Day One-- Act Two

Act One

WE'RE BACK!

“Well, this is just typical.” Margret’s voice was clear and crisp in the room, which was silent but for Destiny’s choked sobs. “Another testosterone addled bully who thinks he can cow and control us with physical violence!”

     “Baby, maybe you didn’t notice, but I didn’t lift a finger,” The Master said smoothly. “I didn’t even move from this spot.”

     She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. You have no right to paddle Destiny’s fat butt—even if she is a decadent slut and a patriarchal stooge within the entertainment industry.” Destiny glared at her, tears still streaking her face as she shifted uncomfortably on her hard seat.  “You’re a bully and a coward and we aren’t going to stand for it!”

     The other contestants looked down at the floor and pretended they weren’t listening. After what happened to Destiny, there was no way anyone was taking any chances by throwing in with this goofball.

     “Very well, Margret,” The Master said with a smile, “perhaps you’d like to come up to the front of the room and tell everyone your grievances?”

     “Gladly,” she said, rising from her seat. The Game Master stepped aside and watched with a grin.

     Still sniffling and squirming on her chair, Destiny found it hard not to feel vulnerable as this woman had called further attention to her own humiliating plight. So she couldn't help feeling a twinge of satisfaction as she was called forward, sure she was about to endure something just as mortifying. 

     Margret stood before the audience, feeling a slight trill at having so effectively stolen the spotlight from the So-Called Master. Clearing her throat, she began to speak. “I know you all think shows like this are just harmless entertainment, but they do real damage to our society in general and the advancement of women in particular…”

     God, thought Destiny, this bitch is just asking for it.

     “By putting us up on display wike dis, we awre weduced to the wevel of childwen.” Margret stopped and touched her throat. What the hell was that? She could see the word clearly, but suddenly she was lisping like a child. Now her fellow contestants were paying attention, each one watching her out of some morbid fascination. Clearing her throat, she pressed on.

     "Male dominated social constwucts ultimately wead to dese fawcical ciwcumstances..." Margret stopped, dumbstruck; her previously confident and domineering voice now sounded like a lispy parody of Shirley Temple on the verge of a tantrum. A humiliating blush rose to Margret's haughtily aristocratic cheeks. Being a control freak, Margret was completely unaccustomed to the situation. Around her, her fellow contestants were tittering, and Margret could only shift and squirm.

     “I—um—dat is…” she cringed when she heard them chuckling at her. It was a strange, awful feeling. Like a drunk, knowing exactly what needed to be said but unable to form the words without slurring, Margret knew exactly what she wanted to say but couldn’t say it without sounding like the shy little girl she’d spent her whole life trying not to be.

     “It’s like one of those dreams, isn’t it Margret?” the Master said smoothly. “You show up late for an important test… but then you realize you didn’t put any clothes on…”

      She wondered briefly what the hell he was talking about when she felt a chill. The other contestants were watching her and tittering in amazement. Hesitantly, she looked down at herself, squealing when she suddenly realized her butch business clothes had vanished and she was as naked as a newborn baby. She let out a shrill shriek that was reminiscent of bimbos she mocked and hated.

     There was a strange tingling sensation in her scalp, followed by a growing weight around her skull. She could feel something tickle her ears and the back of her neck. She reached up quickly and felt something soft and glossy hanging there. Catching sight of herself in a nearby mirror, Margret was stunned and mortified to see that her trademark little boy crop was growing into a shimmering mane of big, puffy bouffant banana curls in the most trashy shade of platinum blonde. "How-- why did oo do dis?' Margret stammered feeling further shame over her squeaky little voice 
     "You don't like it?" The Master replied sardonically. "That short ‘do was holding you back you’re such a pretty little thing and it suits your new voice so much better. You would make someone a wonderful housewife with some further changes your vegan diet and fitness obsession has left you skinny and androgynous—why, your body’s as flat and boyish as your silly old haircut".
     She felt the tingle spreading below and  a strange pressure inside her. A tightness appeared in her chest. She looked down, realizing that her breasts were beginning to swell. She forced herself to look over into the mirror. She let out a squeal when she saw that her breasts had ballooned into the b-cup range and heading for c territory quickly. She made a series of horrified squeaks as she watched her six pack disappear, her tummy becoming soft and just a little flabby, critically wounding Margret's ego and self image as her pride and joy six pack abs were replaced by a cute, pudgy pot belly. The tingling pressure descended even further, and Margret let out a horrified squeal when she saw her hips surge outwards. She turned to the side and watched, slack jawed, as her flat, bony rump began to inflate, each cheek quickly swelling to the size of half a basket ball and beyond, with no end in sight.

     Margret's mouth gaped open in a perfect impersonation of a vacant mallrat bimbo as she saw in the mirror her hips widen her buttocks swell to a fatness where you could she them from the front.
     She now had a derriere which made Kim Kardashian look anorexic, perfectly proportional to her new breasts, so big and beautiful they’d make a porn star weep. Margret, unbalanced from the changes and unaccustomed to the new weight both in front of and behind her, lost her balance and fell cutely on to her over-cushioned rump. Tears were flowing down her face-- she hadn't cried in years, but that didn’t stop her from bawling like a little girl. Not even the knowledge that there were potentially millions of people watching her transformation into the living embodiment of the repressive feminine ideal, but also bawling about it like a little girl who just lost her ice cream.
     "It's not fair..." Margret wailed like a spoiled preschool Princess having a moronic hissy fit.     "Margret whatever’s the matter? Your childbearing hips and fleshy curves are the height of fashion, Christina Hendricks, Kim Kardashian and Coco are the biggest stars on television!" The Master interjected evenly.

     "I fucking hate dose twaitors to feminism!" The foul strident language was delightfully incongruous to the cute babyish voice.
     "Oh presumably you’re worried those old, manly clothes won't fit and i agree that would be unfair if I hadn't bought you an even more expensive wardrobe of extravagant little girl frocks" The Master spoke with mocking kindness.

       Climbing to her feet, Margret heard a loud rustle. Turning toward the mirror, she nearly fainted when she discovered she was wearing an ultra short, ultra full, chiffon party frock in a pale pink , the tight puffed out sleeves pinch hard on her pudgy baby fat arms. Its shortness was increased by a mass of outdated net petticoats, displaying a round, jiggley rump that was made even more comically oversized than before due to the presence of an ultra-thick adult diaper and nearly transparent ruffled rhumba panties.

     On her head sat a jeweled tiara, the epitome of the decadent, aristocratic excess she long ago rejected. On her feet where ostentatious mink trimmed boots, a terrible insult to Margret's animal rights activism.

     "Well, that was a very good attempt to enlighten your sisters and put us men in our place, but you have to go sit back down with your BIG sisters dearest Maggie" The Master said patronizingly with a playful swat of her jiggly backside for emphasis. Margret looked at him with pure hatred, but with her new look frankly that just made look cute as a button. She was seething with rage but reasoned she needed a retreat to collect her thoughts and think of a plan; ideally a plan that ended up the so called 'master' strapped to a rubber sheeted gurney going to the feminist activist infiltrated hospitable she work with for orchiectomy. Margret's ego and hatred of men was so strong a glimmer of confidence and a desire to fight was returning.

     Destiny watched Margret slink back to her chair, gleeful. It was just what that bitch deserved, she thought to herself, glancing back up to get a glimpse of the girl toddling back to her seat. But her face began to fall as she realized the implications of what had just happened. Sure, Margret had deserved it, but if it could happen to her, it could happen to anyone. And Destiny knew that what this Game Master, whoever or whatever he was, was doing wasn't just some trick. Believe it or not - and she wouldn't have, without her firsthand experience - he was a wizard of some kind, and if he wanted, he could turn every one of them into overgrown toddlers at his whim. 

     Suddenly, Margret's punishment seemed a little less funny. 

WE'LL BE BACK AFTER THESE IMPORTANT MESSAGES!