Chapter 3/4
Clay made it home and dropped on his sofa in the living room. He figured he was lucky dad worked till much later or he'd have to find a way to explain the haircut and even more so the attire. His filthy sneakers left a trail of dust on the ground. His thong smelled like piss. His snapback was... Somehow it was still on his head, which in itself proved that magic was at work.
Unable to get up, he humped the cushions, but of course didn't get his long overdue orgasm. Strangely, the nipple rings gave him an amazing new sensation. His eyes watered at the erotic shivers surging through him. Even the butt plug was contributing.
If he had such fag-worthy thoughts, he was clearly beyond horny. Clay would be glad once the games were over and he could go back to normal, without looking – and thinking – like a homo, who enjoyed anal.
<Player 1 has refused his gift and so it goes to you. Here is the non-refuse-able gift.>
An odd pull spread along his head. Clay forced himself up and slowly made his way over to the mirror.
The mohawk was growing at the back, turning into a long strand down his spine. He watched his thick hair grow until it reached his ass crack. It was inconvenient but he could live with it until the game was done.
The hair twisted itself into a braid. It ended up not hanging quite so low and formed a firmly tied tail from the back of his mohawk. It certainly looked dumb on him given his current outfit but in isolation it wasn't even that bad. Integrated into the mohawk it may have been the least gay gift he had gotten so far.
Already about to turn away from the mirror, he saw a splash of red appear on the very left side of his haircut. The bright red color ran all the way to the bottom of his braid through a single strand.
This was followed by orange, running along right next to it. Now he had two stripes in his hair. Next came yellow, then green then blue.
Before indigo and violet finished it off, he understood what was happening. His body was now a living pride flag. This was by far the faggiest possible style anyone could have devised.
Clay's rage grew to unprecedented heights. He needed to tear someone's head off.
Letters formed on his chest. He saw the words `Bitchboy' appear – huge and glaring. It was appropriate, if not quite as immediately shocking as rainbow hair. It would have to do.
"I refuse. Fuck that guy."
Clay took deep breaths as the letters faded. It was temporary. He had to keep that in mind. He was ahead by two rings, so it was going well for him. He was winning. Not by a landslide but it would be hard for player 1 to catch up.
He had almost calmed down when the horrible fucking demon come back into his mind.
<Player 1 refused the next gift. What an exciting development. Not many have wagered correctly. Here it goes, to player 2.>
Something tickled in Clay's mouth. He opened it and examined the damage, but there was nothing unusual. Why would the idiot opponent have refused something invisible?
"What was it this time?" Clay said and understood right away.
He now had a lisp – an incredibly gay sounding, nasal lisp that made it sound as if he was lisping on purpose. He had the impression that his voice was higher than before or had lost some masculine edge.
"Fuck no. This is the faggiest fucking... No no no." He hated how impossibly gay he sounded. He didn't want to speak anymore.
<Here is the gift for player 2. Accept it or not.>
The teen had to turn around to see it. There was writing appearing across his back in huge letters – too big to be in any way obscured by the rainbow braid. The new tattoo said `Dick Me Down! My Ass Is Ready!'
He should collect the ring and move on but the change to his voice bothered him beyond anything he had considered a priority. Player 1 needed to be punished.
"I refuse," Clay lisped.
Moments after the mark had finished, the hellish voice came back.
Fuck no. Absolutely not. He'd give up on that one, obviously.
The attorney called.
"Hello," Clay said, his gay-ified voice being noticeable even with just this one word.
"I just heard what the new task is. I think your opponent is likely to sit it out, just like the other two."
"Yeah... Nah, he can have this one."
"I have almost cracked the location of player 1, but you should still keep participating. You might have to win the regular way."
"Fucking forget it. This isn't some cosmetic change that'll go away once it's over. This is dick sucking we're talking about."
"Well, fine. But come outside. I'm at your house. Once we have the location I can drive you straight there."
The attorney hung up. That was really creepy. Although Clay shouldn't be surprised that the man knew his location, too.
Risking a glance out the window, the teen saw a black jeep parked right in front of the driveway. A buff man in his forties exited. He was wearing a suit and sunglasses.
Once the man knocked at the door, Clay figured he didn't have a choice but to a least talk to the `attorney'.
"Hello," he lisped as he opened.
"Hi Clay. Come on. I should get the location from my assistant any second. Hop in."
Without waiting a second, the man returned to his car. Clay hesitated for a moment. He had spoken to the guy on the phone a few times, but knew nothing about him – not even his name.
After a few seconds, Clay decided the man probably meant well, at least compared to the people who had invented the game.
He crawled into the jeep, sinking into the leather seat next to the driver. With no further words, the attorney drove off. The man got a message on his phone, opened the navigation app and they moved in silence.
After crossing the city for thirty minutes, he spoke up.
"Listen Clay, once I brought you to the guy, you'll have to reason it out with him. If you both give up in the same round, you both drop from the game. It's that simple."
"O-okay."
"I can't stay. I'll try to interrupt the game, just in case we need a plan B."
"Uh... thanks?"
"Oh, it's fine. I take on cases like yours all the time. Pro bono, in a manner of speaking. If my interruption is a success you will know right away because the shackles will vanish et cetera. You'll go back to normal."
"Kay."
The drive kept going quietly for a little longer until they had reached the next city. The attorney pulled over at the border to the inner town, near the start of taller buildings.
"Right there," the man said and pointed at a red door set back in a side alley. "He's in there, right now."
"I'll go then," Clay said but the door didn't unlock. "Um."
"I really think he'll have given up on this task. It would only take you one."
"What are you talking ab-"
The attorney pressed a piece of cloth on the teen's face. Clay struggled but grew weaker with every passing second. He had already inhaled what was in there.
Going completely limb, Clay saw the man open his pants and pull out a thick, already hard dick. As much as the boy struggled, he couldn't move a muscle. His legs were still responding but not in a coordinated fashion. He wiggled around in his seat, while the man repositioned himself.
Clay's shoulders were grabbed and the teen got pulled onto his back with his head pointing toward the driver's side. The attorney hovered over him, his fuck stick threateningly dangling above Clay's face.
Leaving him in total disbelieve, the boy's slack open mouth was violated. He got the full length at once, all the way to the balls. Clearly the paralyzing substance hadn't affected his gag reflex. Clay's body convulsed as he was thrown around by involuntary cringing.
He barely got to taste the dick since his own spit and mucus were flowing like a river, but this did little to console the boy. His jaw got stretched by the attorney, who seemed to want to make sure no teeth touched his dick. This left Clay's lips far from the dick itself, so the man had to fuck deep into the throat to get stimulated.
Wildly chocking, the boy struggled to breathe past the thrusts. His flowing tears obscured his vision but there was nothing to see beside the attorney's asshole anyway. The thick balls slapped against Clay's face, rubbing sweat off on him.
Just as some control returned to his limbs, the attorney cummed with a grunt, shooting his full load down the boy's esophagus. Clay could feel every single drop intrude into his body and gagged even more in a futile attempt to force the cum back out.
"There you go. Now find player 1."
Before Clay was able to regain full use of his body, the man shoved him out the door and drove off.
In bright daylight, the teen fought himself to a stand, wobbling dangerously. He felt spit running off his chin, but his arms were not ready to be lifted yet. With the shackles on him, it was hard enough not to fall over in his dazed state.
Barely able to see through his reddened teary eyes, he registered the people around him, staring with disgust. He must have looked as if he had just come back from an orgy of drugs and gay sex.
<The task has ended and we have a surprising outcome to celebrate. With 4 versus 1, the winner against all odds is player 1. Is he making a comeback? We'll see.>
Clay tried to scream out his frustration, ignoring all the passer-bys, but it came out as a hoarse gargle only. He could finally wipe the saliva off his face and made his way to the building where his opponent waited – no, his enemy. He had to cooperate with the guy but afterward he'd break his neck. Yap. He liked that plan.
The door was locked. Of course it was locked.
But there was a small window above a trash container and it looked to be ajar. After taking a minute to fully regain control over his violated body, the boy climbed the container and pulled himself up the window frame.
The place was some sort of club, although this couldn't be the main room.
"Hey," said one of the patrons from below. Now Clay was able to see more in the dim light. It seemed to be an all-male clientele. The four cum donors player 1 had sucked off were presumably among them.
"Uh..."
The man who had spoken to Clay squinted against the window. "You're a different one, aren't you?"
"Y-yes? You mean there's been a guy here who looked like me?"
"Yeah. Same headwear and tan. Same cut, but black. Is this a trend now?"
Clay tried to shrug, but he was still pulled up on the frame and his arms were beginning to tremble. "Well, I dunno about that. Do you know where he went?"
"Said something about that. His car was parked a few blocks down. Sounded like he was out of gas. Guess he'll be looking for a gas station, right?"
"Thanks," Clay said and dropped down. He got off the container.
The boy's first impulse was to look up gas stations but he didn't have his phone. He had taken it with him, though. Hadn't he? So it was in the attorney's car now. Fucking great.
As he left the side alley, he caught a glimpse of himself in a shop's display window. Would anyone even tell him where to find the nearest gas station, if he approached them looking like this?
Already people were staring or turning away. Anyone walking past him, walked a little quicker until they were out of `danger'. There was a bunch of tourist information around, though. One of those signs had to point him to the next place for refueling.
<Let's get going.>
Oh no.
<Player 1 accepted the gift, will you?>
Clay got stabbed in several places. He couldn't exactly see his face well in the reflection but he could see enough – and he certainly felt it.
Rings around his ear lobes, plus an industrial piercing through his right ear like a flashy spear. Everything in rose gold, of course. They sure committed to a theme.
As his tongue felt the piercing pain he opened up to see what his reflection carried in its mouth. There was a ring sideways through the tip of his tongue. It wasn't even swelling. The metal had just appeared as if it had always been there.
He mumbled a bit to try out how it affected his speech. As to be expected, the ring contributed to his gay sound. He breathed deeply. It was temporary. Tomorrow this would all be a bad dream and he'd have kicked player 1's ass.
The `gift' kept on giving. Three more rings popped up. One hanging on his belly button, matching his nipples; one on his frenulum, drawing attention back to his achingly hard dick through the thong; and one on his taint right between balls and asshole.
Walking a few steps away from the side alley entrance, he felt the base of his butt plug tickle the guiche ring and the fabric of his thong in turn rub the frenulum ring.
It was like an electric shock made of horniness. Without shame, his hands wandered up to his nipples and he played with his rings despite the people watching. He was totally fucked in every way so he might as well gain some pleasure.
"I accept," he lisped. It didn't matter. He was only one ring now ahead so he couldn't exactly refuse and lose the edge.
As he had hoped, a sign told him where he needed to head to a gas station. It was fairly likely he could catch player 1 if the guy hadn't somehow picked a station farther way.
Clay jogged along the sidewalk, people moving out of his way as if he was wielding a knife. His steps were swaying as if he was drunk, since the additional weight disturbed his balance.
<Not much is happening now, is there? We should get some entertainment, how about it? ...Ah, that's what I thought. We're firmly in the second half of our games, so the pace needs to pick up and I know just the sounds to go along with it.>
Demonic music played at extreme volume in Clay's head – something that sounded like the most obnoxious parts of trash metal, dubstep and techno had been cross bread with unearthly screams.
The voice made itself heard over the music. <Player 1 was quick to say yes. Will you, player 2, take on the next gift?>
Still jogging, Clay felt sweat break out all over his skin. It wasn't normal sweat like he had felt until now and like he knew it from training – this one went from zero to a hundred and beyond in a second. He was drenched, streams dripping off him as if he had been racing for hours, not jogging for minutes.
"I accept."
He had seven rings on his forearm now, while his opponent has six. Three more to go. There was probably a task coming up, followed by two gifts. He could win. He could end this.