouth. I sucked fiercely on that eager length and licked the sensitive head, loving the way it filled my mouth, savouring the taste of him, and true to his word he lasted mere seconds.