Game Changer, Round One: Igor Steele (Patreon)

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An Anonymous Commission

Note: this will go up on Deviantart in coming days, but as it is in several parts, Patreon subscribers get early access!

James, Mike, and Claire are good friends about to try an supposedly 'mysterious' videogame from the 90s, one that disappears all who play it. To their surprise, the rumours are true, and they find themselves catapulted into the world of Game Changer, a setting ruled by exploitative stereotypes and gratuitious jiggle physics.

Round One: Igor Steele

I woke, feeling strange and overwhelmed. I was on a grassy lawn, lying on my stomach. Two large areas of my chest were sore from the pressure of lying down, something I’d never quite felt before. And something else too; I felt stronger, somehow. Bigger. I groaned, and immediately realised something was wrong.

My voice. It sounded . . . womanly.

I’d never gone from asleep to awake so quickly. I shot to my feet, and I mean shot. It was as if one moment I was standing and the next I was practically pushing the Earth away from me. Two muscled, hairless, dark-skinned arms were in front of me, and even as I righted myself, my whole body seemed to jiggle. My ass, my hips, and my chest.

I was at some sort of university, though it was not like any kind I’d ever seen: tall buildings in classical style were in each direction, and I was on a grass field complete with study benches and tree shade, a number of uni students lounged comfortably, noses in their books.

“Where - where am I?” I said, and again there was shock at my voice. It was a woman’s, all right, deep and powerful and queenly, and oh-so-female. And more than that, it was accented. The closest approximation I could think of was Nigerian, perhaps, though I couldn’t claim to have a great deal of knowledge of African dialect. By this point, I was breathing heavily, and all the more aware of two rather heavy weights on my chest. I hesitated, not wanting to see, but unable to stop myself. I peered down.

There, where once a pasty flat white chest had been, was now a bountiful blessing of brown breasts, easily DD-cups in size, if not more. They looked enormous from this angle, a deep and alluring line of cleavage that appeared almost incapable of remaining within the pink sports bra that held them up. In fact, with every breath, the huge melons swelled, rising like souffles and spilling just slightly over the cusp of the bra. I could feel it. I could feel them. They were heavy. They were female. And they were in the way of another change I could not determine. I snaked a cautious, terrified hand down, not caring about the reactio nof other students. My arm jostled the - my - breasts as I reached down. I was wearing something like yoga pants, and I could feel them tightly containing an enormous backside. And between my legs there was . . . nothing. An absence. No, worse than an absence. I could feel an opening.

“The fuck the fuck the fuck!”

I scrambled. My lungs were light on air, and I couldn’t help but hyperventilate as I ran. But running would be understating it: I launched. With huge, powerful strides I leapt across the park, heads turning my way and even a thumbs up appreciatively as my ass wobbled heavily. It was impossible, what I was doing: with every powerful step, I leapt well over fifteen feet, like I was some sort of superhero. Superheroine. I gasped as I took another terrific bound through a line of bushes and at the last possible second saw a familiar-looking Indian woman in a green sari, her eyes wide, turn my way and scream.

We collided, and turned head over heels rolling together straight towards the concrete fountain. I cringed, holding up my arms to stop the oncoming collision, when suddenly I heard someone shout something in another language and my motion immediately stopped, as if I were . . . floating. I dared to open my eyes, and it was true. I was actually floating. I was off the ground, in a glowing transparent orb, and next to my orb was another, containing the Indian woman. We were both in shock, and we turned to see another woman with eyes glowing gold, her fingers splayed out. A woman with the most ample chest I’d ever seen, positively straining at the buttons of her shit. I turned back to the woman in the Sari, who looked just as shocked as me, and as we connected our gaze, I realised something.

“Holy shit, Claire!?”

“What - James?”

“The fuck?”

We both turned to the top-heavy Japanese student.

“MIKE!?”

She took a step in shock, and her enormous mammaries bounced so heavily within her top I thought they would burst out of it. Her eyes panicked as her impressive set of tits caused her to overbalance and tumble forward into the fountain, ending the effect  on us immediately. We fell into the water with her and were immediately doused. I spluttered up, accidentally cracking off some of the stone as I raised myself.

“Damn, this body is strong.”

Again, that booming, authoritative voice.

Claire was rising from the water. I say Claire, but the woman in front of me was not the lithe, small-chested blonde with the short haircut that I knew. This was Shankari Deva. She wore a sexy green sari that revealed her bellybutton, which was studded with a green opal. She had a long, fine nose, and emerald eyes, and her hair fell around her feet, dark and shining and perfect. She had generous C-cup breasts, and a pair of hips that were lovely to see. And she was barefoot, her every step full of strange grace and an almost dance-like movement. She shook the water free from her incredibly long hair, and each movement wsa supple and perfect. She rested with her hands on her hips, shifting them gradually back and forth as if in a slow belly dance.

“James, what the frosted flake fuck has happened to us?”

Her voice, like mine, was gorgeously accented, a heavy Indian lilt to it, and every word fell like honey from a voice that practically oozed sensuality. Just looking at her was making my nipples hard, and that was a strange experience on its own.

“I - I think we’re not in my living room anymore,” I said, drawing up to my full height. I blinked, realising that me - the shortest of the group - was now over a foot taller than Shankari - I mean Claire. Her green eyes looked to me in shock, but neither of us managed to say a word before a third body floated out of the fountain.

And I mean floated.

“Help me help me guys I’ve got no idea what I’m doing! TASUKETE!”

We were treated to an egregious upskirt panty shot of the floating woman as she blocked our view of the sun.

“Holy shit,” Claire said, still undulating her hips slowly, “Mike is Fumi. He’s Fumi Sato.”

The Japanese video game character above shorted out her powers once more and fell. I reached my hands out in fearful reaction as she sped towards me, and was shocked when I somehow managed to not only catch her, but catch her with ease. She felt light as a feather. And very soft. Incredibly soft, in fact. Almost wobbly.

“Baka! Get your hands off me, you filthy sukebe! You pervert!”

Shit. I had caught her, and my muscled hands were groping her enormous melons by accident, anime-style. Both of them overflowed my hands, and I could feel her large nipples trying to stab holes in the fabric. I dropped her, more out of shock that this tiny, high-pitched beauty with the massive mammaries was my formerly muscled friend Mike. She hit the ground with a comic thonk, and her large chest wobbled heavy in her button shirt, threatening to burst the buttons, but not quite managing.

“Owweee!” she said in an over-the-top voice.

A small, red ‘1’ floated up above her head.

“Fumi? I mean, Mike, are you okay?”

She stood up, staring at me and Claire, all of us disbelieving what had happened.

“James? Claire? What the hell has happened to me? Why do I have a huge pair of tits? Why am I soooo kawaii!” She covered her mouth in shock at the last word, and her short skirt tousled with the movement, once again flashing her panties.

“You’ve become Fumi Sato, dear,” Claire said, moving towards him in such a way that looked like she was getting ready for bedroom action. “You look just like her, massive tits and all.”

“And - and you’re Shankari Deva!” I said. Mike nodded, then grimaced as this impossibly set his knockers rocking. “Look Claire, you’re Indian, and you have her sari, and you can’t stop dancing, just like her resting animation!”

She looked down at herself and groaned. For a moment, she tried to stop movement, but she fell back into that resting state as if it were natural.

“By the Gods, this has to be a dream,” she said, before raising a perfect eyebrow at how she’d started that sentence. “And you, James, you’re a character too: you’re Aaliyah!”

I looked down at my brown breasts, and rested a hand on my incredibly generous backside. I looked over myself, and confirmed that it must be true by staring into the water of the nearby fountain.

I was gorgeous. Holy shit, I was fucking badass. Aaliyah looked way more impressive as a real woman than she did as a pixelated character. She had short frizzy dark hair that was almost but not quite an afro, and a set of hips that looked made for child-bearing. I turned, and the woman in the reflection’s ass bounced with the movement, firm yet enticing. Apart from her yoga pants and sports bra, her beautiful black skin was on full display, and so were her powerful muscles; just enough to enhance her beauty and power, but not so much as to look odd.

“Damn,” I said, equal parts upset and impressed.

“We’re in a video game,” Claire said. “And we’re changed race. And accent.”

“And I have tits!” Mike said in a panic, the adorability of his voice increased by his cute accent and glasses. “Tits! Guys, they don’t stop wobbling! When I’m not doing anything I keep pressing my upper arms together and it sets them off!”

Sure enough, I discovered that I had a ‘resting animation’ also. As I admired the beauty of the other two women around me, I couldn’t help but tense my impressive biceps and feel their muscles, as well as place a hand on my hip and thrust my huge butt off a little to one side, as if showing off my impressive curves.

As I was distracted by this, Claire and Mike - Shankari and Fumi - were having another argument.

“You did this to me Claire! I’ve got this stupid big tits all because of you!”

“Oh, really, Fumi? Well, I’m stuck with this Indian accent and wearing this harem outfit because you chose this character for me! I can’t even stop dancing!”

She poked Fumi heavily in her left boob, and there was a visible ‘boing!’ as her enormous mounds of flesh pushed Shankari’s finger back and wobbled for several seconds.

“Don’t touch my boobs! Besides, I wasn’t the one who started this game - I’m stuck speaking nihongo because of Aaliyah - mean James!”

“Yeah, that’s right! What have you done to us Aaliyah - ugh! James, I mean James!”

But I was barely listening. I was paying attention to several strange things that were suddenly adding up. For one, we had just gotten out of the fountain only a few minutes ago, but none of us were remotely wet anymore. For two, when Shankari poked Fumi in her breast, another red ‘1’ floated in the air above the short woman’s head. And for three, this area seemed awfully similar to one of the fight maps on the cartridge box art.

Also, there was an incredibly muscled man with a hammer and sickle tattoo on his chest, and a robotic right arm, moving slowly towards us from across the park.

“James? Aaliyah? Can you hear us? What the hell have you done to us?”

“Uh - guys, I think we’re in trouble,” I said, taking a step back.

“Oh, thanks for that. Fucking Sherlock Holmes right here!”

“Mike, Claire, I mean it. Look!”

They both looked up, and saw the man heading straight to us. He was enormous. And he looked angry. A malicious smile was on his face, and his impressive moustache seemed to visibly twitch in excitement as he neared.

“Um, is that who I think it is?” Claire asked.

A voice boomed.

THREE-PLAYER MATCH

FUMI SATO, SHANKARI DEVA, AALIYAH VS IGORE STEELE

ROUND 1 - FIGHT!

“Uh, who was that?” Claire/Shankari asked.

I gulped. “The Announcer.”

Mike/Fumi’s eyes widened, and she had to adjust her glasses. “Guys, the enormous Russian chad is bowling towards us!”

“I know! We’re in the game.”

“The what?” said Claire.

“The game! We’re in Game Changer! Don’t you get it? We’re playing the game! We need to beat that guy!”

We all turned to the enormous Russian, who was speeding with a manic grin towards us and shouting obscenities in his native tongue.

“CAPITALIST SCUM! TIME TO MEET SOCIALIST HAMMER!”

We shared a look once more.

“That,” Claire/Shankari said, “is terrible writing.”

The man was less than a hundred feet from us by this point, and still gaining speed.

“Fuck, what do we do?” Fumi jumped up and down, and her basketball tits flopped unrealistically, somehow still managing not to rip open her straining top.

I narrowed my eyes. There was only one thing to do. I backed in between the other two. I was aware again that somehow, despite always being the smallest of the group, I was now easily the tallest, and Mike shorter and thinner than any of us - except in two places, of course.

“We fight,” I said, my deep, queenly voice seeming to echo across the yard. I raised my fists, and readied myself.

“WHAT?”

But it was too late. Igor Steele barrelled into us, and we were sent flying dozens of feet into the air, and soaring separately to the ground. I landed, somehow, perfectly, cracking the concrete path by landing in a hero's pose, my thick thighs absorbing the impact, but not so much that I didn’t notice a red ‘15’ rise from my head and dissipate shortly afterwards.

Shankari landed further away, but seemed to take only three damage; she cartwheeled perfectly, flipping over with grace and poise, and immediately setting to dancing in serpentine motions on the spot.

“WHAT AM I DOING!?” she yelled, panicked.

Fumi, meanwhile, took twenty damage as she landed chest first, her stacked chest absorbing the impact and causing her to bounced onto her butt, exposing her panties once more to everybody.

“AAII! These things are frigging airbags!”

Igor smiled, beat his chest, and roared.

“THE REVOLUTION HAS BEGUN, CAPITALIST SCUM!”

“Who wrote this shit?” called Shankari, but I was distracted by the large red bars floating high up in the sky, each of them with our names on it, and a larger one with Igor Steele’s.

“Shit, we have health bars!” I called. “We need to fight him, or we’re toast!”

The other two girls looked up, and realised what I had said. Fumi gasped in that dramatic way of hers, but quickly collected herself. It was clear Mike wasn’t loving how he was forced to act.

“What are our moves?” Shankari called out to me. Fumi also called out in agreement. I had to think quickly.

“Um, I’ve got it! Shankari - Claire - you’re a summoner! You should be able to summon animals to fight for you, and teleport to get him from behind with your kicks! Fumi - I mean Mike! - you’re our range controller. You can use your magic to fly, reduce our damage, and if he gets too close, hit him with your boobs!”

“My WHAT!?”

“It’s a videogame, remember? Just do it! Aaliyah is the fighter. I’ve got to get in close and keep him distracted, so just do your things already!”

I launched forward before I could see if they agreed. My bounds were incredibly, and I felt power coursing through my body as Igor grinned, throwing a fist out towards me. I smashed straight into it, taking another twenty damage. I got back up, dusted myself off in a standard animation, and launched forward again, my ass and hips jiggling impressively.

“I MUST BREAK YOU!”

“Well, that’s just damn copyright!” I spat, and launched forward once more. “Claire! I could use some back up here! Fumi, get your heads and your tits in the damn game!”

Both hurled exasperations in Hindi and Japanese, but I knew what I was doing. Claire had her smarts, Mike had his brawn, but I knew pop culture inside and out. And as wild and weird as this was, as strange as being a powerful black woman was, I could see the path to victory. Igor was a brawler type; strong and powerful up close, but slow, and his moves were telegraphed. I leapt forward, ducked low, and landed an incredible punch against his bare chest, followed by two more. He roared, rearing up to hit me once more, and I ducked to the side, my sports bra struggling to contain me as I made two further blows at his side.

“Black and beautiful, baby!”

I blinked. Well, that had come out of nowhere. And then I realised; it was a damn catchphrase of Aaliyah’s. But the distraction, momentary as it was, had been enough. Igor sent another meaty fist that knocked me into the air, and far above, I got a view of my health bar reducing to less than a quarter. I landed on my ass, and cursed my new programmed reality for making me literally bounce on it. Most women would kill for an ass that you could bounce a quarter off. This one you could bounce a curb off.

My health bar fell again at the landing, and was beginning to blink red. Crap, if I died in the game would I die in real life? I didn’t want to find out!

Igor strode closer, chuckling. I didn’t have enough time to create a defence.

“DASVIDANIYA, LITTLE GIRL!” he roared, and his fist shot out like a comet.

But I was already elsewhere, surrounded by golden light, even as the footpath exploded into shards of concrete. I turned to see Fumi, flying in the air, her eyes glowing gold and skirt rippling with power. And panty shots.

“Sugoi! I’m doing it Aaliyah!” She looked down at Igor, who looked up at anger, then amusement. Fumi cupped her H-cup boobs beneath her shirt and lifted them, causing a strange sensation between my legs. “You like these, don’t you? Come and get ‘em!”

“What the hell, Mike!?”

“It was a catchphrase! I couldn’t help but say it!”

Igor took the challenge, and leapt upwards, fist heading straight for Fumi’s chest. A flash of green raced past us however, and dove straight into him, knocking the Russian fighter to the ground. It was then that we both saw Shankari, performing a sensual belly dance, her snake-like movements controlling a very real snake made of emerald light, one that was currently evaporating Igor’s large health bar.

“Time to unlock your chakras!” she yelled, and we could both tell from her following eye roll that it was an automated line.

Igor gripped the snake and ripped it to shreds, causing Shankari to fall back. A golden orb from Fumi caught her, reducing the hit to her health bar, and as Igor launched himself again, straight towards the Japanese student, we all got to witness something special.

Out of sheer shock, out of pure new instinct, Mike/Fumi twisted her shoulders rapidly and half-turned, causing her wobbling mammaries to sway like heavy basketballs just in time to smack Igor Steele right in the face and send him flying back into a park tree.

“Fumi’s funbags of fury!” she declared, followed by, “holy shit, did I just smack a badguy with my tits?”

I smirked, and leapt from the golden orb. Igor barely had a health bar left, and he looked to me with fear as the fit jogger of a woman I had become, my black muscles rippling in the sunlight, descending upon him, giving a womanly roar far more powerful than any of his. Like Fumi, I operated by instinct, leaning into the videogame nature of my new form, and instead of extending a fist, I found my legs parting to receive him. I crashed into him, my thick thighs wrapped around his waist and squeezing hard. So hard, in fact, that he gasped, trying to remove me. I simply squeezed harder, feeling the superhuman power of my female hips. Red ones, twos, and then fives streamed from above his head, and in moments the health bar was emptied.

“Ain’t got nothing on these thighs!”

KNOCK OUT!

Igor screamed, and exploded into white mist, disappearing, and leaving me victorious on the ground. I looked around, not believing what had just happened. Fumi landed on the ground, heavy chest wobbling with each step cartoonishly, and Shankari sauntered over to as well, each movement looking designed to turn on every man in a hundred foot radius.

“We did it!” I declared.

They began to dance.

No, actually, they began to dance, and I could tell from their faces they were not into it. Shankari raised her arms above her head and clasped her fingers together, bobbing her head as she undulated her belly. Fumi was chaotic, twisting her shoulders in girlish excitement and letting her boulders bounce where they may. And I couldn’t help but join in, punching the air, and twisting my body to show both its muscles and curves.

“Victory!” we declared as one, our various accents unrecognisable as the voices we once had. Another voice joined; the dreaded Announcer.

BACK TO GAME HUB

“By the Goddess, what now?” Shankari/Claire protested.

I had a very clear idea myself of what was happening. “Oh no, it’s not over. We’re being sent back to wait for the next match, and upgrade our characters.”

“Upgrade?” Fumi asked, hands on her chest. She had a very real and well-founded fear of what that particular phrase might mean for her.

There was a flash of white, a stream of light, and a cry of “Damn you James!” and suddenly, we were elsewhere.

In the game hub.

To Be Continued . . .

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