Chapter One

Skye Lowe crouched low behind a rusted dumpster, her fingers tightening around her chewed-up pen as she scratched notes into a notepad. She squinted at the spell den’s door across the alley, her hazel eyes narrowing as a shadow flickered behind its grimy window, probably another junkie chasing a cheap hex fix.

Her leather jacket faded from years of prowling Ebonreach’s underbelly, hung loosely over a gray tee that clung to her wiry frame. Her combat boots pressed into the slick pavement as she muttered under her breath, “One more bastard caught, and I’ve got the front page locked in this damn city.” She shifted her weight, and her short brown hair brushed her neck, uneven from a hasty trim she’d done earlier that day.

Zane Keller swaggered into her line of sight. Skye grimaced, his wrinkled button-down flapping open to reveal a slice of his tanned chest as he dangled a cheap glass vial in front of a middle-aged woman, the wife of a recently deceased politician.

He leaned in close, his dark hair falling past his ears in a tousled mess that screamed careless charm. His voice oozed honey as he purred, “One dab of this little beauty, sweetheart, and that hunky gardener is yours for life, better than any licensed spell from uptown.” The widow’s trembling hands reached for it, her eyes wide with the kind of desperation Skye saw too often in this sprawling mess of a metropolis, and her stomach twisted into a knot of disgust. She couldn’t stand how he preyed on the hopeless, couldn’t believe he’d stoop to peddling fake hexes in a city where real magic ran wild and unchecked beneath the council’s nose.

She bolted upright, stepping out from her hiding spot with a snarl twisting her freckled face, “You’re filth, Keller, preying on widows now with your knockoff crap?” Her boots splashed through a puddle, sending up a spray of dirty water that speckled her cargo pants, and she jabbed the pen toward him like she’d love to stab it through his chest.

Zane turned, his crooked grin spreading as he pocketed the vial and leaned against a brick wall, his sneakers scuffing over a faded rune someone had scratched into the ground, “And you’re a buzzkill, Lowe, still chasing headlines no one gives a damn about in this hellhole?” His brown eyes glinted with mockery, and he crossed his arms, the button-down pulling tight at the shoulders where a faint sweat stain bloomed.

Skye took a step closer, her voice rising as she clenched her fists at her sides, “At least I’m not a parasite scamming the vulnerable, you sleazy son of a bitch!” She could feel the heat climbing her neck, her pulse hammering in her ears, and she hated how his smirk never wavered.

Zane pushed off the wall, looming over her with a lazy swagger, his stubble catching the faint glow of a nearby neon sign as he fired back, “Better than playing holier-than-thou while you snoop around like a rat, give it up already. We all know you’re as much of a scumbag as I am” His breath carried a whiff of cheap whiskey, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust; she was nothing like him. She stepped into his space until they were nearly chest-to-chest.

Their shouting overlapped, her words sharpening as she jabbed a finger into his sternum, “You’re a disgrace to this city, and I’ll make sure every last soul knows it before I’m done!”

She felt the hard edge of his collarbone under her fingertip, her nails digging in just enough to make him flinch. Still, his laugh cut through the humid air, low and mocking, “And you’re a sanctimonious hack who’d bore a corpse, Lowe; nobody cares about your little crusade, and nobody reads your worthless articles!” He swatted her hand away, his grin twisting into something uglier, and she opened her mouth to retort, her voice ready to climb another octave.

Before Skye could formulate her comeback, a crimson glow erupted beneath their feet, halting her mid-breath as a rune etched into the pavement flared to life. Skye stumbled back, her heart slamming against her ribs, and she clutched her notepad as the light pulsed, searing her vision with jagged streaks.

Zane swore loudly, “What the hell is this crap?” He staggered, and his hand flew to his temple as if he could claw the intrusion out.

Before Skye could shout again, a voice slithered into their minds, smooth and smug, “Perfect puppets, both of you.”

Skye’s knees buckled under the weight of it, her pen clattering to the pavement, and she grabbed at her ears, trying to block the sound that wasn’t there.

Zane spun around, his eyes darting wildly as he barked, “Who’s there? Show yourself!” His voice cracked at the end, betraying the bravado he clung to, and Skye gritted her teeth. Her own panic rose as the air thickened with a strange, electric hum.

The voice returned, dripping with amusement, “No need to shout; I’m already inside your heads.” Red sparks swirled around them, faster and faster, until they merged into a blinding vortex. Skye’s stomach lurched as the ground seemed to drop away. She reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing Zane’s sleeve, but the magic yanked them apart, her scream tearing from her throat as the alley dissolved.

The journalist’s body twisted in the void, every nerve buzzing with a sickening jolt. She caught a glimpse of Zane’s flailing arms, his button-down flapping like a flag in a storm.

The voice purred again, “You’re mine now; let’s see how well you dance.”

Skye’s vision swam, her leather jacket pulling tight against her shoulders as the vortex tightened its grip. She clawed at the air, desperate for something solid. The red light flared one last time, blinding her completely, and she felt herself falling, her mind reeling as the magic swallowed them whole.

❖

Skye hit the ground hard, her knees slamming into the cold tiles below her as the red vortex spat her out. She gasped, clutching her chest where her heart pounded beneath her jacket, and her hazel eyes darted around, taking in the mirrored walls of this unknown room that threw back her disheveled reflection. The journalist could still feel the electric jolt buzzing in her bones. She gasped and spat out a curse, “Where the fuck are we now?”

Zane Keller landed beside her with a grunt, catching himself against a velvet-draped column. His shirt flapped open wider, revealing more of his tanned chest. He raked a hand through his dark, tousled hair, his eyes blazing with fury. He straightened up and barked, “What kind of pantomime magic trick is this, Lowe?” His tone was accusational. The con artist glanced around, searching for an exit through the endless mirrors.

Skye whirled on him, her freckled face twisting with anger as she snapped, “Don’t pin this on me, you jackass; you’re the one who triggered that rune with your dumb, big mouth!” She stepped toward him, her combat boots thudding against the tile. The tomboy hated how Zane’s grin flickered back like he enjoyed pissing her off even now.

Before he could retort, the voice from the alley slithered into their minds again, smooth and smug, “No need to bicker, my pets; you’re exactly where I want you.” Skye’s stomach dropped at the sound of the ominous voice, her hands returning to her temples, and she growled, “Get out of my head, you bastard!”

Zane staggered, the words echoing in his mind. The self-confident man shouted, “Show your face, coward!” His voice echoed off the mirrors, but the air shimmered in front of them, and a figure coalesced from the haze, tall and silver-haired, his pinstripe suit tailored sharp enough to cut glass.

The warlock smirked at them, his piercing, pale blue eyes glinting with arrogance as he lounged on a gold and silver throne high above the transported pair. The ominous man’s long fingers drummed on the armrest. “My name is Darius Vance. Welcome to the game of your lives,” He chuckled. “I am the puppet master, and you two are my newest toys.” His voice carried a velvet edge, and he tilted his head, studying them like bugs under a lens.

Skye’s stomach churned at his smugness, her fists tightening as she spat, “I’m nobody’s toy, you creepy son of a bitch; let us out of here!” She lunged towards the unknown man sitting high above them, but an invisible wall slammed her back, sending her sprawling onto her ass with a yelp.

Zane laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Even in this predicament, he relished in her downfall. “Nice move, Skye. You’re real smart.” The cocky con artist stared up at the flamboyant man, “Come on Willy Wonka. What’s the deal, then?”

Darius’s smirk widened, and he gently leaned forward, “Ohh, don’t worry, pet,” Zane flinched at the man’s words. “You are here to play my game. Over the course of one month, you will partake in eight separate challenges. Some of these challenges require you to compete against each other, and some,” he chuckled. “Require you to work together.” Skye shuddered. She couldn’t work with this asshole if her life depended on it, and it just might. His claw-like fingernails tapped the armrest, “Work together and win my game, or you both become my giggling bimbo puppets, ready to serve me and my illustrious clients.”

Skye’s blood ran cold; she hated all things feminine. She gagged, “What?! You sick son of a bitch, I’d rather die than play your twisted game!”

Zane’s grin vanished, his face paling as he muttered, “Bimbo puppets, what the hell does that even mean?”

Before the pair knew it, Darius snapped his fingers, and ruby-studded chokers materialized in the air, gleaming with a faint, ominous glow. Skye flinched as one shot toward her, snapping around her neck with a cold, metallic click.

The journalist clawed at the choker possessing her neck, her nails scraping the smooth surface, “What the fuck is this?!” She barked. The slim choker tightened briefly, pressing against her throat, and she felt a jolt, her lips swelling for a heartbeat before shrinking back, leaving her spitting in disgust.

Zane’s choker locked on next, and he yanked at it, his fingers fumbling as he roared, “I’m not wearing this bullshit, you freak!” His choker pulsed, and his lips too plumped up, only to return to their former size.

Darius rose from his throne, his suit rustling as he paced closer, “These chokers bind you to me, lose a challenge, and they twist you, body and soul.” He stopped, towering over them, and his voice dripped with glee, “They’ll tweak you randomly, too, just to keep you motivated.”

He clicked his fingers, and Skye’s choker zapped again, a sharp sting blooming at her collarbone, causing brief excruciating pain. The journalist hissed, “You’re a dead man!” Zane’s choker sparked in a similar fashion, and the con man yelped out. This man was a lunatic.

Darius clapped his hands, and the mirrors flared with red light. “Enough chatter. Your first challenge awaits in the plaza. Let’s see who bends first.”

Skye’s stomach dropped, her mind racing as she tried to process his words, and she shouted, “I’m not playing, you hear me?” Zane stared in frozen awe as the magic flared brighter, and the pair felt their bodies twist again as the vortex reformed.

The brunette con artist finally found his voice, “You’ll pay for this, you bastard!” The red sparks swallowed them, Skye’s scream mixing with Zane’s as the chamber dissolved, hurling them back into the real world.

Skye’s boots hit the pavement again, and she clutched at the choker, its ruby studs glinting under the plaza’s neon glow.

Zane landed beside her, landing hard on his ass before he pounded a fist into the ground, “What the hell just happened?”

Darius’s voice purred one last time in both of their ears. “The game starts now, puppets. Let’s dance.” Skye’s heart raced, her mind reeling with fury and dread, and she knew this was only the beginning of their nightmare.

❖

Skye once again clutched at the ruby-studded choker around her neck, its cold metal tight against her skin as she staggered upright on the plaza pavement. She shot a glare around the jostling crowd, her hazel eyes blazing with fury as shouts and laughter bounced off the nearby market. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms, and she hissed, “That bastard better not think I’m playing his game!” Neon lights of the cyberpunk city flickered overhead, casting sharp lines across her freckled cheeks as she looked around.

Zane pounded a fist into the pavement, his knuckles scraping as he scrambled up from where he’d landed on his ass. His brown eyes flared with rage, and he barked, “This is bullshit, Lowe. I’ve heard of these warlocks pulling shit like this, but not in Ebonreach.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, spitting onto the ground as he glared at the milling strangers. He stood, brushing dust off his pants, and his stubble bristled as he clenched his jaw, scanning the crowd. Why were they sent here?

Skye opened her mouth to speak, but Darius Vayne’s sudden voice slithered into their minds, smooth and taunting, “This is your first challenge, my delightful puppets.” The journalist flinched, her stomach twisting as his words settled, and two tubes of bright, crimson lipstick materialized in front of them, hovering in the air with a faint shimmer. Darius spoke, “Wear the enchanted lipstick; it’ll have a nice effect on those lips of yours. Once you’re wearing it, kiss 10 strangers in the next hour. Man, woman, I don’t care. Pucker up.”

Skye’s blood ran cold. She had only worn makeup about three times in her life. She growled, “You’re insane if you think I’m doing that!”

Zane laughed, a sharp, grating bark, and he crossed his arms, his stubble shadowing a sneer, “No way I’m slapping that crap on my face. Do I look like a sissy to you?” His voice dripped with disdain, and he flicked a hand at the tubes, sending one tumbling to the cold, hard concrete below.

Skye raised an eyebrow. She had no idea what the punishment for noncompliance was. The asshole had already demonstrated his power. She needed to do this. The tomboy snatched her tube, muttering, “Fine, I’ll do it.” She twisted the cap off, the lipstick’s waxy scent hitting her nose, and she smeared it across her lips. Her skin suddenly prickled, and she saw Zane’s humored face. This wasn’t good. Her lips began to balloon, further and further, until they turned into bright red, permanently pouting pornstar bimbo lips.

The journalist’s hands flew to her face, her fingers brushing the swollen, glossy flesh in horror, “What the fuck is this?!” Her voice came out thicker, muffled by the ridiculous pout, and she glared at Zane, who doubled over laughing, his cackle cutting through the market noise. She lunged forward, her fists clenched, “You think this is funny, you bastard?” The con artist stepped back, still chuckling, and Skye groaned in frustration.

Darius’s voice purred in her head, “Nine minutes down, puppets, better start puckering those lips.” Skye froze, her stomach churning at the thought of her enlarged lips touching anyone.

She spun around, spotting a wiry vendor selling luminous potions. She approached the man, grabbed his collar, and mashed her bloated lips against his, the contact wet and clumsy. He shoved her off, cursing, “Get lost, freak!” She ignored him, her choker buzzing faintly as she moved to the next, planting a sloppy kiss that left a crimson smear on the unsuspecting woman’s lips.

Skye’s throat tightened as she stumbled toward a third stranger, a lanky kid with a skateboard slung over his shoulder. She grabbed his arm, her swollen lips smacking against his lips with a sticky squelch, and he jerked back, shouting, “What’s your problem, you weirdo?!” Until he saw the woman standing before him and her bloated appendage. “Maybe you’d like to kiss somewhere else?” He suggested crudely.

The journalist ignored him and counted under her breath, “Three,” and pushed through the crowd, her boots thudding as she kissed a tattooed woman who recoiled with a scowl. The journalist’s face burned with shame, her choker pulsing as she grabbed a half-unconscious drunk with a bottle in his hand, kissing him hard enough to make him spill his drink, “Five.” She gagged from the alcohol on his breath and cussed herself. Did she really have to do this?

Zane leaned against a lamp post, his arms still crossed as he watched his rival get to work, “This is great, Lowe; those lips could suck a damn chrome pipe!” His voice humorously carried over the bustling plaza. The con man smirked, refusing to get involved. “You can win this for us, pretty lips!”

Skye glared at him, her giant pout trembling, and she snarled, “Fuck you, Keller!” She pressed her lips against a sixth stranger, planting a wet kiss that left him blinking in confusion.

Skye hit seven, kissing a shy teen who stood in awe, and the transformed journalist wiped her mouth, the gloss smearing onto her sleeve as she growled. “Have you had your fun?” She cries up to the sky as if talking to an all-powerful deity. “You sick son of a bitch!” She grabbed an eighth stranger, a street busker playing guitar, her lips leaving a red print against his own. Then she kissed a ninth, almost there.

Skye spotted her tenth stranger, an old man with a limp. He grinned wildly as she approached him, having seen what she had been up to. He puckered up before she even reached the old man. The brunette woman mashed her bloated lips against his, pulling away as he cackled, “Well, ain’t that a treat!”

She stepped back, panting, “Ten, done, you asshole!”

After a brief moment, Skye’s lips slowly shrank back to their regular size, and the lipstick began to disappear. The magic enchantment faded with a sharp prick, removing the remnants of the challenge, and Skye spat onto the ground, her tongue curling in revulsion. “That was fucking gross.” Zane mockingly applauded her as she completed the challenge.

Darius’s voice filled their heads, cold and gleeful, “Well done, Skye, you’re a real team player. You’ve won this round,” he said. “However, Zane, your refusal has a price.” The voice said ominously before the fraudster’s choker flared, a red jolt that made him clutch his throat, “No, wait—what?!” Without any further warning, his lips began to swell, inflating further and further, moving past the point of Skye’s previously obscene lips, until they formed a fat, puckered, glossy pout.

The rugged brunette touched them, his hands trembling, and he roared, “You twisted fuck, what is this?” The voice returned. “Those are permanent, by the way. Perhaps you’ll want to take part next time.”

Skye laughed a harsh, victorious cackle, “Now that’s karma, Keller; you’re a damn blow-up doll now!” She covered her own mouth as she let out a hearty belly laugh.

Zane’s face flushed crimson, his fists balling in fury, “Shut your trap, bitch!” He bit back at his nemesis. “I’ll destroy you!” His words lacked the same conviction as they used to before he had to contend with fleshy DSLs.

Darius’s voice emanated inside the pair’s skull again, “One challenge down, seven to go. Zane, better rethink your strategy before we move on.”

Skye’s grin faded, her win souring as she realized the nightmare wasn’t over, and she muttered, “Just let us go, you bastard.” Skye’s gut twisted in the silence, knowing Vayne’s game had only just begun.

❖

The tomboy shoved open the safehouse door, her boots thudding heavily as she trudged inside. Vance had given them an address where they were required to stay between challenges, and after what she had just seen, neither of them was taking any chances.

She rubbed her throat where the ruby choker clung, its cold metal a lingering itch, and she muttered, “That was humiliating; I’m done with this crap.” Her hazel eyes flicked around the dim room, exhaustion etching her freckled face as she slumped onto a rickety stool, her fists unclenching with a tired groan. The challenge’s embarrassment stung, but she’d won, a sour victory that left her drained rather than triumphant.

Zane stormed in behind her, slamming the door so hard the frame creaked, his fat, glossy lips pursed in a permanent pout that turned his rugged jaw into a grotesque caricature. He roared, “Humiliating!? Look at this shit!” His brown eyes blazed with fury and shame, pointing to his plush mouth, fingers trembling as he lurched toward a couch, collapsing onto it with a thud. His voice slurred through the obscene swell, “When I find that magical piece of shit, I’m gonna kill him!”

Skye’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the journalist’s voice dry as she replied, “You did that to yourself, Keller, sitting back while I had to kiss those creeps.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Her win felt hollow, the choker’s faint hum a reminder of Darius’s control. Zane’s refusal had forced her into that degrading mess alone, and though she’d come out ahead, the dread of what lay next coiled tight in her gut.

The fraudster shot up, his fists clenched as he growled, “You think I’d smear that crap on my face after seeing what it did to you? Fuck that, I’m not playing his game!” His glossy pout quivered with every word, mangling his speech into a humiliating mumble.

“Look where not playing his game got you?” Skye clapped back. “I think you’re too dense for your own good, sometimes.” Before Zane could retort, a loud knock rattled the door. Both competitors tensed before Skye tentatively opened the wooden door.

A lanky courier stood there, his gray cap pulled low over dull eyes, a padded envelope clutched in his hand. He thrust it forward, his voice flat, “Package for Zane Keller.” The brunette con artist snatched it, his swollen lips slightly parted as he tore it open, revealing pouches labeled “Bimbo Food” in gaudy pink letters, the tagline boasting, “Perfect for tender lips.”

Skye’s smirk widened, the tomboy stifling a laugh as she leaned against the wall, “Looks like Vance knows how to rub it in.”

Zane’s face flushed crimson, his roar slurring through his pout, “That bastard’s mocking me!” He hurled the envelope into a dented trash bin, the pouches spilling out as he kicked the bin, sending it clattering against a chipped counter.

The courier shrugged, turning to leave without another word, the door creaking shut behind him. Skye opened her mouth to rub it in further when her choker inexplicably flared. “Aghhh!” she moaned. A sharp jolt pierced her navel with a silver stud topped off with a heart-shaped jewel. She gasped, lifting her t-shirt to witness the new jewelry. “What the hell?! I won the challenge!”

Her nails picked at the piercing, but it held firm, without any clasp to remove it, a fresh insult to her tomboy identity. Zane’s eyes flicked to it, his glossy lips curling into a sneer, “Serves you right, you smug bitch; not so nice when it’s on the other foot, eh?”

The journalist shot to her feet, her voice icy as she snapped, “Serves me right? You’re the one who fucked us, Keller! I had to do that challenge by myself because you’re a damn coward!” Her choker buzzed faintly, a warning of worse to come, and she paced the room, her boots clunking on the warped floorboards.

Zane stood up, visibly angry, “Coward? I’m not the one kissing strangers like some desperate slut; you played right into his hands!” His slurred words dripped with venom, the permanent pout twisting his fury into a pathetic whine.

Skye stopped, her hazel eyes narrowing as she leaned into his face, “And look where that got you, bimbo lips! You’re a walking joke now. I think I made the right choice.” She sank back onto the stool, muttering, “He’s not letting us go, we’re screwed either way.”

Zane rubbed his swollen lips, his voice low, “That warlock’s dead. When I get him, I’ll choke him with my bare hands.” His threat was hollow. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside. What did the warlock have up his sleeve next?

❖

The following day, Skye was lounging about with her back laid across the sofa, occasionally stealing glances at her rival and his new plump lips in the kitchen, unable to stop herself from grinning each time. She was jolted upright when the ruby choker around her neck flared, a sudden buzz that prompted the brunette to clasp at the slim collar again.

Zane’s identical reaction told Skye that she wasn’t alone. The con artist stepped into the lounge as the pair heard that now familiar ominous voice in their ears. Darius Vayne was back. “Time for your second challenge, my precious pets,” he said joyously, as though he reveled in their discomfort.

“What is this creep’s problem?” Zane replied, clawing at his buzzing collar, his lips struggling to close fully.

Skye parted her lips to respond when two black hairbrushes materialized in the air before the pair, much like the lipstick tubes had the previous day. Skye shook her head. “No! Not again. Enough with this bimbo shit!” She scowled.

Darius laughed menacingly, a noise that reverberated around the room. “Ohh, this will be fun,” he gloated. “Your hair is about to get sensitive, very sensitive. You will both be required to brush your hair 100 times without losing control.” The voice paused for effect. “That means without orgasming. The first player to reach orgasm loses and receives a forfeit. If you both succeed, I may reward you.” His cackle made Skye’s blood run cold. Suddenly, her scalp began to tingle, as each strand of hair turned into a sensitive erogenous zone. Zane’s gasp told her that he felt the same.”

The tomboy snatched a brush. She didn’t want to participate in this madness, but she saw what happened to her criminal rival last time. Reluctantly, she dragged the brush through her hair, the bristles scraping her scalp, and a shiver raced down her spine. She softly bit her lip and stifled a moan. That felt good, too good.

Zane raised an eyebrow. His much shorter dark locks prickling with the same sensitivity as Skye’s. He grabbed hold of the remaining brush and followed suit, his body shuddering as the brush made contact with his hair. “Fuck, what is this perverted shit?” He asked.

The pair took turns brushing their hair; each run along the sensitive strands sent erotic messages to their groins. After five brushes each, Skye was clearly having the tougher time. With the longer hair, her brushes were far lengthier and erotic. Zane kept score, “Seven, eight,” he panted with his over-bloated lips.

As the number crawled past ten, the journalist’s hand started to tremble, her lips parted in unwanted sensual moans. Despite his own predicament, Zane enjoyed the sounds emanating from his rival’s man. “Damn, Lowe. You could make a lot of money working for one of those sex call operators.” Skye silently flipped him the bird and concentrated on calming her breathing.

Skye hit twelve, “Fuck!” she moaned. Each strand of her shoulder-length hair felt as sensitive as an exposed clit, and she couldn’t prevent her breath from panting heavily and needy. The sensations clawed at her, her scalp burning in ecstasy with every stroke. “Sixteen, seventeen,” Zane said as they continued to take turns.

Zane felt the pleasure run towards his cock. Still, his strokes were short and methodical, allowing him to maintain control over his body. He had also practiced edging before, so this was nothing to him. He grinned over at his tomboy nemesis, staring on as she had a much tougher time controlling herself.

“Not gonna break…” the woman egged herself on. “Twenty, twenty-one,” she heard the running total, but it was too much. As Zane reached twenty-four, Skye cried out in pleasure, with a shudder ripping through her entire body, “Fuccckkkk!” She screamed, the orgasm taking over. Her climax hit her hair, her knees giving out as she collapsed onto the ground, the thud of the brush hitting the wooden floor echoing around the room.

As Skye cried out and spasmed in orgasmic pleasure, Zane stopped brushing his hair. He had won. He stared down at the writhing mess crying out; the slutty moans escaping the tomboy’s lips were not something he ever thought he’d see a few days ago. “Where is your self-control, Skye?” He grinned. “You little slut.”

Skye lay sprawled out and defeated, her chest heaving in heavy breaths as she glared up at the smirking man. “I fucking hate you,” she retorted. How could a man wearing such ridiculous lips act so cocky?

The journalist’s choker flared and vibrated around her neck, and her hair tingled once more. However, this time, the sensations weren’t orgasmic or sensitive; they were signaling a transformation. Her cropped brown hair stretched, lengthening past her shoulders and further down her back. The color also lightened, as if the magic was draining the saturation out of each strand before brightening into an eccentric blond color. Within moments, Skye's tomboy brunette hair had transformed into long, mid-back length, wavy platinum blond locks.

The bemused journalist grabbed a fistful of her new hair, her voice rising. “What the hell is this?!” She exclaimed. The choker stopped pulsing, and her transformation settled. “You’ve given me damn Barbie hair, you asshole!” Her voice was hoarse after the explosive orgasm she had suffered through.

The con artist sat back on a tall stool to avoid tumbling over in laughter. He wiped a tear from his eye. “Ohh, that’s priceless,” he said between chuckles. “You look like a real princess now, princess.”

Skye scowled at her rival. That bastard. “Laugh it up, big lips.” She retorted, reminding him of his own humiliating transformation. “We’ll see who’s laughing when this is all said and done.”

Zane’s laughter faltered, his natural pout reforming. She was right. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. “I’m going to find that son of a bitch before this is over, and I’m going to give him a taste of his own medicine.” Skye nodded, brushing a long blond strand out of her face. Finally, something they could agree on. They still had six challenges remaining, and the warlock was molding them like they were his playthings. The grim promise of worse lay ahead.

❖

Sky shuffled into the safehouse kitchen, her new platinum blond hair swaying as she yanked open the dented fridge door. She grabbed herself a barely cooled beer, popping the cap with a flick of her thumb. She flicked a strand of hair that was blocking her view. “Ughh, how do those prissy girls seriously live like this?” her hazel eyes narrowed in frustration. She was exhausted; that orgasm had taken a lot out of her.

Zane slumped on a tall stool by the counter, his fat, glossy lips finishing off a bottle of his own. He looked over at the complaining woman and grinned. “Still whining about your princess hair?” He taunted. “I think it fits you perfectly.” His brown eyes glinted with smug satisfaction.

Skye slammed her beer down on the kitchen counter. “Alright, cut it out, bimbo lips!” She exclaimed. She was a serious hard ass and had no time for the small-time crook’s juvenile jokes. “I’m not the one who looks like a cheap hooker!” Alright, maybe she was the type to crack jokes. The blond stood up and began pacing the kitchen.

Zane followed her with his eyes, his grin widening as he retorted. “Cheap hooker? Did you hear yourself earlier?” He asked. “You were screaming like a damn porn star.”

Before the journalist could fire back, Zane’s sudden gasp stole her attention. His choker began to vibrate and warm up. “What the- No! Not now!” He cried out. Darius Vance had warned them that they would be subjected to ‘random’ transformations between challenges to ‘motivate’ them; that was how Skye ended up with the cute, feminine heart piercing on her belly button. Now, it was Zane’s turn.

The con artist’s tongue tingled before a sharp sting pushed into the center and punched a silver stud into place. Like Skye’s new piercing, this one had no clasp to allow removal. Zane suddenly had a silver stud in his tongue, and he could do nothing about it. “What’s this?” The combination of his newly inflated lips and the piercing caused him to slur his words slightly, creating a slight lisp.

Skye stepped closer and chuckled, temporarily forgetting about her own predicament. “Ohh, big lips and a tongue stud?” She asked. “What a pretty little mouth you got there, baby girl.” She taunted.

The stud clicked against Zane’s teeth, and he spat on the floor in disgust. “Shut your trap, you blond tart!” He snapped back, flicking his tongue and wincing as the stud caught his plump lip. He slammed his fist down on the counter. “This humiliation has gone on long enough!” He tried to pull at the collar he assumed was the source of this magic, but he couldn’t pry it free. The choker was fixed in place.

Skye glanced around the safe house. If Vance was playing a game, then there had to be a way to win. They needed to think smart. Well, she needed to think smart, she thought; Zane didn’t have that ability. She left the room to search for clues as her rival clawed at his choker in vain.

❖

A couple of days went by without a peep from Darius Vayne. Impatiently, Skye attempted to leave altogether the previous day, eager to forget about this damn game and get back to exposing crooks and frauds. However, her choker began to vibrate when she reached the front door. She didn’t want to poke the bear needlessly, so she gave in and trudged back inside.

Both rivals had had enough of each other’s teasing jibes. They were in this game together, but they hated each other passionately. When the opportunity arose, they couldn’t resist digging into the other.

As the newly blond Skye leaned over the kitchen countertop, sipping a warm beer, her choker began to flare up again. Her hands immediately flew to her neck. Anticipating a ‘random’ change, she was half-relieved when she heard Darius’ words echo through her ears.

“Time for challenge three, my delicious pets,” he taunted. Skye looked over at Zane and knew he was hearing the exact same drivel by the concerned expression on his face, made more cartoonish by those plump DSLs. “Let’s play a little game where cooperation is key,” Vance continued.

Zane stood up from the sofa he was resting on. He knew there could be no genuine cooperation between the two. “This is bullshit. Just let us go, Vance!” He exclaimed, his slight lisp from the new tongue piercing barely noticeable. The con artist’s smug win from a few days ago seemed like a distant memory. “We’re done with your dumb games.”

Before the pair could act, Skye’s clothes suddenly vanished, leaving her completely exposed and bare; her small, B-cup tits revealed in Zane’s presence, the untamed hair on her public mound and under her arms noticeable, the faint chill of the wind brushing against her bare skin. Zane’s grin suddenly widened as Skye looked mortified. Nothing seemed to happen to the con man’s outfit, whereas the new blond wore nothing except that cursed choker.

Before Skye could ask what the hell was going on, a black blindfold snapped tight over her eyes. The journalist instinctively lifted her arms and tried to remove the blindfold, but it wouldn’t budge; she couldn’t see a thing.

“I’m liking the look of this,” Zane taunted as a small microphone appeared in his hand, and an earpiece appeared in the naked blond’s ear.

“The name of the game is simple,” Darius announced. “Zane will be Skye’s eyes in public. He will direct her from downtown, as she is now, back safely to this house. Win, and you both receive a reward. However, if you fail, punishment looms.”

Skye parted her lips to complain. This doesn’t seem fair. However, before she could speak, she disappeared entirely inside the safety of the safe house. She reappeared in the center of a downtown park. The TV screen in the safehouse turned on. It showed a naked and blindfolded Skye in public, leering surprised eyes all around her. However, her lack of sight kept her ignorant.

“Ohh, this will be good,” Zane grinned. He would need to keep a mental image of this moment, he thought to himself. “Right, Princess, let’s get this ball rolling. Go straight ahead.”

Skye seethed. “Don’t you fucking dare call me princess!” She retorted, but the communication was only one way. Zane couldn’t hear a word his blind rival was saying, although he could see her lips moving, which made him chuckle.

Skye stumbled forward, just wanting to get this humiliation over with. “Turn left here, cutie,” each direction was a stab into her soul, designed to humiliate her. She groaned but complied - She had no real choice.

“Mmm, baby, want me to take you somewhere?” A slimy, homeless man asked the naked, blindfolded woman. Skye shuddered and continued walking. It had only just occurred to her how this must look to ordinary people.

Zane, however, was having the time of his life. “Stop at the crosswalk, Princess. Now, go,” he directed, inching her ever closer to the safe house and having a great time doing it.

“Fuck you, Zane!” She barked in public. “I’m not your damn puppet.” But the brunette man couldn’t hear her, and she merely had to grit through her humiliation. She’d make him pay one way or another.

As Zane edged her closer, the puppet master whispered in his ear. “Looks like you’re having fun there,” he teased. “Do you really want it to end, or do you want to get your revenge for that piece she wrote about you last year?” Sowing devious thoughts in the brunette’s mind.

Left here, blondie,” he said before abruptly changing his mind. “No, actually, right.”

“Stop playing around, you asshole,” Skye exclaimed before turning right.

“Almost there, babe,” Zane encouraged. “Just step through that door.” He had led her to a building, although it wasn’t the safehouse he originally intended.

Skye immediately knew she was in the wrong place when she stepped foot into the building and heard the hearty, rowdy chatter from the men around her. Zane had led the blond to a rough-and-tumble biker bar across the street from the house they were staying in.

“You a little lost, sweetheart?” Skye heard a gravelly voice question her presence.

“What the fuck?” She snapped. “I’m going to kill you, Keller!”

As Skye stood there, fuming at her predicament, she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, its hand firmly grasping one of her exposed breasts. “No, I…” she tried to protest before being interrupted by a man.

“Let ole Tyson look after you, I know what you need.” He led Skye further into the bar, every gaze following them. She shuddered; what was about to happen?

“I like it when girls get kinky,” Tyson said casually before guiding her to her knees on the far side of the bar.

“Kinky? No, I…Ughh!” Suddenly, metal shackles closed around her wrists and ankles, a thick chain connecting them and keeping her on her knees. Before she could clarify the situation, a wide O-ring gag slid into Skye’s mouth, forcing her lips apart and leaving her completely exposed.

“Come on, boys, give this one what she wants,” Tyson instructed his crew as he unzipped his pants.

He took out his thick, erect shaft and lowered it towards Skye’s open mouth. Her eyes widened in shock as he pushed himself between her lips without any warning. Skye tried to protest, but it was muffled by the gag.

Tyson held onto the back of her head and began thrusting forcefully into her mouth. She gagged as he moved deeper down her throat. Each thrust brought tears to Skye’s eyes as she struggled for air.

As Tyson finished with her, another man stepped up, equally eager to take his turn with Skye. The second man was even more aggressive than Tyson, holding her head tightly as he pushed himself further into her throat. Skye’s face turned a shade of red as she desperately tried to breathe.

The men continued to take turns with Skye, one after another. Each brought their own level of force and dominance over the helpless woman on her knees. Skye’s body shook with each thrust, her mind racing with confusion and panic.

After the last man had finished, their heavy breathing filled the bar as they stood back and admired their work. Skye, covered in sweat, saliva, and a mouth and face full of cum, was left on her knees – humiliated and defeated, until Tyson finally released the gag and her bonds.

Zane watched the entire scene play out on the TV, elated as each cock that entered her mouth. That couldn’t have played out any better. It turned him on so much that he ended up with his own cock in his hands.

As Skye’s blindfold dissolved, allowing her to see, and she ran from the bar, Zane felt his own choker begin to pulse and vibrate. His hands immediately flew to the thin band around his neck. “What the-?” He exclaimed.

Darius’ voice invaded his thoughts: “My my... What a naughty little boy you are, sabotaging your partner like that.” Zane shuddered, clawing at the collar. “For your sabotage, you lost this round. Now you will suffer the consequences.”

“You tricked me, you bastard!” Zane screamed out with his comically large lips, and he felt a strange tickling sensation on his chest. “No! No way!” He cried as his chest began to expand and strain against the button-up shirt he was wearing.

Ten minutes later, Skye slammed the door open. “You fucking piece of shit! She exclaimed. “Wait until I get my hands on-” The blond’s eyes widened, and she paused, her mouth gaping open in shock, a remnant of cum still on her face.

She stared at Zane on his knees, looking distraught, his hands cupping the huge, fake-looking G-cup breasts that looked out of place high on his chest. The expansion ripped his buttons, rendering the shirt useless, and the former playboy cupped his new assets in horror, staring up at the blond.

“Look what that bastard did to me!” he yelled, desperation lacing his voice.

A sly grin crossed Skye’s face as she took in Zane’s new appearance. This was karmic justice. “That’s exactly what you deserve, you son of a bitch,” she spat. “That is karma.”

His punishment wasn’t done yet as he winced and then winced again. Suddenly, as he removed his hands to examine the cause of his stinging pain, Skye noticed a silver barbell in each of his new engorged nipples, pretty decorating around pretty G-cup monstrosities.

The blond folded her arms. She had been subjected to humiliation and face-fucking, but at least justice was served.

❖

A few days had passed since that blindside challenge, and Zane was still seething. What should have been a satisfying act of revenge for all the times Skye had foiled his plots turned into a horrifying transformation that earned him a pair of firm, fake G-cup breasts with silver barbell piercings decorating his now prominent nipples.

“That bastard turned me into a freak show!” He roared, his fat, glossy lips trembling with fury as he sat uncomfortably at the dinner table. He wore an oversized black t-shirt in an attempt to cover up his new monstrosities, but nothing could truly hide his new bosom.

Skye lounged on the couch. She had her own reasons to be furious with the game and the puppet master, but seeing Zane in his current form dulled her frustration a little. “Aww, baby. Those udders giving you backache?” She grinned and teased. He had received those assets by sabotaging her, which was delightful to see. The journalist brushed a strand of bright, blond hair from her eyes, the result of her own transformation from the second challenge. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before screwing me over.”

Zane lifted his head and scowled. “Think twice?” He asked. “You’d have done the exact same thing if it was me out there!” He whined. “I’m not the enemy here; that perverted puppet master is.”

Skye shuddered; the memory of being bound and gagged, having her mouth taken again and again circled in her mind. Zane was an asshole. “I’m not like you, Zane,” she barked back. “I have a moral compass.” The truth was that she wasn’t sure what she would have done in his position. Would she have guided him home safely without sabotaging him? “You are right, though,” she admitted. “Vance is the real enemy.”

The pair nodded in agreement, but the moment swiftly disappeared when Skye’s thin choker began flaring again. “No! What this time?!” She exclaimed. It didn’t take long for her to discover the problem as her short, unpainted, heavily bitten fingernails began to tingle and vibrate.

Very slowly, each of her fingernails began to stretch, lengthening into long, manicured claws, tidily smooth at the tips as though she had just left one of those prissy nail salons. The nails were at least an inch past each fingernail before they stopped growing, and then they changed color. “No! No fucking way!” Skye wanted to gag. Staring down at her nails, she saw long, perfectly manicured, bright pink claws looking back at her. “Pink? I fucking hate pink!” Her anger was difficult to hide.

Despite his huge breasts, tongue and nipple piercings, and comically large lips, Zane couldn’t help but laugh at his rival’s sudden transformation. She was a tomboy through and through, and he knew how much the blond hair and pink nails would destroy her mentally. “Wow, you’re turning into quite the Barbie,” he mocked. “Add in a nicer attitude, and I’d fuck you.” He laughed.

Skye, still seething, raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’re the one with stripper tits that would make a pornstar jealous, and you’re calling me the Barbie?” Her retort wasn’t original, but it pushed the right buttons. “Just remember where your antics have gotten you the next time you try to set me up.”

The newly busty man groaned. “Set you up?” He asked. “Don’t act like you weren’t moaning like some whore each time they entered your mouth, you blond tramp.” He teased. “I just gave you what you wanted.” He allowed a subtle grin to cross his lips.

The blond journalist clenched her fists before gasping as the new, long fingernails stabbed the palms of her hands. She shook in frustration. “Arghhh!” She screamed out. “You’re fucking unbearable!” Sky couldn’t stand being around her nemesis any longer and stormed out of the room towards her private bedroom.

Zane’s smirk grew wider. He still knew how to press her buttons, and watching her explode like that was enjoyable. His cheeky grin faltered slightly when he peered down, suddenly reminded of the bolt-on tits attached to his chest. He needed to soldier on and survive this game.

❖

A week had crept by since that ‘blind’ downtown disaster, and the safehouse lounge was a simmering pit of resentment. Skye slumped on the couch, her long blond hair spilling over the armrest as she nursed her latest beer, her new, long, manicured, bubblegum pink nails clinking nervously against the bottle.

The journalist’s hazel eyes narrowed, the memory of that biker bar incident still seared in her mind; she was sure she could still taste their cum in her mouth. She glared over at Zane.

Zane sat at the wobbly dinner table, his oversized navy green t-shirt stretched tight over his inflated, out-of-place fake breasts, the silver barbell piercings poking through like cruel taunts. His fists were clenched as the weight on his chest was a constant reminder of his twisted fortunes over the last couple of weeks. “What’re you staring at?” He noticed Skye peering at him. “I’ll rip these things off and shove them down your throat!”

Skye chuckled lightly, taking another sip of her beet. “Keep dreaming, big tits,” she teased. “Those bimbo udders look pretty attached to your chest.” She stood up, intending to leave the room before another argument and taunting match broke out. However, before she could saunter off, her magical choker flared up and vibrated around her neck.

“What the-?” She exclaimed, terrified that another random transformation was approaching until she saw Zane’s similar reaction. This must be a new challenge.

As if on cue, the pair heard the ominous voice in their heads. “Time for round four, my pretty puppets,” Darius Vance taunted. Suddenly, the room began to spin, and the pair felt dizzier and dizzier as the space expanded and morphed around them.

When the spinning halted, the duo was no longer in the safe house. Well, they were, but not as they knew it. Everything around them was filled with pastel colors—pinks, blues, and yellows—and had a distinctive plastic look to it. “Where the fuck are we?” Zane asked in a panic. It didn’t take long to receive an answer,

“Welcome to the dollhouse, my pets,” Vance victoriously declared. “You’ve been shrunken to 10 inches, and the only way to return to your original size is to follow the clues and escape this house.”

Skye glanced around. They were inside a doll house? She stepped towards a window and could clearly see they were still inside the safe house, with the children’s toy placed on the dinner table. She shuddered. Magic was freaky as hell.

Zane parted his lips, but both collars flickered again, and their casual attire disappeared before their eyes. Skye’s untrimmed pubic hair was exposed just above her slit, the navel heart-piercing flickering in the artificial light. Zane’s 7” member swayed freely while his huge fake tits sat loud and proud on his chest.

Skye’s hands immediately covered her groin and chest. Still, they soon moved elsewhere when a large pink ball appeared inside the journalist’s mouth, stretching her jaw wide. Black straps wrapped around her head to form a tightly fitted harness gag, with a padlock in the back ensuring the gag would stay in place.

Zane found himself in the same predicament; only his ball gag was bright red. “Mmphh-mm?” He called out in protest, his words highly muffled by the invading gag.

“You have two hours,” Darius chanted in their ears. “Escape by then and return to your old fate. Fail, and you will be spending much longer inside this luxury home.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying the rivals’ joint humiliation. “Time starts now.”

“Mrpph mumpph,” Skye murmured out. Two hours to escape the locked house, or risk being tiny dolls forever? Her eyes darted around in a panic. She tried not to stare at Zane’s ridiculous lips wrapped around his red gag; this wasn’t the time for teasing or jokes.

The room they were in was a nightmare of excess, bubblegum pink walls, a glittering chandelier dangling overhead, and plastic furniture looming like pastel giants. Skye’s bare feet sank into the carpet as she scanned the space, spotting a wardrobe with a sliding panel etched with the words: ‘Dress to Progress’ on the front.

She shuffled closer, her blond locks brushing her shoulders, and attempted to slide the door open, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. The journalist examined the door as she felt Zane’s breath bare down on her, as if he was waiting for her cue. Skye noticed a panel in the center of the sliding door, with ten holes, five on each side, as if they were inviting you to slide your fingers inside.

Impatiently, Zane brushed past me and slipped his ten fingers inside the holes, but nothing happened. He tried to push his fingers further, but something felt off. “Mmrpphh mphhhh!” His nails weren’t long enough.

Skye’s eyes widened at his words, drifting down to the long, pink talons. She sighed and knew what she needed to do. Pushing Zane aside, Skye took a deep breath and pushed her own fingers inside, the nails slipping further between a soft cushion. The journalist heard a click and was alarmed when she couldn’t remove her hands from the 10 orifices. After pulling for 30 seconds, she fell backward when the wardrobe door released her and clicked, allowing Zane to slide the door open.

As Zane examined the interior of the closet, Skye stared in horror at her nails. Not only did the pink paint look even glossier, but somehow, a glittery pink rhinestone jewel had attached itself to each of her cuticles.

“Mmmpph mrpphhh!” Zane called out, bringing Skye out of her terrified moment. She stood up and approached him just in time to witness her rival outstretch a hand and grab the two outfits displayed inside.

Instantly, the outfits disappeared from view and attached themselves to the rivals. Skye was no longer naked, although she might have preferred it. She was now wearing a sparkling pink tube top, wide enough to barely cover her B-cup breasts but left her entire torso and that heart-shaped piercing exposed. Her unshaven pussy was also covered with a matching pink g-string, pressing into her hips and giving her an almighty wedgy.

Zane arguably got it even worse. His naked body was covered up by a tight-fitted red PVC minidress, with the low-cut top showing off a generous amount of cleavage and the skirt flaring out over his thighs. He looked ridiculous, he thought. “Mnnnooop!” He exclaimed.

A key clinked onto the floor, and Sky immediately bent over and picked it up, giving the gagged Zane a great view of her ass. She examined the key for clues. There was an image of a chest on the head of the key, and the pair scanned around for anything resembling the image.

“Hhrggh!” Zane called out as he examined the next room, a Barbie-style dining room and kitchen. Skye rushed to join him, the g-string pushing against her asscheeks with each stride. She found Zane standing before a pink chest identical to the image they had seen.

The front of the locked chest had a keyhole, but it was beside a lip-shaped silhouette, and it wasn’t just any shape. The lips were big, plump, and full. Zane bit into his gag in frustration. He knew exactly what he needed to do.

The con artist narrowed his eyes and glared at his nemesis. Skye put her hands up as if offering a truce. They needed to work together to get out of here. Zane tentatively pressed his gagged lips up against the silhouette. He immediately felt a vacuum push his lips inside the hole. His plump suckers fit perfectly, and the keyhole immediately started to glow.

“Mrpphhh!” Zane cried urgently, and Skye rushed to action, slipping the key inside the glowing hole and turning it anti-clockwise. With a click, the suction on Zane’s lips disappeared, and the trunk opened.

The brunette man gently brought a finger to his lips and shuddered at once. They felt sensitive, like really sensitive. He brushed the plump lips again and felt a sensual shiver run down his spine. What had they done to him, he thought.

With only 80 minutes left, Skye wasted no time and reached into the trunk, pulling out two pairs of stockings. Similar to the previous outfits, these stockings instantly disappeared and reappeared on the duo’s legs. Along with her tube top and g-string, Skye now found herself wearing a pair of thigh-high, pink, free-standing fishnet stockings. “Mpphhh!” She exclaimed. Why pink?

Zane didn’t get any reprieve, finding himself adorning a pair of opaque thigh-high red stockings with matching suspenders barely hidden under his dress. It was a comical satire of femininity on the previously suave man.

A second key fell out as the pair examined their new additions in horror. They definitely weren’t naked now. Skye bent at the knees and picked up the key, biting into her gag in frustration. “Mmrpp mompp?” She questioned the busty man beside her.

Zane stared at the image on the key head,  showing the silhouette of a large mirror with an arch at the top. He shrugged, and the pair went about searching for the new container. Skye moved into the next room, a hallway with yellow walls and blue furniture. A white cloth was draped over an object, the only dull color in the room. She grabbed the fabric with her bedazzled talons and pulled it away, revealing the tall, arched mirror they were looking for.

“Mrphhh!” She called out, and Zane soon joined her. The blond woman stared at the image above the mirror, displaying the silhouette of a woman with her hair in high pigtails. Below the picture was a one-lined clue: Blonde banners aloft shall part the silver veil.

Skye bit into the inconvenient gag again. Blond banners? They must mean her hair, but what did they want her to do with it? A few moments later, the journalist felt a nudge, and her busty nemesis held two pink hairbands out for her. Wordlessly, he demonstrated that they must be placed in her hair, as in the image.

Skye wildly shook her head. It was hard enough to carry this girly hairstyle around; there was no way she was putting it into pigtails. Zane sighed and approached the mirror, slipping the key inside its hole, but nothing happened. He pointed exaggeratedly, wishing he could communicate more coherently.

The journalist groaned. He was right. If it was the only way, she needed to do it. It’s better than being stuck at 10 inches tall for the rest of her life. He handed her the bands, and the woman tied her long blond locks into tall twin tails as though she were some ridiculous, bubbly schoolgirl. She rolled her eyes, but as she stared back at her feminine reflection in the mirror, the keyhole began to glow. Zane immediately turned the key, and the mirrored door opened to reveal two small items.

Skye immediately tried to remove the hairbands but struggled to pull them free. It felt like the bands were set in place and wouldn’t budge, keeping her hair in the ridiculous style.

Zane didn’t wait, reaching down and grabbing the two silver items, which disappeared instantly.

“Mrpphhh!” Skye cried out alarmingly as her hand flew to her g-stringed asscheeks. Without warning, a wide silver metal butt plug with a pink encrusted princess jewel occupied her asshole, filling up her orifice and stretching it wide.

“Nnghh!” Zane’s deeper voice groaned out in equal frustration. He lifted his dress to find the cock he was once so proud of all shriveled up and contained by a small curved metal chastity cage. A silver padlock proudly displayed above it, keeping it locked in place. The con artist was locked up and helpless.

As the pair were discovering their new hated fates, yet another key fell to the ground. The pair only had 20 minutes left to escape the house. Zane reached down and picked it up, staring at the image on the head of the key; he had seen this before.

It was a cupboard in the teardrop shape of a pair of breasts; Zane was always a boob man and noticed the pink furniture earlier in the first room. He rushed back to the main living room and stood before the large cupboard.

Beside the keyhole were indents for a pair of large breasts and a message that read: Twin mounds fit the shadowed groove, yet a crack unveils the room to move. Zane knew precisely what the challenge wanted him to do.

Skye seemed to understand, too, and urged her rival towards the cupboard. He needed to place his new fake tits in the grooves. The con artist lowered his top in preparation before pausing and rereading the clue.

Zane rushed back into the kitchen and returned with a pink sledgehammer, prompting Skye’s eyes to widen. Was he damn crazy? She thought. He stepped up to the cupboard with purpose. “Mmuuooo!” Skye screamed in an attempt to stop him, but the busty man smashed the plastic boob-shaped cupboard in one fell swoop.

Suddenly, the world began spinning, faster and faster, until they were transported back into their living room, back to their original sizes. The doll house they occupied still sat proudly and colorfully on the dinner table.

Skye examined herself; she was still wearing the tube top and g-string, the stockings, the butt plug, the jewel-encrusted nails, and the damn humiliating pigtails. She attempted to tug the outfit loose, but none of it was loose. Darius’s magic was keeping everything in place.

Zane had the exact same revelation. His low-cut, cleavage-spilling dress, red stockings, sensitive lips, and chastity cage were all kept in place. The pair’s choker hummed, and their harness ball gags disappeared, but everything else remained.

“What the-?” Skye complained, “I can’t wear this shit!”

“At least you’re a woman,” Zane retorted. “No one would look twice at you looking like a Barbie doll. Look at me!”

She did stare at him, and under any other circumstances, she would have enjoyed what she saw, but this game had transformed both of them into unrecognizable caricatures of themselves, and they were only halfway through. They both silently nodded in resignation.

❖

Skye stood in the safehouse lounge, her blond pigtails swaying as she clawed at her sparkling pink tube top, the fabric glinting under the dull bulb. “Fuck! How can a damn outfit be stuck to me?!” She exclaimed in frustration, her voice hoarse from the dollhouse ordeal and her gagged experience. With each uncomfortable step, she felt the intrusive plug shifting inside of her. “I look like some Barbie doll stripper!”

“You got that right,” Zane quipped, although it wasn’t made in the same jest as his earlier insults. His red PVC minidress stretched tightly over the obviously enhanced G-cup breasts, and the flared skirt hid his humiliatingly locked-away cock. He was in no position to gloat. He tugged at the padlock, keeping the equipment together. “That bastard needs to unlock this crap!” he bellowed out, his fat, glossy lips trembling, prompting a slight lisp.

Across the veil of reality, Darius Vayne lounged in his manor’s opulent study, holding a crystal goblet of dark wine as he watched the scene unfold on a shimmering hologram; this may have been his best game yet.

The room’s high ceilings loomed over a large, long oak table, its surface cluttered with gold coins and scribbled tablets, surrounded by six shadowed men cloaked in black hoods. Their faces were obscured, but their chuckles and low growls filled the air as Darius leaned back on his throne. He purred with delight. “Look at my puppets squirm, gentleman,” he said, swirling the wine. “Four of the eight challenges have been completed, and they’re already perfect little dolls, aren’t they?”

A voice from the shadows rasped, “The blond’s cracking; I’ll wager fifty on her breaking first.” Another, deeper voice countered, “No, the busty one’s weaker. I’ll take your bet!” Coins clinked as bets shifted, and a third figure, his hood dipping low, muttered, “Two hundred says that they both crack by challenge six.” Darius’s lips curled into a wicked grin as the men around him debated the fates of the two coerced contestants.

The warlock pressed his hands together and stared through his crystal ball at the image of the pair reacting to their new, humiliating fates. There was a lot more where that came from, Darius thought. Just wait and see.

End of Chapter One