Ticketed: Part 2, 3, 4

Happy Friday, everybody!

Spent longer than I intended making images for these captions, and I've got a few more finished, but I'm rewriting the text a bit. I've got a little subplot idea I'm working on.

I've got a few other captions I want to finish, so I'll probably post those before I get to the next part of this series.

Hope you all enjoy these!

- B-Rex

Hugh Jazz Mofo sighed, as his game character died again, as a huge-breasted gynoid blasted her with a ray beam.

"Dammit! These controls are shit."

Unthinkingly, he slipped a hand back and scratched at his lower back, as he waited for his character to respawn.

"Quit scratching your tattoo, or it'll never heal!" Gemma, his marketing team leader, snapped, startling him into nearly dropping his controller.

He sighed again, annoyed. Truth was, his humiliating tattoo would've healed weeks ago, if not for his ill-advised request for a more colorful trampstamp.

He'd immediately regretted his words when not two days later another Pick-My-Ink ticket was snatched from the endless sea of cheap Chinese-made merch, and he soon found his trampstamp being tattooed over again, only now with a mix of colors, each new tattoo slightly offset, turning each letter into a hideous rainbow riot.

Gemma frowned, turning her attention to his game for the first time, as he resumed playing. "Why exactly does that robot have giant tits?"

Hugh Jazz laughed. "I may have downloaded a few mods... This is an old game, and besides, the subscribers like watching big bouncy tits. And this game has great physics."

Gemma rolled her eyes, as he sent his amateur archaeologist character flipping across a rooftop just in time to empty her guns into a gynoid's hilariously over-sized chest.

"Ah, of course. Oh, speaking of big, bouncy assets...." she said, reaching for her phone.

***

“I can't, this is crazy!”

“You have to, the disclai--”

“Fuck your disclaimer!! I am not getting tits!!!” Hugh Jazz pronounced angrily, staring at her phone. The latest ticket had been found, according to her messages. “Who the fuck signed off on a 'Saline-Away' ticket anyway?!”

Gemma rolled her eyes again, exasperated. “You did, just like every other dumb idea on the list. I told you to read through it, most of these ideas came from your fan club sites; you were supposed to pick a few dozen you liked, not sign off on every damn one of them. We've got over five-thousand categories!!”

He groaned. "I am not getting implants, dammit. I don't care how many new subscribers I ge--"

He stopped, as his marketing team leader flicked her phone to his latest analytic report.

***

"Oh. My. Gawd!! He's huge!!!" Gemma gasped, as the nurse slid Hugh Jazz's shorts down.

"Yeah, Dr. Seymour does great work," the nurse agreed, winking as the sleeping gamer snored. She pulled her golden ticket out of a pocket and smiled broadly. "I'm so glad I went with butt implants like you suggested; it turned out that the doctor couldn't actually find any saline-filled butt implants so he had to make do with a set of breast implants originally meant for a stripper who cancelled her appointment when she realized just how huge they were."

Gemma was motioning for her cameraman to keep filming, then glanced back at the nurse. "Wait, are you saying...oh my gawd, that's hilarious!"

She lightly smacked the unconscious gamer's spherical rump, eliciting a soft moan. "Looks like you got those breast implants after all, Jazzi."

***

Hugh Jazz groaned as he struggled to pull up his pants over his new badonkadonk.

To his surprise, he'd been spared carrying a set of fake tits when his crazed fan had chosen a butt enlargement instead. Though his relief was short lived when he awoke from surgery to learn the surgeon had used the largest butt implants he could fit in his caboose.

Watching him struggle futilely, Gemma finally sighed, shaking her head, and motioned to two of her marketing teammates. Quickly the two men put down their phones and assisted the online gamer in his struggle to get his jeans over his giant ass.

“Oh, dammit!!” Hugh Jazz screamed in frustration, as the jeans ripped apart. He kicked them off angrily, and slung them into the corner of his apartment, atop the other three pair he'd ruined that morning. “Those were two hundred bucks!?!”

“I told you, you're going to need to think of a new wardrobe, nothing below the waist is going to fit over that--” Gemma paused, as her phone beeped. She pulled it out of her purse and scanned the screen. “Uh, um... well....”

“For fuck's sake, what now?” Jazz gasped, as he tugged irritably at his boxers, which were stretched nearly to the breaking point and kept slipping down to reveal the crack of his ass.

“Maybe it's a good thing we didn't go shopping yet. Some girl just found the 'Fab-Five' ticket.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

*****

Hugh Jazz gasped as he looked at his reflection, and particularly his huge ass.

"Oh gawd! These are way too tight," he complained, as the Fab Five just giggled.

The five gay men were the stars of a small fashion-themed television show he'd never heard of, but was apparently popular with the demographics his marketing team were trying to target. Exactly why, he had no idea.

At least the men had agreed to let him stick with wearing some of his new merch, though he'd been annoyed when they pulled out one of his pink t-shirts.

Still, at least it covers up my damn tattoo, he thought, sighing as the camera crew finally finished wrapping up the show.

He spent a few minutes staring in shock at his new ass, still unable to get over just how huge he was.

"Wow, I wish you'd had that when we were dating, James--oh, wait, it's Jazz now, isn't it?"

Hugh Jazz spun around, shocked. "Lance?!"

"Hello Jazz, I was in the area on business, and your lovely marketing consultant informed me that you were doing a shoot here today," Lance replied, eyeing the gamer's massive rump.

He could only stare at the gay man in horror; Lance had been his fake boyfriend the previous year, when Gemma saved his ass from a poorly worded tweet that had sent the internet into a tizzy.

One little gay joke, and he'd been stuck pretending to come out publicly as the only way to keep from being canceled by a twitter mob. Just the memory of it sent a tremor of rage and humiliation coursing through him.

"Uh, it's good to see you too, Lance," he said lamely, not really sure how to respond.

He hadn't seen the gay lawyer since Gemma had finally agreed that he could safely end the fake relationship without incurring the wrath of the cancel culture crowd again. As he recalled, despite being well paid for his role in the scheme, Lance had been rather upset at the sudden dumping.

"Well, I didn't really come here just to see your new butt, Jazz," Lance said, grinning. He withdrew some documents from his briefcase, then held out a pen. "I actually came here to get your signature on these contracts. My new client has been looking to get into social media advertising, and your marketing consultant thought you could use a corporate sponsor. My client, Mister Dick, is a huge fan of your livestreams."

"A sponsor? No one told me--" he began, before looking at the top of the title page of the sponsorship contract and gasped. Lance smiled broadly at his reaction.

"Congrats, Jazz. It looks like you've finally reached the big time."

*****