Feminizing Forfeits

As I sat there, nervously running my hand through my now long hair, I mentally begged the poker gods to bless this hand for me. I’ve not had much, or any, luck the last couple months we’ve played. That’s how I ended up looking like this. Long hair extensions, a pretty, made-up face, and breast forms that are, thankfully, mostly unnoticeable in my biker vest. But the payoff for losing this week may just be a line I can’t cross back over.

This all started because of my ego, which now, looking back, I can admit may have gotten out of hand. Hindsight and all that, right? I was always on the more petite side for boys, by a large margin, and I didn’t like that. So I acted tough. Started fights with those who wouldn’t immediately pummel me, dressed cool, got a badass motorcycle. You know, real cool and manly stuff. Always acting like the big man. And some of my friends got sick of it. So they devised this plan.

I lost my job a few months ago, so I hadn’t been going to the weekly poker games. Had to save all the money I could. But, the guys invited me to one, insisting that I could do some forfeits instead of paying. It had been a while since I got to school those chumps in the finer arts of poker, so I agreed. Huge mistake. I don’t know if they’d just gotten so much better in my time away from the game, or found a way to rig it against me, but I was getting the worst hands imaginable, and they seemed to know. I lost big that first week back. That’s when I got these hair extensions. They didn’t seem too bad, but obviously that was just the start.

I figured the extensions weren’t that bad of a forfeit, so I came back the next week. Same damn shitty hands and poor bluffs. I just couldn’t catch a break. So I lost again. This time, the forfeit was just to go to the salon and get my nails done. On the winner, of course, since I still had no money. It was ridiculous, but I guess it could’ve been worse. Then I lost again the next week, and the week after that. And after that. Each time, I figured the punishment wasn’t too bad, and I was a big man. I could handle a little makeup or skincare, no problem. It wasn’t until I was getting ready for this week's game that I caught on. I opened the box with last week’s forfeit in it and saw two mounds of what looked like silicone. It wasn’t until I read the instructions that I realized what they were. Breast forms.

“What the fuck!?” I shouted as I stepped into Barry’s basement for the game that night. All the guys were already there, and they started laughing hysterically. “Finally noticed, huh?” Hal asked between laughs. “Yea, I fucking noticed. Why the hell are you guys turning me into a chick?” My furious steps made the new and unsupported mound on my chest jiggle uncomfortably. “Wow, I didn’t think you’d actually put them on,” Steve said, a hint of surprise in his voice. “Listen,” Bruce said. “You wanted a way to play without blowing through your savings, which, with how shit your luck has been, would have been instant. So we gave you one.” “Yea,” Oliver agreed. “You could’ve stopped anytime, but you didn’t. So, you can step out if you don’t want to play. Or, you can sit your pretty ass down, and we’ll deal the cards.” I growled, but, prideful as ever, I sat.

It was the final hand. I needed to win this hand. Off the deal, I had a pair of aces. Great start. Then the first card of the flop was another ace. Fucking amazing! Three aces. Finally, the poker gods smiled upon me. Then a 2, then a Jack. I bet, and everyone calls. Suckers! Next card is a 7. Oliver bets. Bruce raises. I say a mental fuck it and I go all in. Everyone folds except Barry. He stares at me for a few silent moments. Analyzing me. I keep my poker face. He shrugs and shoves his pile in. “Call,” he says evenly. The last card- it all comes down to this. And right now, I have possibly the best hand. Another 2 flips over. I smile and throw my cards. “Full house, aces full of twos! Beat that mother fucker!” Barry’s eyes go wide, and he lets out a low whistle. “Damn, that’s a great hand,” he begins. But then a worrying smirk stretches across his face. “Too bad it can’t beat my four twos.” He lays down the other 2 twos and then racks in all the chips.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” I shout, my voice rising an octave, almost matching my appearance. “I lost to a pair of fucking twos!? With ACES!?” Barry laughs. “Them's the breaks, princess.” “Don’t! Call me princess,” I say, standing and slamming a manicured hand down on the table. He stands as well. In that moment, I realized how much bigger and taller he is than I am. It was… intimidating. “Or what? You won’t pay up?” He asked. I sighed angrily. “What is the forfeit?” I ask through gritted teeth. His smirk grows, becoming almost devilish. “Well,” he began as he undid his belt. Realization dawned on me in that moment. “OH HELL NO!” I screamed, turning to leave. He grabbed my arm, his pants falling. “Fine, then you can pay me the two grand you owe me,” he said. I turned back and looked him in the eye, trying to be fierce. By the look in his eyes, I knew I failed. “I-I don’t have it, and you know that,” I tell him. He shrugs. “Then you know what you gotta do.” I growled and pulled my arm from his grip. Then I reluctantly, slowly lowered to my knees, ready to swallow my pride, and if the sound of all the other belt buckles unclasping around me was an indicator, a lot more.