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The blonde mass of hair slowly raised from its position atop the outfit, and turned as it slowly floated toward Greg’s face, which was now a mix of shock and terror. The smell of a multitude of hair products and styling sprays assailed his nostrils as the hair mashed into his face, sending him on a short journey through a blonde jungle, until the hair was floating directly over top of him. It sank down, pressing firmly on his scalp, the long locks fluffing themselves out, leaving thick sections of hair splayed over his chest, and running down his bare back. The hair wiggled around on his head to get itself comfortable, leaving his face a tiny masculine presence within a huge bushy tower of femininity.

"Ah, that’s more comfortable," she purred into his ears, which were now buried within the thick layers of hair. "Now, how about the rest of me?"

The big top bounced and jiggled as it separated itself from the outfit, and swam behind him, grabbing him with a fierce grip. Unlike the raver getups, this one was much more aggressive, and seemed to care little about being delicate in the transfer. The heavy push of breasts ran from his middle back, up against the hair, until he was certain it was hovering over his head. His big hairdo began to squish and mash into his face as the top descended over him, blocking his vision, and settling around his chest, tightening itself in a fiendish grip around his body. A pair of gloves shot up his arm, their shiny material tightening against his skin, and instantly taking control of his movements. He felt the incredible weight of his new breasts, as well the invisible flesh securing itself around his torso. It compacted and sealed itself to his body, and he was hit with the heavy sensation of jiggling and bouncing pulling him forward, his chest looked absolutely enormous from his point of view.

In fact, EVERYTHING seemed larger once it found its way on him. He could feel the volume of hair surrounding his head, as short gusts of wind would blow against it, feeling the mass of it moving and rustling ever so slightly. The long tail of the hair would flip around on his shoulders, bunching around his neck as he turned his head. He gave his head a tiny shake, and the whole mass rippled and swished back and forth, coming to an eventual rest.

"Hey now, hold still," he heard her snotty voice in his ears. "You’ll get to see what my sweet body has to offer soon."

The black fishnets dove under his feet and snaked their way up his legs, with a thick plump sense of flesh underneath it. He saw his thighs appear larger and thicker as the stockings settled on his legs, jiggling with glee as they rested in place. The big black stiletto boots strutted over, and her voice spat in his ears, "Lift your feet!"

He obeyed, and watched the shiny stilettoed boots slink up each leg, and lace themselves tightly shut at his thighs. The boots forcefully shimmied themselves around, shifting around his legs until they found themselves to be comfortable.

"There we are! I must say, this IS an interesting experience..." the walls of blonde hair cooed into Greg’s ears. The space around his crotch tightened, an invisible hand giving him a quick grab. His eyes widened, and he stood unmoving, the new vibe of these outfits had a rather sinister energy to them. One of the bimbos marched over and had a good look at him, shaking its wig NO in disagreement to a thought it had.

"No, no, no, hun!" it spat out. "You look HORRIBLE! This won’t do at all."

Greg breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that they were going to try themselves on him, not like it, lose interest, and leave him to the candy outfits. Strangely enough, he found himself liking the fuzzy things more and more, especially with the drugs coursing through his sister. Plus, the negative energy of these new bimbo outfits made the cuddle puddle seem more and more appealing with each passing second.

"Come here, let’s sort this all out," it said, and the blonde bimbo outfit began walking Greg automatically toward the stage. It sat him down on the edge of it, and the red headed outfit snapped its fingers. Glancing around in confusion, Greg saw a swarm of various items heading toward him. His curiosity turned to panic when he saw what they were - every assortment of cosmetic he could think of. Greg started squirming against his captor’s grip, but the outfit held him tightly to the stage.

"Calm down now," the wig spat into his ear, "if you move and mess up our work..."

A firm pressure built up around Greg’s now limp penis, turning into a vicious, painful grip. His hands shot down and pressed against the mound of flesh surrounding his privates, and he futilely mashed it around to break her hold on him.

"...mess up this makeover, and I snap it in half."

"No, stop! I’ll stay still!" Greg blurted out, the first sentence he’d managed to piece together in quite some time. Fear was a powerful motivator.

"There, that’s a good boy! Now we want to meet some hot guys tonight, and we can’t have you looking like THIS, now can we?"

The outfit gestured around Greg’s face, which now wore an expression of defeat. He glanced over to the cuddle puddle, which had reformed and practically forgotten he was even in the area. He sighed heavily, and a group of flesh colored sponges quickly assaulted his face.

Layer upon layer of foundation slathered itself on his face, giving him a soft, pale appearance. A razor whipped out and quickly and neatly shaved his eyebrows off completely, which are then smacked with a layer of foundation, then drawn back in a high surprised arch.

"Close your eyes!"

Greg obeyed, and suddenly felt several brushes hammering his eyes, followed by a cold grasp running across both eyelids as huge false eyelashes settled into place. A mascara wand ran through them, blending his real lashes to the new oversized ones, followed by liner neatly framing his eyes.

"Good boy, you can open them now."

Greg opened his eyes, staring right into a hovering mirror in front of his face. He had never worn makeup before, never intended to, and definitely didn’t want to start now. He kept staring at his new overdone madeover reflection in horror as a tube of lipstick floated up and put the final touch on his new look. He looked like a skank. A pure, bar star skank, the kind who went to the gym to meet guys instead of working out, or spent all day in a tanning bed.

The bimbos laughed uproariously at his shocked expression. "Wow, you are HOT! Not girl hot, but drag queen hot!" Greg stared at his reflection - he DID look like a drag queen. A professional, well done, polished drag queen, but a drag queen nonetheless. A skank queen.

The blonde wig framing his face shot out its objections. "Hey! You were supposed to make me fucking HOT! How am I going to bring any guys back with THIS under me?"

"Look dear, it’s super dark out, and most of the guys here are mashed out of their minds on drugs, like our little passenger here. I doubt they’ll be able to tell the difference, or even care that he’s a guy, given their state." the redhead giggled. "You’ve got nothing to worry about!"

Greg’s pretty eyes widened in horror at this exchange, although he was made up like a drag queen, it was dark enough, and guys were certainly high enough, to mistake him for an incredibly curvy, sexy woman... or simply not care that he was a dude in the first place? This was turning into a nightmare, and fast. Did they expect him to somehow have sex with a bunch of random guys? Fearing his dick being ripped out of its socket, he stayed quiet, and his mind raced, trying to think of a way out of all this.

The outfit breathes a sigh of relief. "Well, I guess this will work. Wish me luck, girls! I’ll try to bring some guys back for ALL of us to get "comfortable" with..."

Greg suddenly felt himself jump off the stage, forcefully adjust his hair with his newly gloved hands, and start strutting his way back through the underbrush. Being assaulted by ghostly clothing was one thing, but now he was being led back out to the main stages, where REAL people were going to see him in his imprisoned, crossdressed state. His heart began racing and a lump formed in his throat, he didn’t want this humiliation to happen, and his drugs amplified every negative thought of what might happen to him.

"It’s alright, I won’t get too involved with anyone," the wig chuckled. "That’s what YOU’RE here for."

"What?" Greg said in shock.

"YOU are our ticket to a better life!" the wig explained. "You see, with someone to ride like yourself, we’re no longer trapped at our private stages, we can look like real living people to everyone else! We are going to bring some guys back for the other girls, though."

"How many?" he replied, panic building in his voice.

"Four," she stated. "Once we’re done, you can go back to your candy raver cuddle puddle. Who knows? Maybe they’ll want you to bring back some dudes as well. You can just live with all of us and stay pretty for the rest of your life!" The wig laughed as it walked through the underbrush, somehow dodging fallen branches and roots like a pro, wearing the massive heels that it was. Greg’s mind raced, now filled with the images of being a sex slave, seducing men against his will, constantly surrounded by big female curves and ridiculously big hair and overdone makeup. He shut his eyes to rid himself of the thought, but he felt his big fake eyelashes squeeze together as a nice reminder of how he looked.

Greg opened his eyes and looked down, watching how the outfit moved as it walked, his hips and ass jutting severely out with each step, a display meant to be savored by any straight man with a working dick. The glove on his arm threw his hand up, brushing back a big fluff of blonde hair, and the wig gave his head a shake - which allowed the hoop earrings to dangle and smack his face. The lights of the main area were coming into view, and the silhouette of dancing ravers were getting larger as he approached.

"Ok, uh, please don’t..." Greg mumbled in fear and horror at what was about to happen. "Please let me go, and don..."

The outfit mashed a big wad of gum into his mouth, cutting off any desperate plea he was trying to make.

"Chew." the wig said sternly. "Chew, or you’re gonna regret it." The firm grasp on his cock returned, complete with the slight stabbing of long, invisible fingernails. Greg obeyed, and began chewing the big wad of strawberry flavoured gum.

"I want you smelling good for all our potential dates," the wig said. "Plus, you’ll be less whiny when you can’t speak." As Greg chews the gum, he realizes how much it makes him look like a ditzy airhead, sexily strutting his curvy way toward the real world with his fantastic new assets.

His chest pounding underneath the large invisible breasts contained in the halter top, Greg finally made it through the woods with surprising grace, exiting the bushes rather suddenly and walking along the path, startling everyone around him. A giant woman quickly emerging from the forest was something that some people just weren’t ready for, given their current mental state, and either broke down laughing or stared in silent shock at what Greg had become. The outfit gives a shake for everyone, and Greg’s face burns red under the several layers of makeup covering it.

"Yes!" the wig chirped into his ears. "They LOVE us!" The outfit turns his head around, and sets sight on the main area. "There, that’s where we’ll find our guys!"

Greg, still high out of his mind, began praying that this was some sort of horrible hallucination, and that he was laying on the floor of the medical tent having some sort of a seizure. He closed his eyes to avoid making eye contact with the bewildered people he was walking past, and did his best to ignore the whistles and comments he was getting. The outfit was loving this, while Greg was loathing it. He tried to picture himself laying in his tent, and focused on it, hoping that somehow he’d be instantly blessed with the power of teleportation and would zap himself out of this mess, or wake up from the nightmare he was strutting around in.

He opened his eyes, looked down, and watched the tremendous breasts bounce as the outfit continued its mission. They passed a guy who muttered something about "wrecking that business", while staring directly at his chest.

“Almost there! Are you ready for your first big cock of the night?" Greg’s breathing quickened at the thought of the wig forcing his head into another guy’s crotch. He still felt he could reason with the thing, and began whimpering out more pleas.

"OK, people saw you... they think you’re pretty.."

"WE. They think WE are pretty." the outfit corrected him. "Can’t have one without the other sweetheart."

"Ok, they think WE’RE pretty. You’ve had your fun, just let me go and..."

"And WHAT?" the wig shot out. "Go back to our stage and dance by ourselves? Hang out with those stupid raver outfits? I don’t think so! Now that I’ve had a taste of this..." she moved Greg’s arms around, gesturing to everything around them, "I really, REALLY, don’t want to go back to that. Let’s find our guys, bring them back, and then we’ll talk."

Greg concentrated again and again. Please let me go. Please let me go. Please...

"Well, hell-OH!"

The wig had spotted its prey. Standing near a vendor selling tea and other warm beverages, was an incredibly ripped and tanned guy straight out of Jersey Shore. He was texting what could only be his other juiced up friends, and the outfit began to gyrate and quiver with excitement. Greg, on the other hand, couldn’t think of anything else he would be less attracted to.

"Ok, don’t fuck this up," the wig warned. "We’re going over there, and I’ll do all the talking. Just chew your gum, and give the guy some eyes."

The outfit marches him over to the guy and strikes a seductive posed, putting her back against the supports of the vendor, grabbing it with her hands, and flipping the mane of hair in the air, sending the smell of perfume and hairspray all around Greg’s face. His big eyelashes batted themselves together, and the outfit reminds him to keep quiet, with another physical reminder of what’s going to happen if he doesn’t.

The guy was completely absorbed in the action on his cell, sending messages while ignoring the ones the outfit was giving off. Greg sensed the bimbo’s impatience, and it decided to make the first move.

"Hey there," the wig called out, pinching the top of Greg’s head so he’d play along. Greg, feeling like he was going to pass out from fear, because smacking and chewing the gum, and gave a sad attempt at fluttering his big fake eyelashes at him. The guy looked him over, knitting his brow in confusion, and put his cell phone away.

"Well, aren’t you cute!" the wig giggled, and the outfit sauntered Greg closer to what could possibly pummel him with homophobic fists. "Wanna have some... fun?"

Greg felt the outfit push his back in, which in turn thrusted the bimbo’s big breasts outward. The guy looked surprised and taken aback, and Greg had the horrible feeling that felt that the guy was going to see right through the whole thing. He’d probably take joy in pummeling the crap out of the flirty busty drag queen, which would be the perfect, horrible ending to an already unthinkable night.

Instead, the guy shot back a smile, and moved closer, curious about the strange and incredibly curvy figure in front of him. Greg was speechless and expressionless, frozen in fear of being beaten, discovered, and he was also on drugs that heightened the terror of the situation.

The outfit clearly didn’t want Greg to blow this, which spurred the thick layer of makeup on Greg’s face to grab hold of his cheeks and lips, forcing his mouth into a smile, with the eyelashes hurling a wink in the guys’ direction. That was all it took for the guy to put his huge arm around Greg’s curvy waist. The strong grip of this beefcake firmly mashed the outer layer of flesh on his hips, which were so big and thick that Greg could hardly even feel it.

"So, you wanna have some fun baby?" he said, giving a solid thrust into Greg’s quivering body. Greg felt like he was about to be devoured by a starving lion, and actually felt like he’d prefer that experience more than what was about to happen.

"Definitely..." the wig cooed back. "How about we head back somewhere more, private?"

The outfit began doing something that Greg didn’t entirely understand at first, but when he did, his brain went into survival mode. The outfit was forming an opening between his legs; the invisible flesh was giving access to his ass, allowing the guy to have sex with Greg instead of the outfit itself. This sparked Greg into scanning the area for a way out, desperate to free himself from his impending pounding.

"Oh c’mon," the wig whispered into Greg’s ear. "You’ll love it, I promise."

The three of them began walking slowly back toward the campsites, with many startled onlookers watching on, many of whom would’ve loved to have made fun of what Greg had become, but his burly protector had staked his claim, looking rather fierce at anyone who stared too long. Greg was glancing around, trying to form thoughts through his drug haze, when his eyes landed on the large percolator of hot coffee on the drink stand, heat waves and steam surrounding it in the cold night’s air.

That’s when it happened. The bimbo outfit was far too enamoured by the grasp of the muscle bound Adonis to realize what was happening until it was too late. Without a second thought, Greg took the outfit and dude by surprise by throwing himself off balance, grabbing onto the percolator, and falling to the ground with it. Landing on the big curvy ass that he was imprisoned in, the percolator burst open, spilling scalding hot coffee all over the outfit. Being encased entirely within the invisible flesh, Greg felt absolutely nothing, but the outfit went absolutely insane. A deafening scream came from the wig, piercing deep into Greg’s ears, and the outfit immediately scrambled to its feet and began running blindly into the woods.

This is it, thought Greg, and he quickly threw the screeching wig off his head, and pulled one of the gloves from his arm and tossed it aside, where it landed on the ground and flopped around like a dying fish, the invisible flesh still controlling its movements. The other glove was next, followed by another dive to the ground, where he managed to pull one of the boots off, and watched it frantically hop around before collapsing and kicking wildly into the dirt. He began pulling the other boot off, but it soon caught its bearing and began fighting back, snaking itself back up his leg as he pulled with all his might. Now in a frenzy, Greg held his leg to his face and bit hard, which prompted the already scalded boots to wriggle free and join the other, thrashing on the ground.

Greg got to his feet and began running as fast as he could into the darkness, the giant breasts swaying heavily back and forth, up and down as he did. He grabbed the bottom of the shirt and quickly pulled it off, throwing the coffee soaked form into the darkness. He ran and ran, naked in the woods, free of the heavy flesh that he was trapped in all night, until his legs went rubbery and his heart beat fiercely, and could run no more.

He leaned against a tree, his breath pumping out rapid blasts of fog into the air, looking around frantically for any sign of his captors. Aside from his heart beat pulsating in his ears, and his wild panicked breathing, he heard nothing. A small sense of relief began washing over Greg, as for the first time in hours he was free of any sort of ghostly clothing kidnapping. He spent a few moments catching his breath, before thinking to himself, "Did any of that actually happen? Am I just insanely high right now? Was I EVER dressed as a woman, or was I talking to myself by the coffee stand, and had a freakout, stripped naked, and ran into the woods? Doubt and embarrassment crept into his head, which was interrupted by the sound of footsteps cracking through the underbrush.

"All we wanted was to have a little bit of fun, but you..." a snotty voice growled.

Any hope that had come to him was now dashed, as a crowd of slutty outfits made their way into the clearing. Big red bouffants, blonde poufs, and voluminous blue hairdos sat atop the familiar corset tops, bursting with unseen cleavage. Their thigh high black boots navigated the area with ease, the five inch heels doing nothing to impede them.

The redhead outfit approached him. "...you burned our poor sister, you son of a bitch!"

The blonde outfit staggered into view, still dripping with coffee. It cried and sobbed, and it seemed like the pieces of clothing were having problems staying together. The other outfits closed in even more. Greg felt the wave of absolute defeat wash over him.

"Burned? She looks fine! There isn’t a scratch on that outfit!"

"Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist," said one of the outfits. "If only you could see the scars you’ve given her beautiful skin, you’d understand."

"Look, I’m sorry!" he hollered out. "I don’t want to be a part of this anymore! I just came here to have fun, and find some... some...

The blonde outfit scolded him with a harsh whisper. "Oh, I know..." it muttered, weak from the pain it had endured. "I know why people like YOU come here..."

"We saw how you were looking up and down at the candy girl outfits when you first showed up. We’ve seen that look before, and we thought you should see what it’s like for guys to eye you up and down like that," said the brunette outfit as it approached closer and closer, its big curly hair swishing and swaying with its movement.

"But you couldn’t even go along for the ride, not even for a half hour," the blue haired outfit spat out. "And in turn, you disfigure a poor defenseless woman just because you don’t like talking to guys. You are pathetic!"

"OK, OK!" Greg said trying to back away but finding himself quickly surrounded. "Just... just get back on me then, I’ll go along with it, I’ll..."

"Oh," the redhead chuckled, "it’s too late for that sweetheart. You need to learn not to tango with powers you don’t understand."

For a moment, everything was still. The outfits were standing dangerously close to Greg, the wigs silently hovering above them. He shivered as a cold breeze blew by, and he glanced rapidly between the empty bimbo wigs.

"So... you like candy, do you?" the blonde laughed. Greg held his arms up, breathing in a panic, and he stumbled back from the outfits as they began to swarm him, and he almost fell flat on his ass when he tripped over a stray root. He quickly turned around, and saw that he was surrounded. The outfits linked arms, and his ears were filled with a strange, distant hum.

"What are you doing?" he said, holding his arms up to protect himself from this bizarre display.. "Get... get away!" He went to punch one of the outfits, but his arm was held fast, the blonde wig was regaining its power over its outfit, and used its glove to grab his wrist and hold him in place.

The attack was slow, but horrifying. The bimbos pressed up against Greg firmly, their breasts squeezing into his chest, and all around his body. They laughed, their hair blowing in the wind, which circled around and swarmed him like a cyclone. Greg quaked with fear.

"STOP! STOP IT! HELP ME!" he screamed, his voice echoing through the empty forest and drowned out by the speakers at the distant stages.

The bimbos linked their legs under his, squeezing him as hard as possible, the invisible flesh of their breasts mashing hard into his body, and he stared in horror as the outfits began melting together as they smothered him. He watched in horror as his skin began to blend with the dissolving group of outfits, and he was suddenly feeling incredibly itchy, sticky, and amazingly terrified. The wigs moved in, and began to wrap themselves tightly around his head.

"Oh God, please! Please tell me I’m hallucinating! This is a dream! Oh, fuck, let me wake up!"

He yelled in pain as they pressed into him, making it harder and harder to breath as their curves sandwiched him and squeezed him in a vice grip. He was in the middle of an oozing black cylinder, the huge wigs muffling his cries and impeding his breathing, their haunting laughter echoing through the trees and into his ears. Greg was left wheezing, trying to scream, and uttering pleas to a God he didn’t believe in, hoping He’d make the whole thing a dream. The taunting laughter of the bimbos was the last thing he heard before things drew to an end, and everything faded to black.

Greg awoke with a start, gasping for air. He didn’t dare move a muscle, glancing around; he could see that he was safely back in his tent. He stayed still, looking to the left of the open window screen of the tent, to his right, his backpack and assorted gear.

It was all a dream, just as he had prayed for. He breathed a huge sigh of relief, his head collapsing back on his pillow, giving out a laugh. The events of the night began coming back to him, the secret rave, the candy orgy, the slutty outfits, the smothering attack, wow... the entire time this was all going on, he was actually laying on the floor of his tent, imagining the whole thing the entire time. The E he took was some SERIOUS stuff, and he instantly regretted not finding a hot girl to give it to. She would’ve been out in a SECOND. A missed opportunity that he’d rectify tonight.

Feeling like getting a large cup of coffee to clear his still buzzing head, he reached over and unzipped his sleeping bag, tossing the flap off of him. The tent was instantly filled with tiny glints and sparkles of light, as the sun was beaming in through the window screen over a pair of mammoth breasts resting on his chest, covered in a glittering pink fur top. Time froze for Greg as he stared at the pink mountains, which swayed and jiggled as his breath became faster, shallower, and panicked. Slowly placing his hands behind him, he sat up, the big heavy breasts sliding forward, hanging off of him heavily. Another unwanted discovery as he sat up was his pillow following his head as he did so. His hands shot up to pull it from his head, but found themselves buried in a deep, thick maze of soft, sparkling pink hair. His further frantic exploring landed his hands on a pair of fake fuzzy kitty ears, the same color of his top.

"No..." he groaned. "No, no, no..."

He threw the rest of the sleeping bag off of him, revealing a short pink fur skirt wrapped around his big new hips and ass, and legs covered in a crazy colorful assortment of nylons, which disappeared into a pair of large pink fluffy boots.

"Oh god..." He cupped the giant globes of flesh in his hands and squeezed. Unlike the invisible breasts the outfits sported in his "hallucination" last night, these things were real. Very, very real, growing and jiggling as a part of his body.

Greg gulped as he grabbed his hips and felt the flesh under the skirt respond, sending back signals that he was now the owner of an amazingly curvy body, and that this was unfortunately not a dream.

"Oh... OH GOD!"

The entire gravity of the situation hit him like a freight train, sending his big juicy body jiggling as he scrambled out the door of the tent. Greg stumbled across his campsite, losing balance in the big fluffy boots, and braced himself on the picnic table. The big hair on his head fell all over his face, clouding his vision, and it seemed like all parts of his body were moving in different directions all at once. He quickly brushed the hair aside, and looked down into a deep valley of cleavage between two of the biggest breasts he had ever seen. The breasts, perfectly formed and absolutely natural, hung heavy in a pink fun fur top with a splash of white trim. He grabbed a hold of the breasts and tried to push them out of the way for a better look at what he was wearing, but he couldn’t see past the sea of flesh, so he mashed them as far to the side as he could and craned his neck to see a cute flat stomach atop a huge set of hips and a perfectly huge ass. He looked like an overdone caricature of a raver girl with his cartoonish proportions, something a horny artist would draw the day after a party, and subsequently masturbate to.

"What... oh fuck... what is..."

He let go of his tits, and they bounced heavily within the top, his skin pulling painfully with their incredible weight. His hands raced around his giant booty, the fur tickling his palms, until they made their way to his groin, and he felt... nothing. This was no trick of the mind or residual hallucination, the outfits had transformed him into a full-fledged woman.

Greg paced the campsite, his hip swivelling and swaying, grabbing attention from his neighbors from the initial screaming, and the current display of ultimate womanly form. He glared at the guys eyeing him up, and ran back to his tent where he could get undressed and try wearing something a little less sexy. He sat on the floor of his tent, his big butt squishing out all around him, and reached behind himself to unzip the fluffy top. He felt around, but the zipper wasn’t on the back. He explored the front of the top, but found the short top was just a single piece of fabric. He grabbed the bottom and tried pulling it over his head, but the fur pulled just as hard on his skin. Greg’s eyes widened as he tried picking the top free of his breasts, but he might as well be trying to pick his own skin off.

"Oh Jesus..." he said, tears welling up in his eyes. He yanked and pulled at the skirt, but it held tight to his waist, and the big fluffy boots clung to his legs like a second skin. Not only had the bimbos transformed him into a ridiculously curvy woman, but they’d also fused this candy raver outfit to him. He lost all sense of reason, and began futility clawing at all parts of his outfit, feeling sick as his fingers harmlessly scratched against his fuzzy prison, and shuddered in disgust as his long glittering nails scraped across his buried nipple, returning an electric sensation to his brain.

Arms now barely crossed over his massive chest, trying to ignore the barrage of sensations he was receiving from his new form, occasionally brushing a big section of hair out of his face, Greg frantically tried to think of a way out of this. Remembering the gear he brought, he opened his backpack and fished around, finding his pocket knife. If he could at least get SOME of the outfit off, he’d consider it a victory. He grabbed some hair and started hacking away at it, hacking, slicing, sawing, but the hair wouldn’t split. He tried again, sawing viciously, but his big pink hair stayed pretty, pristine, and glittery. The top and skirt gave him the same treatment, nothing would even scratch or pop a stitch. He fumbled around for a mirror to see exactly how badly they’d transformed him, and screamed when he saw the immaculate drag queen makeover staring back at him.

High drawn in eyebrows, thick pink glitter eyeshadow, expert contouring, a splash of glitter on either side of his face, huge thick black eyelashes, and glossy pink lips filled the mirror, framed by a giant pink and baby blue hairdo reminiscent of something a flamboyant scene girl would cook up. The final insult, the nail in the coffin, the thing that really hit the situation home: the hair and makeup were sitting atop his obviously masculine face. Although his body had changed, they left his head untouched, aside from the extremely overdone makeover.

This was the last straw, he broke down crying, sobbing heavily as he covered his face, the thick makeup staying put, refusing to run. He lay on the floor of the tent, the big breasts squished together, frantically trying to think of what his next move was. He couldn’t go home looking like this. He could even leave the TENT looking like this. What the hell am I going to do? He thought.

"WHAT AM I GOING TO DO!" he wailed out loud, grabbing the hair and pulling on it viciously. Here he was, a self-proclaimed ladies’ man, now imprisoned in a body that only exists in unrealistic teenage fantasies. Greg cried, and cried, and cried some more, until the day faded into night, and the music started up again.

"Oh God... oh no... oh please no... help me.. Someone...please."

Dave was having the time of his life. The night was in full swing, there were pretty girls everywhere, wearing AMAZING outfits, and he had a pocket full of party prescriptions that he was willing to share with them. Once he’d meet a girl and they’d have a taste of the pills he brought, they’d find themselves extremely high, rather out of it, and would be putty in his hands. Then it would be back to his tent for some "alone time".

He was quite the deviant.

Looking around for potential ‘friends’ for the night, his eyes lay on the curviest, bustiest girl he had ever seen. She was walking around in a daze, wearing the cutest fluffiest fun fur outfit he had ever seen. The pretty pink top was stretched across her massive breasts, the skirt was swishing around her thighs, the fur resting neatly over the puff of soft crinoline, and her shapely hips turned to nice nyloned legs that vanished into a big pair of fuzzy boots. Imagining those boots wrapped around his waist, and those breasts pressed up against him, and that big hairdo moving back and forth in front of his crotch, Dave knew he had found The One.

Approaching the confused girl, he introduced himself.

"Hey there, what’s your name?"

The girl looked at him, and something wasn’t quite right. It looked like she had used every single cosmetic in her makeup bag, and it was almost like she had tears in her eyes. Her strong masculine features were probably to blame, and he almost felt bad for her being born with such an amazing body, and such an unfortunate face. Ah well, Dave thought, it’s dark, it’s not like I’ll be looking at her face anyway.

"I... I don’t..." the girl babbled, looking around in a drug fuelled daze.

"Are you lost?" Dave asked, feigning concern.

"I just... there was the secret rave... and I... they weren’t there when I went back! All the outfits, GONE! I... it must have been the pills, so I took more.. WAY more... and still, the outfits... gone..."

Dave smiled. JACKPOT. This girl didn’t know her amazing booty from a hole in the ground, and would make the perfect companion for the rest of the night, and most of the next day.

"That’s OK sweetie, I know where the outfits are. I can help you find this ‘secret rave’."

The girl seemed to perk up, before being consumed by her drug haze again.

"Oh please, please take me there..." she pleaded groggily. "I want out... I want to take all this off. Please..."

Dave smiled. "No problem, baby. No problem. Let’s see what we can do about that."

After heading back past the crowds of stares, the destroyed percolator in the ditch, the broken branches leading to an empty clearing where mysterious outfits once raved all night, they arrived at the campsite. The girl smiled, barely able to stay standing, before being led into the tent where Dave had easily convinced her the ‘secret rave’ was taking place.

Finally, Dave’s long sought raging fetish would be fulfilled this year: a passed out girl in a cozy warm tent.

Anything goes.

All night long.