Prize or Penalty Ch. 07: Medusa

Content Note: Incest (daddy-daughter); Mind Control

Exactly why Emma had thought Prize or Penalty would make a perfect hen night, Rose had no idea. Nor was she sure any longer exactly why she had agreed to it. To be fair, the idea had been a great laugh all the way up to the point Rose's name had been called. There was a delicious thrill in the danger that one's name could be called, combined with the delight in the misery of witnessing the transformation of the previous contestant - that poor boy! - and of course the whole show was both hilariously absurd and profoundly erotic.

Being an audience member was, indeed, a great start to a hen night. No doubt Rose's fiancé had some stripper's wet pussy dancing in his off-limits, trousered lap - which Rose didn't really mind so long as that was the only time ever and so long as she never needed to hear any of the details. Just as Sam would never need to know his bride spent her last night of freedom watching unfortunate contestants get turned into freaks.

Except now the lights were on her, the cameras on her, and the chances of him never finding out that the sensible girl he had married had - stupidly! - signed up to play in the least sensible game show ever created. Even if she ran, which she was sorely tempted to do, she would be immortalised forever as one of the cowards that ran, and at the moment of decision, that embarrassment seemed somehow worse than the prospect of potentially winning millions while risking what shreds of dignity were still left.

Her friends cheered ecstatically beside her. "Do it, Rose!" Emma shouted, pushing her unsubtly towards the steps, towards the cameras.

Rose allowed herself to be guided, all the way down to the stage. She was one of five contestants, after all. Chances were, she'd be eliminated long before the famous final round. Worse come to worse, she could deliberately fluff some answers, make sure she didn't make it. No one would know.

Feeling more confident with every step, Rose allowed herself to smile and to actually enjoy the attention. It was her hen night! Why shouldn't she have some fun? Why shouldn't she get to be a little naughty for once?

"Hello, Charlie," she said to the smiling presenter as he took her hand and led her across the stage, his huge, semi-erect cock bouncing as it pointed the way. Up close, his leather-clad breasts no longer seemed quite so ridiculous. Indeed, she found herself momentarily envious of their size. Rose had often wished for larger breasts, and Charlie's were a clear reminder that the game she might soon be playing had many penalties that boosted breast size.

She was sure Sam wouldn't mind if his bride walked down the aisle sporting a pair of D-cup beauties - but after spending thousands on a gorgeous wedding dress, Rose would be thoroughly pissed off if the dress no longer fit.

There had been some weird penalties in recent episodes of Prize or Penalty. One girl had been transformed into a doll - Rose would hate that - and the producer lady had been on all the magazine covers looking like a sexy elf maid. With a tail. And a huge cock. (Rose wondered what that would be like. She was sure Sam would not marry her if she had a cock.)

Four more names were called: blonde Jessica with an infectious grin; mousy brunette Myfanwy, strutting in high stiletto heels; Aliyah with long, black hair, beautiful like an Arabian princess; Zuri, proud and tall. All of them caught between terror and exhilaration.

Watching them take their places beside her, Rose's competitive instincts were aroused. She still intended to lose, because winning would be to risk far too much, but no way did she want to look like an idiot. Better to come second, to narrowly miss out on the grand finale.

Yes. Second would let her leave with her head still high. Better to be poor and human, than rich and splashed across the covers of cheap porn magazines like a novelty sex toy. Let Jessica go home the ultimate bimbo, or let Myfanwy delight Welsh opera singers with a lusty cock, or let Aliyah become a royal cum-bucket, or let Zuri become a helpless sex-doll in some collector's harem. They were welcome to it. Rose was getting married, and she was perfect the way she was.

*

"Well, Rose," 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..."

Rose was still a little in shock from having won through to the final round. Her plan to achieve a valiant but unfortunate second place had been going great until Zuri played suddenly and spectacularly dumb, speechless, at the very end. As if Zuri had been too terrified of winning to even open her mouth.

Leaving Rose to win almost by default, and now here she was in the famous final round, six correct answers only, and wishing desperately she could click her heels together three times and the nightmare would be over... but she scowled at the gold necklace. It wasn't seductive; it was insulting. "I'll play, Charlie," she said, her heart sinking as she acknowledged the inevitable.

The audience cheered loudly. Rose wondered what Sam would be thinking if he ever watched this episode. Perhaps: "That is the moment our relationship ended."

Or perhaps, with six boxes to open, Rose might find all five cash prizes. If she played to the end, she was guaranteed at least one prize, and the chances of getting all the penalties was so low, that - well, it had happened before. Maybe Rose could survive a penalty or two, as long as they weren't too grotesque.

Charlie grinned as he strutted about in front of her, his stallion cock jutting out proudly. The open crotch of his leather trousers left his hairless balls unconcealed, and the tip of his cock leaked precum that splashed about as it dripped in clear, glistening strings. "You know the rules, Rose," Charlie said, once the audience's cheering died away. "You scored six in the last round, and that entitles you to six 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!"

Rose felt herself blushing as she stared down at her clothes, counting. She was wearing seven items, none she cared particularly to remove. Remembering that anything she removed now would at least be returned to her at the end, she slipped her shoes off. Also, nothing revealed yet.

Taking a deep breath, Rose resolved to play until her first prize. After that, she could feel justified in stopping, and would be able to walk out of the studio feeling like a winner. To risk so much for further prizes would just be reckless. And hopefully she would find that first prize before getting any serious penalties.

She handed the shoes to Charlie, who lifted them to his nose and breathed in deeply. The burning in Rose's cheeks intensified.

The lights focussed on the gold-coloured boxes behind her, numbered one to ten. "Ten boxes, Rose," 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 Rose scowled again.

"To open a box," he continued, "you must surrender an item of clothing." He winked lecherously and stroked his hard, pulsing cock teasingly for a few seconds. "Are you ready, Rose?"

"Yes, Charlie," she said quietly, her voice catching.

"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, Rose?"

"My socks," she said quickly, bending to pluck them off. They were simple black socks, delicate and sheer, and Rose wondered what happened to all the clothing that the contestants surrendered.

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

Rose stared up at the audience, trying to see her friends. The studio lights were too bright for her to see much at all, but she knew Emma and the others would be cheering for her to find penalties, not prizes. Because that was the whole point of this show: to see people get transformed and mutated in absurd and erotic ways. And Rose was about to choose a box.

"Three, please, Charlie," she said, hoping against hope that luck was with her tonight. Her friends and everyone would be disappointed if her first box was a prize and she quit immediately, but that would be the absolute best outcome for her.

"Three's a good number," Charlie said, bringing the box over to her. "It takes a good threesome to satisfy me, Rose." He opened the box to reveal a test tube with a pale blue liquid, and an envelope. "A little bird tells me you're getting married tomorrow?"

The audience murmured with excitement at his revelation. "Yes, Charlie," she admitted, holding the test tube with a trembling hand. Perhaps the fluid was harmless. Perhaps it would do something terrible. Removing the stopper, she closed her eyes in prayer, and drank. It was like fresh-squeezed lemon juice and she made a face as she swallowed.

Charlie inched closer. Close enough that the smell of his throbbing cock seemed to wrap about her. "Perhaps your husband would like to join us for a threesome, Rose."

Titters of laughter echoed about the studio, but the audience, like Charlie and Rose, were far more interested in what the card would say than in Charlie's unsubtle teasing. She opened the envelope and looked, uncomprehendingly, at the words written there.

Not a number. Not a prize.

"Hold it up and show the audience," Charlie said, and Rose did as instructed. "Daddy's Girl," he read for the cameras and the studio audience. It was a penalty that Rose had never seen before, and by their loud murmurings neither had the audience. Chuckling, Charlie said, "Maybe it won't be your husband joining us, Rose."

The heat returned abruptly to Rose's cheeks as she followed his meaning.

No! Rose had no interest - absolutely no interest at all - in having sex with her father, or seeing him have sex with anyone else, or him seeing her have sex with anyone for that matter. And certainly not Charlie.

Not that her father was unattractive, or anything. Just that he was her father, a happily married man, and Rose was in love with Sam. No question about that - although it might be fun if Sam were to pretend to be her father...

She shook her head to clear it, and scowled at Charlie. Tugging her T-shirt off over her head, revealing her pink lace bra to the delight of the watchers, she said, "Number Ten, please, Charlie," and handed him the shirt. Rose gritted her teeth, determined not to get distracted by strange or incestuous fantasies. That first penalty was an irritation, nothing more. No way would she ever act on such desires.

Perhaps in reaction to her haste to continue, Charlie dragged it out, taking his time to bring the next box over to her. "I know you're desperate for some prize money," he said, holding it just out of reach, "but I have a feeling this box will make you a perfect ten. Will your father be walking you down the aisle tomorrow, Rose?"

"Yes he will, Charlie," Rose said, ignoring the sudden pulse of excitement this image triggered. Her father, fifty years old, tall and distinguished in his grey suit, walking his baby girl down the aisle to give her away. An unmistakable bulge in his trousers betraying his desire for her.

This time the test tube held a clear liquid that smelled pleasantly of apricots. Rose drank it quickly and reached for the envelope. Trying, by the power of positive thinking, to make it a prize, she opened it and -

Another penalty. But not a terrible one, ultimately. She read it aloud and held it up for the cameras: "Sweet and Succulent."

Rose stared down at her breasts, half expecting them to swell up immediately. As penalties went, it was one of the few she would welcome, although no way would her dress fit. She sighed, conflicted between the happiness of being punished with bigger breasts and the future frustration of having to live with bigger breasts.

The pain caused by her bra was the first tell-tale sign of expansion. Bowing to the inevitable, Rose removed the pink lace garment, exposing her bare breasts for all to see. Normally she would have been far too embarrassed to be topless in public - at the beach was one thing; in front of hundreds of strangers was -

Well, unwise to say the least. But Rose was very curious to see the change happen. She let the cameras zoom in to capture the gradual expansion. Almost like hot air balloons... No, that was silly, but there was a beautiful roundness developing as well as a discernible increase in weight. Most fascinating was the thickening of her nipples, engorged as if with arousal. They seemed to invite the touch of lips, and Rose caught herself entertaining a fantasy of her father bending to suck on those swollen tips.

"Stop it," she hissed to herself and shook her head to clear it, then caught sight of herself in the big display: big, gorgeous breasts that were firm without seeming fake. No doubt Emma and the others were seething with envy - and Sam's eyes would pop out of his head when he saw them.

Rose laughed at the realisation she was still holding her bra. She handed it to Charlie, saying, "Box Number 2, please."

While she waited for him, she amused herself by bouncing her new breasts gently with her hands, testing the reality of them. There was something surreal about seeing her breasts expand as she watched, and part of her feared they would deflate again.

Box Number 2 had an inky black liquid inside. It had a salty taste and smelled like honey. "Third time lucky," Charlie said to her chest, his cock twitching as if it might erupt at any moment and shower her with cum.

But third time was not lucky. With weary expectation, Rose opened the envelope to discover her third penalty. "Boot Babe," she read out. It was another she'd never heard of before, but she could guess at its meaning.

She removed her skirt this time. It was an easy sacrifice because she wore leggings beneath. "Number 9," she said, handing the skirt to Charlie.

Rose returned to admiring herself in the large display. She had always made a point to stay in shape, but in preparation for the wedding she had been extra strict about what she ate, and she had been exercising regularly. And now she looked amazing, her body lithe and slender, her new breasts sexy as hell. Absolutely her daddy would want to fuck her, given half a chance.

The thought of it no longer repelled her. Rose still had no wish to actually be unfaithful to Sam, or to cause her father to be unfaithful either, but there was no harm in the fantasy of it...

Three penalties. None of them had been awful in the way she had expected, but maybe that meant the remaining penalties would be. On the other hand, out of the seven boxes remaining, five had prizes, so the chances of finally getting one were high indeed.

*

If there was one word that had always described Rose, perhaps a little too perfectly, it was 'average'. She was average height for a woman, was neither beautiful nor memorably not, and had consistently achieved middling grades at school.

Compared to the new UK average of 36DD, however, her breasts had been significantly below average, something that she had always felt self-conscious of. Her very first boyfriend had dumped her for a girl with huge breasts, and even Sam, who insisted he preferred them smaller, was often and visibly drawn to women showing off cleavage.

He had once tried to fuck her tits, an effort that had proved embarrassing for her and unsatisfying for him. In contrast to her old, flat-chested self, the deep valley between her new, sweet-and-succulent breasts seemed almost to cry out for an ardent cock.

Well above average.

Rose wondered if her father had ever tried to fuck her mother's breasts - but if the idea of her father having sex no longer squicked her, she shied away completely from the idea of her mother. Rose could imagine herself kneeling to press her breasts about her father's cock, but could find nothing erotic in her mother doing the same.

She couldn't remember ever seeing it. She imagined it to be like Sam's, except thicker, and especially hard at the thought of fucking her. "Bend over, princess," he would say, and then he would spank her for being such a bad girl, before fucking her until she was too tired to think, let alone walk, and he would let her curl up in his arms, safe and warm.

There was something horribly seductive about it. Even sitting half-naked within a circle of cameras and lights, Rose struggled to keep her hands away from her swollen nipples that ached to be touched. It was the night before her wedding, and she couldn't stop thinking about her father and how his hands would feel against her skin.

Charlie stood before her with a box. Almost resigned to whatever fate had in store for her, Rose drank down a tube full of something that looked and even tasted almost exactly like pink champagne. It fizzled merrily on her tongue and warmed her inside like alcohol - but the warmth seemed to rise inside her, until her eyes burned and her scalp itched.

"Ahh!" she cried, scratching at her head through hair that felt unusually thick and oily. The sensation passed swiftly and she was able to blink her eyes clear, but Rose knew, even before opening the envelope, that it wasn't the prize she was holding out for.

Charlie whistled in sympathy. "Four penalties in a row. How awful, Rose." With a negligent shrug, he added, "Oh, well. Let's see what it is."

Rose lifted the card out of the envelope and a chill ran up her spine. "Mesmerising Medusa," she whispered. Another penalty that she had never seen before, and by the sudden turbulent conversation of the audience, it was clear they hadn't either.

A wave of black depression brought tears to her eyes. How had an innocent - well, mostly innocent - night out with friends become a life-altering nightmare? How had she allowed herself to be sucked into this hateful and degrading game of erotic transformation? And on the night before her wedding too?

Not that there was any chance of that happening now. Sam might have been happy with his bride's bouncy new breasts, but what chance was there he'd welcome a bride with an incest kink and snakes in her hair - or whatever.

"Still two boxes left to choose, Rose," Charlie said. "At least one of them has to be a prize."

Which was true, and some consolation. Even if it did mean she had to finally remove her dark blue leggings and show the world her pink lace knickers. She had thought she was beyond embarrassment, but the thin material was wet and it had to be obvious that she had shaved her pussy bare.

"Number 8, please," she said, keeping her thighs pressed tightly together. Rose didn't dare look at the big display. She didn't want to see what was growing in her hair. She wondered what Emma and the others saw when they looked at her now. Was this, for them, the best hen night ever, seeing their friend sitting naked save for pink panties, her once below average breasts now well above? Did they delight in her monstrous transformation while the presenter prowled about her like a horny satyr, his hard cock dribbling precum?

Of course it was. Of course they did. Had it been Emma on the stage and Rose watching, Rose would have been shocked for her friend of course, but in truth absolutely delighted too.

With utter inevitability, Box Number 8 was the fifth and final penalty. Rose's luck was the worst. To the audience's great amusement, the test tube was filled with a viscous, milky fluid that looked like cum but smelled of strawberry. It even took its damn time oozing from the tube, making the act of drinking it feel even more sexually charged. She scowled at Charlie afterwards as she reached for the envelope and read the card: "Show Off."