Prize or Penalty Ch. 06: Elf

The day finally arrived that Sarah had been dreading for over a year. The Prize or Penalty Celebrity Special. After she had set up Charlie at the last one, the show had almost been cancelled. He had been furious with her, understandably so, and had threatened to walk off and bring legal proceedings against her. It was unlikely he would have won, but Prize or Penalty was Sarah's baby, in a way. She had been with the show since the beginning and had in time assumed direct responsibility for it. And the show needed Charlie. He was too popular with the viewers.

So she had calmed him down and lured him back, and had given him the confidence ultimately to parade his transformed self on the stage and before the cameras - and it had worked. The show was more popular than ever, but there was a cost to pay for it to continue. Sarah had promised to be a contestant herself at the next Celebrity Special, and now that dreaded day was here. She had put it off as long as she could, but the day had come as inexorably as the change of seasons.

"Fuck," she whispered in the privacy of her office backstage. She stared at her reflection, putting the final touches to her makeup.

Only five people knew the secret of Prize or Penalty's transformative serums: Anthony Whitehead, the television network's CEO; Lisa Agar, a senior partner in the network's law firm; the show's own producers, Leslie Greene and Sarah herself; and Henry Dragon, the man who made them. Henry was as peculiar and mysterious as his surname, a bundle of neuroses with well respected degrees in biochemistry and bioengineering - and a far less respected doctorate in alchemy. He was rumoured to be the source of the breast expansion and penis enlargement pills that had proved so effective that women's magazines now regularly had articles like, "What if he's just too big for you?" and, "Need back support? We have the perfect corset for those supersized beauties!"

Henry was never short of volunteers to test his concoctions. He was well known in the sexual fetish community, and also among those whose desperation for cosmetic adjustment combined with a lack of credit for more traditional surgery. They didn't care how he did what he did, only that it worked - or usually, anyway. It had been Leslie's idea to make these magical transformations into a game show, and Leslie's money and connections that had ultimately made it happen. Sarah's job had been to manage the details, a full-time job handling Charlie's ego and guiding Henry's whimsical distractions and placating Sonja, the independent adjudicator, whose deep misgivings and frequent sense of misplaced guilt often ended in panic attacks. Then also there was the theatrical side of the show, the media interviews and dealing with streams of abuse from that large section of the public that saw Prize or Penalty as the devil's work and the beginning of the end of civilisation.

Sometimes Sarah was inclined to agree with them, but ultimately she loved the show, and was close friends with many of the past contestants. There were many penalties she wouldn't at all have minded getting herself - but also many that terrified her. Chastity Belt, for one. Doll, for another. She had no desire to end up with breasts the size of beach balls, or a constant craving for cum. But she knew people with all these things who were still, amazingly, happy with their lives and their winnings. Even Charlie, the most reluctant player ever, cruelly inflicted with breasts, had embraced his transformation and displayed it proudly on the stage. There was a steady parade of eager fans willing to acquaint themselves with his virile cock.

She was used to being the one in charge. The loss of power and control now that she was to be a contestant left her with a cold dread. She wasn't there to ensure Henry behaved himself. (He'd been pushing to introduce some new transformations but she hadn't had time to look into it and had told him to wait for the next season.) She wasn't there to soothe Sonja's nerves. She wasn't there to ensure the process was as fair for her as she always made it for others. But there was no backing out of it. Sarah had to play, and she had to find all five prizes. Like every contestant before her, she could only pray she would find none of the penalties - at least, none of the really bad ones.

"Don't let them see you squirm," she murmured to herself. "Be gorgeous. Be amazing. Be magnificent." Hearing the words helped a little, and she almost managed to crack a smile.

There was a knock on her door. It was time. She wasn't ready, but she would never be ready. "Coming," Sarah said, and with a last minute check of her clothes and makeup, she opened her door and strode out with every ounce of confidence she could muster.

*

James Scott - 'Foxy' to his friends, and increasingly to everyone else too - waited in the wings for his cue. It was acutely embarrassing that his career had nose-dived to the extent that he was effectively selling his body for scraps of exposure. Ten years ago he had been a household name, a minor but regular character in a long-running soap (until he slept with the producer's mistress and his character got abruptly killed off), and over the years he'd had a few bit parts in films and television, but lately he'd been struggling to get anything.

That he was willing to risk the potential humiliation of body transformation was in itself deeply humiliating, but a couple of little white pills had helped to overcome his misgivings and his head was happily buzzing. Out on the stage, the presenter, Charlie, strutted about in his black leather, talking to the audience who, no doubt, were more interested in the huge, semi-swollen cock that stirred and bounced so mesmerisingly.

"Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen," Charlie was saying, "to the Prize or Penalty Celebrity Special! As I'm sure you all know, there will be no general knowledge rounds tonight. The contestants just play the famous final round itself, starting with ten pieces of clothing and continuing - we hope! - until all five prizes are won."

James shook his head, mostly in disbelief that he was there and willing to participate in this absurd show. That he was willing to strip off in front of an audience. It would certainly make for many crude but fascinating interviews for magazines and TV. It would certainly get him noticed. Maybe he'd even walk away with a massive cock or something.

More likely, though, he'd end up deformed in some awful way - which was why he was determined to play safe. As soon as he got one penalty, that would be enough.

"The prize money will be going to charities nominated by you, the studio audience," Charlie continued. The lights lit up behind him, revealing the stage to be laid out with two rows of golden boxes. "Two contestants play at once," he explained. "One male, and one female - at least I hope so. I, for one, don't wish a repeat of last season's finale."

The audience burst out laughing, and James recalled dimly that that had been Charlie's famous game.

"Let us meet tonight's first contestants," Charlie said brightly. "Ladies first, we have my good friend - my boss, indeed - one of the producers of this show. A big round of applause, please, for Sarah Stevens!"

An attractive blonde woman, thirty something at a guess, walked onto the stage from the right, waving cheerfully to the audience. James vaguely recognised her and wondered briefly whether he had ever maybe slept with her. The number of women he had no memory of sleeping with made celebrity parties something of a minefield. Getting to see her strip in front of him would certainly add some value to this otherwise tedious event.

"And playing against our lovely Sarah," Charlie said, "I'm sure you'll all know him. James 'Foxy' Scott."

James sauntered casually onto the stage, waving to the audience and glad to hear some cheers and whistles amidst the applause. Clearly he had some fans still. Flashing a grin towards the camera, he took a seat on the high chair provided for him, and did his best to project an aura of quiet confidence - and tried not to keep staring at Charlie's exposed cock that was now ominously erect and far too close for comfort.

"It's great to have you here tonight, Foxy," Charlie said. "Can't wait to see even more of you..."

The audience erupted with laughter, and James could feel his cheeks burn. Was Charlie hitting on him, he wondered, or was all this just part of the performance? The latter, he hoped.

"We all know the rules," Charlie said. "You're each allowed ten items of clothing. Now, I don't know, but I think you're -"

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

But of course it was just a formality. Part of the familiar script. James had his ten items, and clearly the woman did too.

"Excellent!" Charlie said. "Then let's play Prize or Penalty! Who would like to go first?"

*

Sarah kept having to resist the urge to scowl at Charlie as he pranced about in front of her with his erect cock, practically exuding malevolence. Instead she examined Foxy Scott who looked suave in his cream, casual suit and certainly displayed a natural ease in front of the cameras. He was good-looking and clearly kept in shape, and had a reputation for drugs and women. Indeed, he looked a little high to her, and she hoped whatever he had taken did not react badly with whatever Henry had cooked up for them.

"I'll go first," Sarah said, easing out of her navy jacket before Charlie could ask. The gleam of excitement in his eyes was already more than she could stand.

Sarah had watched the show often enough. She knew what she liked and what the audience liked, and had dressed accordingly. Under the bright studio lights, however, the jacket was unbearably warm, and it was a relief to be rid of it. "Number One, please, Charlie," she said, handing him the jacket and ignoring the throbbing cock that was suddenly close enough to touch.

"Start at the bottom," he said, grinning, "and work your way up - I like it."

The numbers of the boxes were randomly arranged, and Sarah didn't believe in lucky numbers or anything like that.

Charlie brought over Box Number One and opened it. Within was an envelope and a test tube full of some cloudy green liquid. Determined not to show weakness in front of Charlie, Sarah drank it down in one swift gulp, as if it were a shot of whisky or something. It tasted of pears. "Nice," she said, and opened the envelope.

A penalty - but not such a bad one. Smiling cheerfully, she showed it to the camera. "Pouty and Perky," she said, and licked her lips teasingly. A murmur of delighted laughter rippled through the audience. The first penalty of the night. The game had truly started.

*

James breathed a sigh of relief. The penalty didn't sound so bad, and the woman - Sarah? - seemed okay with it. Maybe he was worrying unnecessarily. He was a celebrity after all. They wouldn't do anything really bad to him.

Choosing what to wear had proved to be difficult. Ten items of clothing was about three too many for him. In the end, he'd opted for a cream suit with a waistcoat, and had added a flamboyant purple scarf and a fedora with an ostrich feather. He'd taken that from the set of some reality TV show he'd been in for a few weeks - and handed it now to Charlie. "Number Three, please."

"There are five prizes and five penalties," Charlie said, bringing Box Number Three over to James. He had opted to wear the hat himself, and looked utterly ridiculous, but also quite unconcerned. "The odds are even. Maybe you'll get lucky. Maybe not. Do you dare to drink and find out?"

James stared at the test tube that seemed to be full of pink liquid. It looked at once harmless and terrifying. Abruptly he wasn't sure at all that he wanted to be there, risking bodily and mental transformation just to net a few millions for some random charity and a shot at restarting his career. And yet, to back out now would ruin everything. He would be marked forever as a coward, unwilling even to risk one box for a good cause.

He glanced across at the woman, his fellow contestant, who had so calmly drank when it was her turn, and who now regarded him with cool amusement as if she understood exactly what he was thinking. To be fair, she probably did.

"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath. Unstoppering the test tube, he drank down the pink liquid. It burned his tongue the way hot chiles burned, and he nearly spat it out. The audience roared with laughter as he sat gasping, attempting to cool his mouth just by breathing.

"Well, Foxy, shall we set what you've won?" Charlie prompted, handing him the envelope.

James nodded, and snatched the envelope from Charlie's taunting fingertips. Almost tearing it open, he pulled out the card and stared in confusion at the words. Not a prize, then. A penalty. But what did it mean?

Charlie pulled the card from his grip and showed it to the camera. "Good Girl. How delightful!"

By the subdued murmuring of the audience, they were as confused as he was. Good Girl. What could it mean? It didn't sound terrible - unless it changed him into a girl, which of course would be terrible, but his agent had promised him the show never went that far with its transformations.

He half watched as Charlie spoke to the woman again, calling her Sarah. (So that was her name. He had remembered correctly.) She surprised him by taking off her patterned, button-up shirt to reveal a lacy black vest with a pink bra peeking through. She certainly wasn't shy, and James felt outclassed and overdressed in comparison. "Number Two, please, Charlie," she said.

She was attractive and sexy, and James looked forward to seeing her tits. They were the perfect size: big enough to squeeze with his hands, and even wrap around his cock, without being tastelessly excessive. He watched as she calmly drank the liquid, brown and very sour, judging by her expression, and then she was bouncing joyfully in her seat, waving the card with its unmistakable zeros.

"Our first prize of the night," Charlie said. "The first of many, I'm sure. There's ten million to be won tonight - so long as the courage of our contestants holds. I trust you're going all the way, Sarah?"

"I am, Charlie," she said with a saucy wink that made the audience laugh.

But then it was his turn again, and James had promised himself he wouldn't risk a second penalty - but also he hadn't won a single prize yet, and he hated to be seen as a coward, especially when that woman, Sarah, already had both a prize and a penalty and seemed perfectly happy to continue.

"Well, Foxy?" Charlie asked. "Will you open another box? Think of all the lives you could be saving..."

James glowered at him. He didn't need the extra pressure. He was already regretting ever agreeing to this show. Handing his purple scarf to Charlie, he said through gritted teeth, "Number Five."

"Good girl," Charlie said with a satisfied nod.

If part of him wanted to object to being called a girl at all, it was overwhelmed by the rush of pleasure he felt at being praised like that. For the very first time since walking onto the stage - indeed, well before that - he felt good about the decision. More than good, in fact. He felt a stirring in his pants that could prove to be very embarrassing if he didn't control it quickly.

He was still riding that unexpected high as he drank down a test tube of some milky liquid that smelled of almonds, and felt sure that he too would get a prize in his second box.

It was a penalty. "Clean Shave," he read out, disappointed but not too alarmed, and held the card up to the camera. As long as didn't end up bald as a result, he didn't much care if he never needed to shave ever again.

*

Sarah's third box, Number Three, in exchange for her vest, thereby revealing her lacy bra (a deep, gorgeous fuchsia) to the delight of the audience, was her second prize of the night. "Yes!" she screamed, daring to hope she might find all the prizes without more penalties along the way.

Foxy James was looking thoroughly confused in the wake of his second penalty, and Sarah wondered if he had cottoned on to the effect the phrase 'Good Girl' had had on him. He had perked up so eagerly on hearing it. With obvious reluctance, he braved a third box, giving away his jacket for Number Nine, and his relief at finally getting a prize was palpable.

Sarah's breasts were perking up too, straining against her bra, and her lips felt swollen. Perky and Pouty indeed. It was a daft penalty, but one she didn't mind at all. She considered removing her bra, or perhaps even her skirt, but decided in the end to surrender her shoes. She didn't want to seem too eager to strip. There was no fun for the audience in that.

"Box Number Four, please, Charlie," she said, handing them over, and rolled her eyes as Charlie sniffed them curiously. They weren't a pair she wore often, and doubted they smelled of much besides plastic imitation leather. One test tube full of bright red fluid later and she was staring in shock at the words. Her second penalty, and not a good one at all. "No," she whispered.

Only the wickedness shining brightly in Charlie's eyes gave her the strength to smile and show the card as nonchalantly as she could to the camera. "Futa Fantastic," she said, her words drowned out by the cheers and laughter from the audience.

*

James laughed, trying to imagine what his co-contestant would look like with a cock. He'd slept with quite a few trans women over the years, some still with their cocks intact. It had been fun and different, although he definitely preferred pussy.

He scratched his cheek, idly noting how smooth it felt suddenly. A clean shave indeed, and thankfully he still had his full head of hair. He eyed Charlie warily, both wanting and fearing to hear him say the words again, and slowly removed his waistcoat. "Number Eight, please, Charlie," he said.

Charlie merely smiled, and silently brought over the box and opened it. "Drink up," he said, and James obediently swallowed the pale blue, tasteless liquid. "Good girl," Charlie said, and the audience roared with laughter as James sat there flushed with pleasure, arousal and embarrassment, his swollen cock making a distinct bulge in his trousers.

The momentary anger he felt at being manipulated like this was washed away by the warmth of contentment that abruptly filled him. He didn't even feel particularly upset that it was yet another penalty - his third. "Hidden Assets," he read out, wondering what that could possibly mean.

*

Sarah chose to ignore the unfamiliar and unwelcome discomfort in her crotch and instead removed her socks. The knowledge that her clit was slowly transforming into a cock upset her, but she was determined not to let Charlie see just how much it upset her. She hoped at least that it wouldn't be a huge cock, but rather something petite and feminine.

"Number Five, please, Charlie," she said, striving to sound as cheerful and accepting as earlier.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather take something else off?" Charlie asked, refusing to take the socks she offered.

"Oh, go play with yourself," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "I bet you could blow yourself if you tried..."

As laughter rippled through the audience, Charlie accepted her socks and brought her Box Number Five. "Let's hope it's a prize," he said, and stood stroking his hard cock that was pointed straight at her.

But it wasn't. "Elfin Elegance," the card read, and a cold dread washed through her. Elfin Elegance was one of Henry's recent experiments. She hadn't approved it for use. She wasn't even entirely sure what it did.

Sarah opened her mouth to object - then closed it. The damage was already done. She had swallowed the fluid and its magic was already at work.