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."