Beauty Studio Epilogue (Patreon)

This is an epilogue to Beauty Studio Makeover.

He was hurting all over and had a really weird sensation in his mouth. It was like he held an object that wasn’t quite free but not quite lose. Although he hurt all over, he didn’t feel hangover. He was thirsty, somewhat nauseated and needed to pee, but no headache nor bad stomach.

He opened his eyes to a decidedly plain hotel room with not much more than a large bed in it. This wasn’t the Ritz. He was lying on top of the bed, wearing a white sweatshirt, pink underwear peeking out from super short white adidas soccer shorts with pink stripes, calf high white socks with three pink bands on them, and a pair of beat up converse shoes. None of it clothes he recognized from before. He smelled like he had been hosed down with vanilla and coconut extract.

As he looked around he felt some strange weights on his head and reached for one of the ears. The dull pain responded with sharp stabs of pain as he touched the ear and felt some sort of metal clamped on the ear lobe.

He quickly stood up and walked to the full size mirror next to the toilet door. As he moved he heard the faint jingle of a small bell in his panties. He was stunned when he saw himself in the mirror. A sissy fag bitch boy with rose gold jewelry all over, fucking pink hair and cock sucker lips. He was disgusted with what he saw.

He started touching parts of the face, with his mind racing to try to figure out what had happened. What was actually altered. The lips and the hair obviously. The eye brows were different. Had his nose always looked like that, piercing non withstanding? What about the cheek bones? And how was this done? Did the fag fairy sprinkle fairy dust on him while he slept? Where was he? Was he kidnapped?

He spun around and rushed to one of the windows and looked out. He saw the porn shop across the street and instantly knew where he was. This was a seedy hotel near some of the least classy bars in downtown. At least he knew how to get home.

Fuck. No keys. No phone. No credit card. No cash. He couldn’t drive home in his car, parked at least 20 minutes away. He couldn’t call a taxi and explain away it as a bachelor’s party. He would have to go down in the lobby and ask the front desk to call one of his mates to pick him up. That’s at least two people who would see him like this.