Pantsing Around TG

Tyler Grant had a talent for making enemies without realizing it. At least, that’s how he explained what happened the night before summer break.

It had started as a dumb prank. Four of his classmates — Emma, Brooke, Kelsey, and Jade — were hanging out in the school courtyard after track practice. Tyler had been passing by when the opportunity presented itself: loose sweatpants, an untied drawstring, and his own impulsive sense of humor.

One swift tug, a squeal, and the girls were left clutching their fallen pants while Tyler sprinted away, doubled over laughing. He thought it was hilarious.

They didn’t.

The looks they gave each other said everything: this wasn’t over.

The next evening, Tyler got a text from Emma: We’re having a party. You should come.

He didn’t suspect anything.

The “party” turned out to be Emma’s basement — empty, except for the four of them, sitting in a semicircle around a table covered in bags, bottles, and brushes.

Before he could ask what was going on, Jade had slipped behind him and looped her arms under his, pinning him. Brooke grabbed his wrists. Kelsey kicked the back of his knees until he dropped into the waiting chair.

“Hey! What the hell is—”

“You pantsed us in public,” Emma interrupted, her voice smooth but dangerous. “You embarrassed us in front of half the school. Now it’s your turn.”

The “makeover” wasn’t the fun kind.

They stripped him first — every last piece of clothing tossed into a garbage bag. Warm wax strips followed, peeling away every hair on his chest, arms, and legs. Tyler writhed and cursed, but the girls didn’t loosen their grips.

“Quit whining,” Jade said, ripping another strip from his thigh. “You didn’t mind seeing our skin.”

Next came the body changes. Soft, teardrop-shaped silicone breasts glued perfectly to his chest. Foam and silicone pads strapped to his hips and ass, giving him a cartoonish hourglass figure.

The worst was the injection — a quick, clinical jab into each butt cheek. “Plumper,” Brooke explained casually. “You’re going to have the best bubble butt in the club.”

His reflection in the mirror turned stranger by the minute. Foundation blurred his jawline. Bronzer carved new cheekbones. Glossy red lips replaced his own. Finally, Emma fitted a long, wavy platinum-blonde wig over his head, framing his now overtly feminine face.

Tyler’s protest died in his throat when they held up his outfit: a black knit beanie, a black ribbed crop top that clung to his fake breasts, and high-waisted black leggings so tight they looked painted on.

He thought the humiliation ended there.

He was wrong.

The leggings lasted exactly fifteen seconds once he was dressed. Jade yanked them down to mid-thigh, exposing his padded, artificially plump ass to the cool air.

“Hey! What the hell?” Tyler yelped.

Brooke smirked. “House rule: your ass stays on display. It’s only fair — you wanted to see ours? Now everyone gets to see yours.”

Emma flicked the waistband. “Pull ’em up if you want, but we’ll just keep taking them down.”

Minutes later, he was sandwiched in the back seat of Brooke’s car, cheeks burning — and not just from the injections. The beanie itched. The fake hair tickled his shoulders. And every bump in the road made the foam padding in his ass jiggle.

The girls, meanwhile, were in high spirits, planning out the night. “We’ll take him to Vibe,” Kelsey said, naming the most crowded nightclub in town. “Dance floor, bright lights… perfect.”

“And lots of bending over at the bar,” Jade added. “We’ll ‘adjust’ his leggings every time the DJ changes tracks.”

Tyler tried to pull the leggings up higher in the dark, but Emma caught his wrist. “Nope. Those stay low.”

At the club, the nightmare escalated.

The bouncer barely glanced at his ID — Emma had told him to smile and sway his hips, and somehow, he got waved through. Inside, neon lights washed over the crowd, bass thumped through the floor, and the girls wasted no time parading him to the center of the dance floor.

Every time he shifted his weight or turned around, one of them would hook a finger in his waistband and tug the leggings down again. The cold air and club lights hit his bare, rounded cheeks, making him flinch.

“Stop!” he hissed for the tenth time.

“No,” Jade said flatly, grinning as she leaned into his ear. “Remember the courtyard? Remember the crowd? Now you’re the show.”

They made him dance — bent forward at the waist, hands on knees, ass sticking out while the leggings hung uselessly around his thighs. People stared. Some laughed. Others just stared, wide-eyed, at the blonde “girl” with the perfect bubble butt on full display.

By the time they dragged him outside for air, Tyler was sweaty, humiliated, and exhausted. His fake breasts clung uncomfortably to his chest, the wig was slipping, and his butt felt like it was glowing.

“Lesson learned?” Emma asked, leaning against the car.

“Yes,” Tyler muttered, not meeting her eyes.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Miss Emma.”

The girls burst into satisfied laughter, already tugging his leggings down again before pushing him back toward the car. “Good,” Brooke said. “Because we’ve still got two more clubs to hit tonight.”

Tyler groaned. It was going to be a long night — and an even longer summer living this down.