The Bachelorette’s Prank TG

Brandon had never been one to back down from a bet. In fact, it was his cocky attitude that had made him infamous among his friends. He was the kind of guy who thought he could out-drink, out-prank, and outsmart anyone. So when his best friend’s fiancée challenged him to crash her bachelorette party, he didn’t hesitate.

“All you have to do,” she smirked, “is sneak in, steal a bottle of champagne, and leave without getting caught.”

Brandon laughed. “That’s it? You make it sound like a challenge.”

The girls, all gathered around, exchanged sly glances. “Oh, it will be,” one of them said.

That should have been his first warning.

Later that night, he slipped into the beachside villa where the bachelorette party was in full swing. The place was packed with music, laughter, and the smell of expensive perfume. He moved through the dimly lit hallway, his eyes on the prize—a massive bottle of pink champagne chilling in the kitchen. He snatched it up and turned to make his escape…

Only to find himself face-to-face with a group of grinning women blocking his exit.

“Well, well, well,” Vanessa, the bride-to-be, purred, crossing her arms. “Look what we have here.”

Brandon forced a smile. “Uh… this isn’t what it looks like?”

The girls laughed. “It looks like you lost the bet,” one of them teased.

Vanessa nodded. “And you know what happens when you lose a bet at a bachelorette party?”

Brandon’s stomach dropped. “What?”

Another girl pulled out her phone. “We give you a makeover.”

Before he could react, they were on him. A swarm of hands dragged him into the master bedroom, where a full glam station had been set up. Pink and gold decorations were everywhere, lingerie and dresses tossed haphazardly around from their earlier festivities.

“This is not happening,” Brandon gritted his teeth, trying to fight them off.

“Oh, it’s happening,” Vanessa said sweetly. “And we’re going all out.”

They started with his body.

“Can’t have a hairy bachelorette,” one of the girls teased as she held up a can of shaving cream.

Brandon tried to resist, but with four of them holding him down, it was useless. They smeared warm cream over his arms, chest, and legs before running razors across his skin, leaving him as smooth as any of them. His masculinity was literally being stripped away, inch by inch.

Next came the lingerie.

“Oh, this one’s perfect,” Vanessa declared, holding up a delicate pink lace corset with matching panties.

“No way,” Brandon growled, struggling.

“Fine,” she shrugged. “We’ll just take pictures of you like this instead.”

His blood ran cold. With a deep breath, he let them shove the corset over his head, lacing it tightly around his waist. The sensation was suffocating—his ribs compressed, his stomach flattened, and he felt his entire posture shift as the structure of the corset forced him into a more feminine stance.

The panties were next. He shuddered as they slid up his legs, the lace brushing against his now-hairless skin.

The girls cooed in approval.

“Time for the fun part,” one of them said, pulling out a set of prosthetic breast forms.

Brandon’s eyes widened. “No. Absolutely not.”

Vanessa smirked. “Would you prefer the real thing?”

He swallowed hard. “What does that mean?”

“Let’s just say, we have some very powerful adhesive, and once these babies are on… they’re not coming off for a while.”

Before he could argue, they pressed the silicone breast forms against his chest, securing them with medical-grade glue. Within minutes, the weight of them felt disturbingly real. He gasped as one of the girls adjusted them, making sure they sat perfectly in the corset’s cups.

“You’re filling it out so well,” one of them giggled.

Brandon felt lightheaded.

Then came the makeup.

Foundation, contour, blush—each step meticulously applied to soften his features. They shaped his brows into elegant arches and glued on long, thick lashes that made his eyes pop. Shimmery champagne eyeshadow and a bold nude lip finished the look.

When they finally let him see himself in the mirror, he barely recognized the person staring back.

A woman. A gorgeous, sultry blonde with full lips and bedroom eyes.

Vanessa stepped behind him, draping a gold bracelet around his wrist. “One last thing.”

She handed him a blonde wig, perfectly styled in loose waves. The girls slid it onto his head, securing it in place before adjusting the hair so it framed his face.

The transformation was complete.

Brandon sat there, breathing heavily, the weight of the situation sinking in.

“Oh, you are so wearing this for the rest of the night,” Vanessa grinned.

“No way,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Vanessa pulled out her phone. “You sure about that?”

Brandon clenched his fists, realizing he had no choice.

“Good girl,” she teased, pulling him to his feet.

The heels clicked against the wooden floor as he stumbled.

The girls erupted into cheers.

“Ladies,” Vanessa announced, “meet our honorary bachelorette!”

Brandon groaned as the girls pulled him out of the room, straight into the heart of the party.

And that was how his night truly began.