Game Changer, Intermission: The Hub (Patreon)

Previous Part 

Next Part 

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.

The Hub

“Videogame characters. We’re been turned into fucking videogame characters,” Fumi said. She was scowling, and trying not to look utterly adorable in her buttoned shirt, round glasses, and pleated skirt. Her thigh-high stockings also weren’t helping matters.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“You should be!” snapped Shankari as she downed another glass. “I’m supposed to be blonde! I’m supposed to be white! And I’m definitely not supposed to be flirting and dancing for the enjoyment of every man in a five-male radius. I’m meant to be an engineer, by the spirits!”

“I’m very sorry, but how could I know?”

“Saitei da yo!” Fumi snapped. “You baka! I’m meant to be a man, not have these enormous cow tits and act like a clumsy girl from a harem anime! I can’t even see my feet anymore, and these stupid boobs won’t stop moving!”

We all sat at the table, in our new and deeply attractive bodies, not knowing what to say. Fumi’s volleyball-sized breasts - or were they basketball sized? I was leaning to the latter - rested on the table as she sipped a milkshake that sat within her gargantuan cleavage. She literally couldn’t not have them rest on the table, if she sat further back she was too far from her food. Shankari ate rice nonchalantly, idly humming bars to a song I’d never heard before, and occasionally fussing with the trinkets in her hair. And I sat much taller than I was used to, my two ass-cheeks the size of watermelons, giving me plenty of comfortable padding.

We were in a bar, or tavern, the walls made of lacquered wood and decorated with images of champions of street fighting past. Various denizens of Game Changer sat at other tables, including a heavily-bruised Igor Steele, who continued to look at me and then away, shamed at his defeat. We had been seated for over an hour, having arrived in the game hub town of Tavington several hours prior to that. It was a charming region, a blend of 2000s architecture and ancient medieval churches and castles, like an old European town if it was also geared entirely around an insane fighting tournament meant for the titillation of viewers everywhere.

“So, we’re stuck here,” Claire said, though it was easier to think of her as Shankari, given her beautiful brown skin, arched nose, dark eyebrows, and her revealing sari.

“I think so. The curse, I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t realise all the online rumours were true! But how many times do I have to apologise?”

Fumi and Shankari gave me a glare.

“Another five hundred times should do it, you dumb otaku!” Fumi said. Shankari giggled at her fall into Japanese, and Fumi trembled in anger, setting her H-cup breasts trembling also. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, just the thought that you were so proud of being a tall, tough guys. You were a real meathead when we were dating. Maybe having a huge rack and being short and thing and cute everywhere else will teach you something!”

“Oh sure, well at least I’m not permanently dancing! Claire the Straight A student, the girl who’s ‘not like those other girls’ - how does it feel to be showing off like your a party girl? Half the room can’t stop looking at you!”

It was true, we all had our admirers, but Shankari’s sensual manner, her ‘come-get-me’ voice, and the way she twisted her body to show her best features so fluidly made her the most approached. Even Igor had made a pass at her. Shankari just put her head in her hands.

“Ugh, don’t remind me, Mike. I think this strange place is affecting my mind. I had to think carefully to not call you Fumi, and . . . I think I’m starting to enjoy all the attention.”

We each shuddered. It was true. It wasn’t mind control, not even quite compulsions. Sort of just a gentle nudge. I felt a bit more assertive, more in control, and the idea of fighting again made me excited. I also couldn’t help but occasionally look at the men in the room, and thoughts of domination became a little more . . . Well, let’s just say I felt a strange urge to do things to them. And the others had expressed the same; Shankari was the show-off and flirt, much to Claire’s own distaste. Mike had it the worst, and was clearly fuming: as Fumi, she couldn’t help but move in a way that made her melons bounce dramatically, as well as acting cutesy and vulnerable and a little submissive. At that very moment she was sucking on the end of a pencil while she tried to think of ideas of what to do next, and the image made her look all the more desirable. It probably didn’t help our ability to control ourselves that there were several empty cups of ale (me), wine (Shankari), and fruity martini (Fumi) we’d been working through on our table. I belched, and it was most impressive.

“Faith and begorrah, that’s a belch, alright!”

We turned to Ciara, the bartender and serving woman of the Tavington tavern. She was a flame-haired thing in her mid-thirties with a sexy Irish-accent and a fine set of D-cups on her chest. An impressive amount of cleavage was pushed up in her traditional green serving girl dress, and she had the easy nature of someone who knew this world up and down.

Hey girls, how's the craic? Would you like another top up?”

“Yes, please,” Shankari said, getting a refill. We’d won five thousand ‘coins’ from our fight with Igor, and drinks were only five apiece, so we were having more than our fill, though Fumi hadn’t quite realised she had a lot less of a stomach for spirits than Mike did. She occasionally played with her big boobs, much to the joy of the men in the room.

“So, watcha so down in the dumps for, lasses?” Ciara asked, putting down her jug. “Yer young, yer pretty as spring day, and yer just won yer first bout! You’ve grasped the four-leaf clover, I’d say!”

We sighed collectively. The stereotypical nature of Ciara was to be expected, given our own forms. Given the nature of the game world we were in. “We’re . . . not from round here,” I replied tactfully. “We’re trying to find a way to . . . escape, you could say.” I gave an easy smile to Ciara. She returned it.

“Oh, well, sorry to hear that, lasses. Speaking as an out-of-towner myself, I know a thing or two about getting used to Tavington, as well as your own craft. Used to be a prize-fighter me own self, ‘fore I got a husband and he got three kids on me!” She gave a conspiratorial wink before continuing. “So I ‘bin in yer shoes, girls, though I like me own life well enough now. But if yer really lookin’ ta get home, you’ll have to win the final round and go against Arjun Khan, the current champion.”

I knew Arjun Khan. He was the Indian millionaire industrialist and powerful prize fighter featured on the back of the game box. He was also Shankari’s canon love interest, which I pointedly did not tell Claire.

“So you’re saying we just need to beat this Arjun Khan, and we’ll be free?”

She nodded. “That’s the short and small of it. You’re a shoe-in, now that you’ve won yer first bout, but you want to give the next your all, so you can get your level ups, or else you’ll have not a snake’s chance against St Patrick when it comes to Khan.”

The rest of us perked our heads up.

“Wait,” I said, shifting on my large backside, “level ups?”

Ciara grinned, and I realised at that moment her function for us: she was our tutorial guide, and she knew the rules inside and out. Fumi and Shankari stared, jaws hanging, the former’s massive mammaries resting more heavily on the table, as the hot Irish serving maid told us all about the mechanics of this strange video-game world: how we could level up, unlock new costumes (which we apparently already had just by beating Igor), use powerful combo moves with each other, and even open up our own movesets like a digital screen in front of us to memorise our best movesets. Claire and Mike - Shankari and Fumi - looked a little lost at this, but the video game nerd nestled away in this curvaceous black body was taking it all in. We had a way now to win.

“Did ya not know any of this?” she asked, bewildered. “Ya must really be out-of-towners. Interesting!”

We thanked her, and she returned to serving other customers, keeping a warm eye on us at all points. As did the male clientele. I smirked at one of them, unable to help from sticking my chest out, before turning to the group a little red-faced. They too were blushing, and it didn’t take a detective to realise their new bodies were reacting much like mine to the strong male crowd around us.

“Let’s get out of here,” I declared. “We’ve got five thousand coins, give or take some shots. Let’s find a place to rent and I can show you how we win this.”

“We can’t just run?”

I shook my head, already standing to my impressive height.

“No, the only way to get back to our real world must be to fight. I’m the videogame nerd. Between my knowledge of the game, Shakari - I mean Claire’s - tactical mind, and Mike’s experience in athletics, we can do this.

Shankari and Fumi looked at me, the latter especially a little shocked. I had never been the one to take charge, always standing behind Claire and Mike, but now I felt a surge of confidence that came with my authoritative, accented voice. It didn’t hurt that I was well-muscled, or that I felt like my powerful thighs could crush rocks between them.

It was Shankari who nodded assent, smirking at me. I knew she couldn’t help it, but goddamn it was a flirty ‘come get me’ look. We finished our alcohol and left, though Fumi needed a little help on her feet. Even with my super strength and Shankari summoning a large spectral ape to help me, I was impressed with the sheer weight of her bobbing bosom.

“By the will of the goddess, Fumi, those things are heavy as boulders,” Shankari declared. She smiled at a man to move out of our way, and he just about collapsed to his knees at the sight of her.

“Really?” Fumi asked, squeezing her large tits, “they feel really light to me.”

The tavern roared with approval at the sight of something as we were leaving, and as I turned back, I realised exactly what it was; my own curvy ass, two cheeks like ripened pumpkins, were giving them a show as we left.

I couldn’t help myself, I gave it a deliberate shake, and the men raised their glasses in a cheer, Igor included.

◊◊◊

We found a small hotel to book out, in a fine European style, red carpet and hanging chandeliers. It was luxurious, and far cheaper than its real world equivalent would ever be. We still had nearly 2500 coins remaining to us. The only downside was that there were only two rooms to spare, so Shankari and Fumi volunteered to share a bed. I couldn’t help but giggle at that, much to Fumi’s irritation; the last time they’d ‘roomed’, he’d had a lot more manliness between his legs. I had the feeling that Claire/Shankari was going to enjoy teasing him about that.

After getting settled in, we had time to inspect our forms. It was probably no coincidence that the bathroom and shower were in high demand from each of us; as embarrassing and utterly unbelievable as our strange new circumstances were, it was impossible not to be curious about our forms, particularly those of us who were supposed to be male. Somehow, despite that fact, Shankari was able to secure the shower first.

“Gentleman,” she said, in her sensual Indian accent, “a girl always goes first, and I’ve been a girl the longest.” She walked in without waiting for a reply, her luscious length of hair trailing at her feet, somehow never catching on anything or getting dirtied.

In the meantime, Fumi and I ate, avoiding talking to one another. Of all of us, the former-Mike was the most embittered. We’d all accidentally taking on opposing roles to our usual selves: the nerdy James had become the powerful, confident Aaliyah; the intelligent but straight-laced Claire had become the showy, flirty dancer Shankari; and the athletic and masculine Mike had become fragile, front-heavy Fumi. We were all struggling with our new stereotypical roles, but his change had left him feeling especially emasculated, and it didn’t help that she was just so damn cute. She was constantly posing innocently in ways that emphasised her endlessly shifting chest.

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

“Urusai! I don’t want to talk right now.”

We lapsed back into silence as Shankari emerged, wearing a white bathrobe.

“At least it covers more than the sari,” she said, shrugging. It didn’t stop her from wagging her hips as she moved, or the robe from hugging her hourglass figure in such a way that didn’t even make sense for a bathrobe. Clearly, this world ran on horny game developer logic.

“Fumi? Want to shower?”

She glared, rose, and walked stiffly to the bathroom. I used the time she was showing to fill in Claire - the least game-knowledgeable member - on the basic mechanics I’d noticed about the world. She seemed to soak it in; while our bodies were subject to new feelings and desires and resting states, none of us had experienced diminished intelligence or loss of reasoning. Eventually, Fumi also emerged, wearing a bathroom as well. It trailed on the ground due to her short height - she was only 4’7. Despite her best efforts, her tremendous bosom, still a little damp and looking sexy as all hell for it, was revealed by the massive ‘V’ in the bathrobe, literally tenting out the material and revealing every jiggle and bounce as she moved to sit.

“Don’t even say it,” she declared, putting her glasses back on. “Ugh, and I can’t even see without these things either!” She crossed her arms, only to realise she was resting them on a shelf of boobflesh. She adjusted her forearms under her chest, but that only had the effect of raising them up, her nipples almost slipping free of the material.  A warmth in my crotch was developing by this point, and I could feel my new plumbing begin to moisten, becoming slick and needing attention.

“Gotta go,” I declared, moving straight to the bathroom, not caring how much my own backside bounced. I slipped out of my pink sports bra, and there was an uncanny release at letting the ‘girls’ free. I removed my yoga pants, followed by my panties, and took in my form in the mirror.

“Holy, mama, I am hot.”

I wasn’t lying. My body, just like my catchphrase said, was black and beautiful. I had the face of an African empress; beautiful thick brown lips and high eyebrows, my nose wide and perfectly sculpted. My frizzy hair was both free and wild, yet sculpted to highlight my rounded cheeks. I smiled, and the woman in the mirror seemed to light up the world with it. I gazed lower over my body. My breasts were DD-cups, cantaloupes in size, but stood pert and full on my chest, tipped by dark areola that were wide and desirable. My hips were wide - wider even than Shankari’s, and they led to a pair of beautifully thick thighs. Between them was exactly what I was expecting, but a sight that still disoriented me; not my male tackle, but the darker lips of my new vagina. I turned, and whistled a little under my breath. Damn, I had an ass. Definitely two watermelons, or pumpkins, or whatever large fruit you could apply; the point was, it was big. The kind of ass you noticed across the street, and just wanted to cop a feel of. I did so, and the feeling was sensitive and pleasurable. I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like for someone else to grab that ass. I turned again, and raised those eyebrows. I hadn’t even realised, but I had a six pack! I made a couple of poses in the mirror, and gazed appreciatively at my physical form. I could understand what Mike was missing; being muscled and fit was a power trip, and somehow, it felt even better to be beautiful. As a man, I would have lusted after Aaliyah. As her, my thoughts trended towards other lusts.

I turned on the shower, and entered beneath the warm faucet. I thought of the men, and women, who stared at me in the tavern and across Tavington in general. I thought of the way they cheered my perfect peach of an ass as I left the bar, and the way the muscles on the other male fighters made me feel like pushing them to the ground and having my way with them. As a man, I’d dreamed of being a dominant figure, but girlfriends were few and far between, and I’d never felt truly dominant. Now, I could imagine them. I could taste them.

The void between my thighs became all the more moist, and my body became heated. My large dark nipples hardened in response to my horniness, and my entire body shivered in heat. I lowered a hand down between my thighs and began to rub my new genitalia. It felt good. Electric courses of pleasure jolted through my body, and with my other hand I began to stroke my backside and breasts. They lifted and bounced, sensitive to my own touch, and I imagined they were not my hands but those of a lover.

I rubbed my crotch harder, feeling my clit, and I suppressed a moan as the pleasure increased, a low ebb of ecstasy beginning to build not just in my loins but in my belly, my hips, my chest. I continued to finger myself, my breathing increasing.

“C’mon, yeah, right there baby, right there, keep going, keep going!”

I was getting louder, but I no longer cared; the pleasure was all that mattered. I rubbed in circles around my clitoris, navigating the G-spot that was the source of my overwhelming elation. I was close. So damn close. I gripped my own breast harder, fondling my sensitive areola as my climax drew closer. Closer. Closer.

Closer.

So damn close.

So damn fucking close!

I erupted, and my entire body shuddered, my various fatty mounds wobbling as I nearly lost my balance. I arced my back, brown breasts sticking out proudly as I was forced to ride out the storm of pleasure, which came like waves through my body, overlapping so that even as one orgasm finished the next was already crashing down upon me.

“Oooooooohhh . . . ah, ah, ah.”

Finally, it ended, and the post-coital aftershocks kept me in a near-delirious state of joy for the next five minutes. It took a great exercise of will power simply to step out from the shower, and put on my own bathrobe. I breathed carefully, waited for my nipples to die down a little, checked that I wasn’t too obvious otherwise.

“Let’s hope they didn’t notice me,” I said to myself in that powerful voice.

I strode out of the room with a woman’s confidence, only to see Shankari naked from the waist up, pressing her face against Fumi’s massive, bare melons.

“Aahahhh, they’re so big, so sensitive! So dekkai!”

Mike gasped, speaking more in Japanese as Claire played with him. The former blonde woman turned Indian-seductress was feeling at the former male turned buxom Japanese girl’s panties, her deft hand working like something out of the Kama Sutra to bring Fumi to climax. She felt at Fumi’s breasts with her free hand, tweaking her enormous pink nipples, even as began to motorboat her. Fumi squealed, utterly dominated, half in pleasure and half in shock as I loomed into view.

“Mike! Claire! What the fuck!?”

“It’s - it’s not what it looks like, I - AAAHHHH!”

She cried out in such a high-pitch that I was shocked no windows shattered, and Shankari was nearly crushed between her massive mammaries as she pressed her upper arms against her body, her lover’s head disappearing for tens of seconds inside the chasm of cleavage. Golden threads of light rose up from them, which somehow was the least strange thing on display. As soon as the climax was over, Fumi kicked Shankari back, and the pair of them blushed with embarrassment as they redressed themselves. Fumi in particular looked utterly humiliated. Neither had seen the golden light.

“I see you’ve been busy,” I said.

“Urusai!”

“Yeah, that Aaliyah. We were just . . . having a little fun. Well, I guess a lot of fun, if those adorable funbags are taken into consideration.” Shankari smirked, before regaining herself. “Ugh, sorry. She’s just so damn cute now, and I think this body is hella bisexual. Plus, it’s Mike. How could I not? Damn, it’s so hard not to tease and seduce everyone. How did I get like this? I don’t have sex until the tenth date, minimum!”

Mike/Fumi was already dressed by this point, and crossing her arms over, then under her chest with fury. “Don’t say a word! Neither of you say one word! Let’s just figure out how to turn back, so we can never speak about this again.”

Shankari and I shared a look. We’d both heard those cries of ecstasy.

“Okay, look, this is affecting our minds,” I said. “I’m feeling more confident as Aaliyah, Claire is feeling more . . . shall I say flirty?”

“I feel that’s understating it for me, but go on, dear.”

“And Mike is feeling more . . .”

“Submissive,” she finished, looking glum.

“Exactly. It’s not mind control. And it’s not like we’re compelled. It’s like breathing, though. You can stop breathing, and you can control how you want to breathe consciously. But if you’re not paying attention - which is most of the time - your body sets your pace. I can walk like I’m still James, talk like I’m still James, but it’s easy to fall into Aaliyah. So, what I’m saying is, we’re still us, okay? And if we get embarrassed over this, it’s okay. Just blame this whole thing on me. But once we’re back to ourselves, we won’t have to worry about ‘breathing’ anymore, right?”

The two of them appeared to take this in. It calmed them somewhat, I could tell.

“Look, if it helps any better Fumi, while you were having your . . . fun here, I was getting myself off in the shower.”

The blank looks they gave me said everything.

“Oh, you both did that too.”

“Yeah.”

“They’re so big! How could I not play with them?”

Shankari laughed. “See? I told you!”

I made a silencing gesture, and surprisingly they both stopped.

“Let’s figure this out, okay. We have two more fights, and we’re out of here. But we need to win. Let’s open our character sheets, figure out how to level up, see the new outfit we’ve unlocked, and get ready for tomorrow. We’re up against Lady Dragon, and we should plan to kick her butt.”

The next hour was spent looking at our character screens. We could summon them at will, but much like a videogame, it was difficult to do other things when accessing them. We had all learned a level up, and it was clear that we had a number of options on where to place our stats. As a fighter, I placed my three points into Strength. As I did so, I could feel my muscles rippling with just that little more power, having visibly grown a little. Shankari, after much indecision, placed her points into Summoning. It was her shtick, after all. However, part of the feature of her character meant that for every two points she sunk into Summoning, her Charisma also increased. That manifested, apparently, as an increased number of golden trinkets around her neck, wrists, ankles, and in her hair.

Fumi was last, and she was full of wrath at her situation; Strength was locked out for her entirely. She’d been hoping to regain muscle mass, and irritatingly had to select Acrobatics instead. To her relief, at least, her breasts seemed lighter to her, though no smaller. She was able to cartwheel with ease, and the sight was something to see. I was kind of shocked to learn she had the biggest HP bar out of all of us, and Fumi pushed Shankari back on the couch when the latter joked that “those chest monsters store all the extra health!”

We all unlocked new abilities: as Aaliyah, I had gained the Butt Stomp, a ground pound technique where I smashed enemies into the ground with my large derriere. Shankari has gained Hypnotic Sway, which allowed her to dance so seductively it momentarily interrupted an enemy’s attack animation. And Fumi . . . well, Fumi had gained Breast Boxing, which we all chose not to comment on, lest she try it out on us in anger.

We’d also apparently unlocked a group combo power move, but had no idea how to activate it. The instructions I’d read had been pretty vague, only that it was a ‘team effort’. We tried several options and combinations with our abilities, but in the end came to nought.

That left just the strategising, and the costumes. Lady Dragon was a ranged fighter, with a powerful bow and the ability to fire dragon flames from her summoned serpents. We needed to figure out how to block her attacks and get me in close, while Fumi ran interference. Shankari already had some ideas, but our new costumes would give us greater power in some areas, and we wanted to see what we could change into.

“At least I can get out of this stupid sexy librarian outfit,” Fumi said.

We each clicked our floating menus to select our new outfits, and Fumi went white.

“No way. No way in hell. Bangō!”

Shankari also seemed uncertain, but I could tell she was looking beyond the surface, to the stats underneath.

“Wait, this can work.”

To Be Continued . . .

Next Part