Ticketed 7

 Greetings all and happy Friday.

I've missed a few posts of late, so I wanted to give you all an extra long entry to try and make up for it. This is about 3,000 words long, 8-10 pages. I spent way longer than I'd like to admit on the renders for this, especially the first one, but I'm pleased with how it all turned out. Might replace the first one with a sharper, smaller version once it finishes rendering tomorrow.

I really hope you all enjoy this installment, and don't worry, I've got more coming. I decided to end on a cliffhanger, but I've got more written for the next scene.

- B-Rex

Ticketed 7: Raiders of Jazz's Temple

Being a booth bimbo was even worse than he'd feared.

Just a few hours in to his latest ordeal and Hugh Jazz Mofo's gigantic ass was already aching from the constant pinches and gropes from passersby --- and he was increasingly regretting agreeing to take souvenir photos with each 'fan' after finishing their personal tour through the elaborate Jungle-temple set the gaming company had installed in the convention floor.

The temple set was impressive, admittedly. But it was also definitely not built for someone with twenty pounds of silicone hanging from their chest!

To his constant annoyance, every puzzle in the temple required him to climb up to one platform and jump to another, in order to activate a switch or act as a counterweight to open a door to the next section. The set wasn't very long, thankfully, but he was getting really tired of finishing each puzzle by asking his latest 'fan' to help pop his tits back into his top.

He was actually quite surprised how well the glue was holding on, though. Despite hundreds of jumps, and near-endless sloshing about, his silicone wonders hadn't loosened a bit.

Whatever the epoxy coating was, it was clearly far stronger stuff than he'd expected when Gemma had first sprayed it over his chest that morning.

He was also a bit annoyed how useful the glow-in-the-dark function was proving. A few seconds of flashlight to re-arm them, and he could safely navigate the surprisingly dark corridors of the fake temple. Of course, the dim glow only served to encourage his 'fans' to stay close to him, so they could see the action.

Then there was the bizarre 'treasure'. In the last room, solving a final puzzle made a giant golden egg fall from a bin in the ceiling, as a prize for completing the tour. Apparently the eggs were filled with free game memorabilia and a guaranteed subscription to Jazz's personal Patreon as an Omega-level patron, whatever that entailed. He'd not found a free moment to ask Gemma about it.

Regardless, the eggs were damned heavy.

The puzzle required he weigh down a large pressure pad by an exact weight (which just so happened to perfectly match the weight of his twin silicone falsies) to 'disarm' a trap, and release the heavy egg from the ceiling to fall directly into his cleavage.

And due to the temple's curse (hastily written in magic marker on one wall in the last room), the eggs apparently could not be allowed to touch human hands until they were safely out of the temple.

Naturally, that left only one option to carry the eggs out of the room, and back through the preceding puzzles to the set's entrance, all at a run as the temple self-destructed behind them, this illusion accomplished with annoying sound effects of falling rocks and a series of Styrofoam stone blocks dropping on cables around them.

It was all very well-done, he had to admit, but after carrying his thirtieth ten pound egg out of the set, and struggling not to lose his balance on his heeled boots, he was long past being impressed with the set's engineering.

And as if to make an already terrible experience even worse, halfway through his morning Jazz's ex-boyfriend Lance Faggette appeared at his booth!

Apparently his ex had heard he was prancing around in Laura Krauff cosplay for the week, and had come down to the ComiXPo to check out the sight first hand.

Lance even insisted on getting his own tour of the temple set: five times!

Even worse, the queer bastard never left! To Jazz's utter irritation, Lance decided to spend the rest of the day hanging around the booth, pretending to lend a hand helping sell Hugh Jazz Mofo merchandise to onlookers.

But really he seemed more interested in groping Jazz's giant ass whenever no one was looking. Or even when everyone was looking!

Then, as if being stuck spending the day with his ex-boyfriend wasn't bad enough, as they finally shut down the booth for the afternoon and headed back to their hotel room to change, another development conspired to make Jazz's life that little bit more horrible....

***

“Well, darn,” Lance said, walking back from the convention hotel front desk. “It looks like the place is full up for the convention. And apparently the whole town is booked too. Guess I should've thought to call ahead and reserve a room before driving down here.”

He gave a deep sigh, looking at his watch.

“Well, I guess I'll just head back home. If I leave now, I might get back by sundown. It was fun seeing you again, Jam-er, Jazz. It sure is a pity, though; I even brought enough clothes to stay the whole week. Oh well.”

Jazz sighed himself, but in silent relief. Finally, something was breaking in his favor!

He didn't look forward to spending another six days on the convention hall floor, but at least he wouldn't have his fake ex on his ass the whole time.

“Oh, there's no need for that, Lance,” Gemma said dismissively. “I can just shack up with the rest of my team.” She gestured to the other marketing team members, most decked out in their own costumes for the convention. “Heck, Angie has a whole room to herself, so I can just join her. And then you and Jazzi can share his room together for the week.”

Jazz nearly screamed as Gemma casually ruined his week.

“And besides, I'm sure you boys will have tons of fun hanging out together again; it'll be just like old times,” she said coyly, pretending not to notice as Jazz shot daggers back at her.

“But... dhere's onwy one fupping bed in deh room!!” Jazz snapped, struggling to speak coherently through his still swollen lips.

Truth was, the casual revelation had crushed him. When he'd arrived that morning and realized that his marketing team leader had booked a one-bed room for the two of them, he'd actually thought she was finally sending him the signal he'd been expecting for months now.

Gemma was hot as hell, even with her modest bustsize, and he'd been dreaming all day about spending the rest of the week sharing a bed with her. In truth, it'd been the only thing to get him through the hours of pinching and gawking.

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly at his mangled exclamation.

“Oh, that reminds me; a new golden ticket finally came in about an hour ago. In fact, I think Lance was the one who sold the shirt it was hid in.” She tugged a sheet from a random pocket of her cyberpunk outfit, and glanced over it. “Uh, anyway, it's called 'The Swear Jar' ticket. According to the rules, every time you swear from now on, you get punished. Naturally, the girl who found the golden ticket got to pick the punishment, and she decided that having to hand out a free ticket every time you curse should cure you of the bad habit.”

Jazz nearly sputtered around his swollen lips. “WHAT?! Dhats fupping insane!!”

“Well, there's been some drop-off in your subscriber count this week, probably from a lack of new tickets. So this should help move things along. Oh, and that's two tickets now, Jazzi!” Gemma said, clicking her tongue again.

One of her marketing team members approached them, carrying a large bag, and thrust it out at Jazz expectantly.

He glanced inside and winced, seeing a sea of golden tickets staring back at him. Groaning, he plucked two fresh golden tickets from the bag at random.

Gemma grinned. “Hmm, I think Lance deserves them, after all, you sort of owe him for dumping him last year the way you did.”

Jazz almost snapped back at her, but thought better of it. He handed the two tickets to the gay lawyer, who grinned broadly. “Well, I wasn't expecting... Well, I think I'll save one of these for Mister Dick, actually. It'll make a great little gift for my best client. Oh, I did mention that Mister Dick is your biggest fan, right Jazzi?”

Jazz narrowed his eyes, not liking the way Lance's smirk when he said 'biggest' one little bit. He made a mental note to never get stuck in a room alone with his sponsor...

Lance stared down at the tickets, picking one for his client, and then smiled at the remaining foil strip in his hands.

“Get Kraken? What a strange... oh, it's another tattoo ticket.” Lance mused, as Jazz's face grew pale. “Say, did you know there's a biker convention going on in the other convention hall? I got some friends from work who belong to a biker club. Anyway, there's always some tattoo booths set up for these events; why don't we head over, and get this ticket knocked out right now?”

***

“Ow!” Hugh Jazz gasped, as the girl twisting him around in the seat.

“Oh, you sound like big baby,” the salon hairdresser admonished, rolling her eyes. She pushed down on his shoulders, managing to wedge his massive rump between the armrests. “Now, quit squirming, or I get glue everywhere. Have to shave you bald then, maybe.”

Jazz winced as she worked on his hair, adding in long, red extensions to his already shaggy head of hair.

His tattoo was far too fresh to be sitting on already, though really it was the trampstamp region above his ass that hurt the most. The laser tattoo removal had taken hours, nearly as long as the tattooing had, and the laser had left his skin incredibly sensitive. All the deep layers of colored inks had been very hard to remove, requiring multiple passes, and the doctor thought it would be months before the skin sensitivity returned to normal.

Exactly why the bastard had also seen fit to laser his entire ass when he was removing the trampstamp in preparation for Lance's new tattoo pick, Jazz had never gotten an answer. But it sure made him reluctant to spend another six days getting pinched by convention guests.

The only good thing to come from the impromptu tattooing had been the removal of his hated trampstamp, but it was hardly worth it when he finally saw the new tattoo that had replaced it.

“Get Krapen, my aff!” he mumbled to himself, sourly.

“I heard that!” Gemma said smartly.

“Godda--” he started, then winced again at his near mistake. “Gush donut, why are so mamy doptors in biper gangs?!”

He groaned, tugging a fresh ticket from Gemma's bag, and hissed.

“I not know, probably mid-life crisis? Doctor work too hard,” the salon girl said, apparently not grasping the rhetorical nature of his question. “Now, you not move again, or me make you real pretty.”

Jazz almost asked if that was a threat, then decided not to risk annoying the Korean hairdresser by making fun of her broken English.

“Ooh, Bubble Tyme,” Gemma read aloud, after snatching the new ticket away. She glanced at the hairdresser. “Quick, what's your favorite flavor of gum?”

“Gum?” The girl looked confused. “Gum bad, get in hair, then need buzz cut. Um, banana is good, though.”

Jazz groaned; he hated banana!

“I'll pick you up a few bags from the store on our walk back to the convention center,” his marketing team leader informed him, patting his shoulder. “If nothing else, chewing a pack of gum a day should keep your mouth occupied and cut down on the swearing a bit. At the rate you're going through tickets, we'll be needing a new bag soon.”

“Vewy fummy,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

Truth was, he had been going through a lot of tickets. Getting a giant tattoo across his super-sensitive ass had led to his new hair-extensions, an annoyingly oversized new tongue stud bead that was worsening his lisp nearly as much as his swollen lips were, and a requirement that he start uploading selfies on his social media pages... hourly.

He'd probably cursed more than that during the three hour tattooing, but Gemma had taken pity on him eventually, and decided that three tickets was enough.

Chewing bubblegum all day was going to get super tiresome, though. Why did it have to be banana?!

He growled down at his giant silicone falsies, and tugged at his far too tight dress as a boob popped free yet again.

Surprisingly enough, his new costume wasn't the result of a ticket, at least not directly.

About the only silver lining to having a giant tattoo covering his ass was that the game company had immediately called a halt to his Laura Krauff cosplay. The tattoo didn't really fit the character, so they weren't happy letting him continue on as her.

Unfortunately, rather than saving him from a week in drag, the company had come up with a solution: since they had recently started up a movie-streaming service on their game console, they had no shortage of colorful movie character for him to cosplay as the rest of the week.

Sadly, apparently they still wanted him to take booth attendees on tours of the temple complex set, even if it didn't fit his new character at all.

“How you like?” the Korean hairdresser said, finally finishing her work.

“Oooh,” Gemma cooed. She grinned impishly. “That is a great look on you, dear. Long hair really suits you. I think I'll call you Jazzica from now on, though.”

Jazz glared at his reflection sullenly, hating his new look with a passion.

When Gemma had delivered his new costume, he'd utterly refused to wear it, at least he had until Lance woke up from his shouting and informed him that Mister Dick had personally picked it out. Apparently it was one of the CEO's favorite film characters.

Still, Jazz had not been happy about prancing around in a giant red sequin dress all day. He'd been ready to refuse entirely, and risk annoying his sponsor, when Gemma had sweetened the deal by mentioning that if he agreed to wear the costume, she'd make sure he was on at least two panel discussions. Though he'd have to spend at least the morning manning the booth and giving temple tours.

And at least this dumb dress covers up my ass, he reminded himself.

In fact, compared to a lot of his clothing over the last several weeks since Hot2Trot took over his wardrobe, his new costume was down right conservative.

“We ready to go, mow?” he asked, starting to extricate himself from the seat, though his wedged-in ass refused to budge from between the armrests.

To annoyance, Gemma shook her head. “Not so fast, Jazzica. That potty mouth of yours isn't the only source of golden tickets.” She pulled out her phone, and showed him the latest upload to the promotion site. Someone had found another ticket, attached to a shirt he'd no doubt sold the day before. “Looks like someone just found a 'Nail Me' ticket.”

He frowned, wondering what that could possibly entail.

***

***

“But, I can'd, can'd-- can not pway wike dhis!” Jazz complained, holding out his hands in disgust, as they entered the hotel lobby. Gemma nicely held the door for him, so he wouldn't risk breaking his new nails. “I'll neveh be able to hamble a cuntwo—cuntwo—dumbsticks! Ahh!!”

“I'm sure there are games you can play that don't require a controller, Jazzica,” she said, smirking as he struggled to utter even simple gamer terminology. “Not every game is a button smasher or a First Person Shooter, you know. We'll just have to transition you to something less dependent on finger dexterity, that's all.”

He sighed, glaring at his absurd talons. The inch-long claws were too long to fit in his costume's gloves, so the hairdresser had cut slits in the finger tips. She was far too proud of her work to let him risk a broken nail.

Of course, negotiating the temple set all morning with his new nails was going to be a real challenge. He suspected he'd be visiting the salon every morning to get a new set of acrylics added.

At least I'll be on a panel this afternoon, he reminded himself for the dozenth time.

He shouldered past a group of geeks in dumb costumes, wondering if everyone in the hotel was a conventiongoer, and finally reached the line for the elevators. A quick stop in his room gather his flashlight and some pens for autographs (how he'd sign anything with his new talons he had no idea) and a moment to drain the lizard and--

He paused, mid-thought, and suddenly wondered how exactly he was going to actually use the restroom now.

Very, very carefully, he decided, wincing in anticipation.

“Dang, Jazzica, ol' Sasha sure has done a number on you!” He blinked confusion at Gemma, but she only shrugged. “She's trained you so well, you walk like a natural model. Are you even aware that you're posing right now?!”

He glanced down at his body, but couldn't see past his gelatinous fake breasts. “Uhm...” he began, but was cut off by Gemma.

“Holy sh--Jazzica, your ex is here!”

Jazz frowned, wondering why she was so excited to see Lance again. “Of courf he's here, I juft spend all night wiff hem, fanks to you. Or did you forg--”

“James?! Is that you?!”

Jazz's heart stopped. No. No, no, no... no, it can't be....

“OHMYGAWD!!! James, I can't believe it!!”

His head swam, his instincts cut in. She hasn't seen my face yet, she can't be sure it's really me, I'll get to my room and cut this crap off me and and and--

Unfortunately for Jazz, his instinct to run from his approaching ex-girlfriend did not take into account his new high heels, or his giant, bouncy breasts, or his amazingly plump rump. And all three conspired to send him flying off his feet and landing with a silicone-softened thud to the lobby floor.

*****