“IIIIIII DON'T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS~”

The blaring sound of off-key karaoke dragged Brandon back into consciousness. It felt like someone had driven a railroad spike through his head as he rolled onto his back, finding himself on an unfamiliar couch. 

“Well, well, well. Mr. Party Pooper finally awakens!” A familiar impish voice said.

Brandon groaned. He felt seasick as he forced his eyes open. Inches from his own face, Claire was grinning broadly. He tried to remember what happened as her blue eyes twinkled in the dim light of the room. 

It wasn’t until he caught a whiff of hot cocoa that it all came flooding back to him.

-

He hadn't even been invited originally. Claire had demanded he come along as her plus-one. No excuse he could come up with could convince her to find someone else.  

“My boss, Marla, throws the best parties!” She said.

“You’re gonna have a great time!” She said.

“Stop being such a sadsack and get your ass in the car!” She said.

 And so, he relented. The venue was a huge McMansion, packed to the brim with at least fifty people. It was decorated immaculately, tinsel and lights and seemingly a tree in one corner of every room. Brandon wasn’t moved. He didn’t know anyone there and, to be honest, he was more of a Halloween guy anyway. He spent the entire first hour of Marla’s fabled winter bash monitoring his college football parlays. 

As the first flakes of nighttime snow began to fall, everyone in the house was summoned to the den. The room had been turned into a makeshift dance floor, cleared of all furniture but for a table and some speakers. Brandon would’ve stayed behind if Claire hadn’t literally dragged him along by the wrist. He grimaced as they joined the packed crowd for what he assumed would be some lame party game.

His suspicions were confirmed. “Elf Roulette” was what Claire called it. She refused to elaborate, snickering at her taller friend’s confusion. Brandon rolled his eyes as a large tin of gingerbread cookies was passed around. All this for a quick snack? He'd thought, shrugging as he picked one from the bunch. Claire watched him bite into the cookie with excitement before choosing her own.

It only took a few minutes. The mob began to disperse, their anticipation palpable. It seemed like everyone but Brandon was in on the game. He’d been about to ask Claire to explain the rules again when his vision began the swim. The last thing he remembered was her ecstatic gasp.

-

“I can't believe it, I can’t fucking believe it. You got it!” Claire said in a hushed, mischievous tone. She looked around at the other partygoers, as if she was harboring some precious treasure. “People usually don’t pass out like that but I guess it makes sense since you didn’t know what was coming.”

Brandon sat up groggily. Something seemed off as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the room but he couldn’t discern what. “So what was that, some kind of edible?”

“You could say that …” She flashed him a smirk he knew meant trouble. “You wanna get some eggnog?” 

“Nah, I’m already pretty fried from that cookie. Plus, I gotta drive back.”

The brown-haired young woman gave an exaggerated pout. She stood, blocking his line of sight with her jean-clad legs. “You're such a vibe killer, Bran-Bran. Fine. If you're sooo hellbent on being lame at least come with me while I grab a drink.”

With a huff, Brandon stood. He immediately realized what was wrong. Everything in the room was bigger. His clothes were baggy, his shoes felt loose and the partygoers milling around the couch were all a good five inches taller than they'd been before he passed out. Claire was no exception. She was 5’4 on a good day, half a foot shorter than Brandon. Now their eyeline was about the same.

Brandon blinked several times, feeling a dizziness come on. “Claire … what the fuck is going on?”

“You're the Elf!” She cackled in his face. Normally, she’d be cackling up at him.

To his dismay, few partygoers took notice of their conversation. One by one, their eyes fell on him. He could hear the word starting to spread through the crowd. She found the Elf?

“What do you mean I'm the Elf?!” Brandon shouted, to his own peril. 

A cheer rang out. Brandon yelped as he was suddenly mobbed, everyone clamoring to get a look at him. Hands came from every direction to pat him on the shoulder or muss his hair. They seemed to be congratulating him, as if he'd won some grand prize. He was slowly realizing the implications of the game. 

“The cookie, stupid!” Claire had to shout over the din of the partygoers. Was she taller? Brandon found himself looking up at her. “The one you got was laced with Nanodryl!”

Brandon paled at the name of the drug. There was no time for him to contemplate what was happening. Before he knew it, he’d been snatched into the air. His last image of Claire was her waving wickedly as he was crowd-surfed away. 

As he was groped and passed along and shoved deeper into the party, Brandon felt an unsettling sensation. The hands carrying him were slowly getting bigger. He was still shrinking. 

He ended up back in the den. The baseline of Christmas in Hollis was pounding through the room when he was finally dropped into the middle of the dance floor. Brandon’s stomach sank like it was filled with lead. Everyone towered over him. His line of sight was now waist-high to the average person. They all seemed delighted by that development. Swaying hips and crotches slammed into Brandon as partygoers tried to muscle in to dance with him. Something about the size difference triggered his Fight or Flight instinct. Flight was the only option. Like a cornered rabbit, he tried to flee the horde. He darted for the edge of the room, only to run face-first into a thigh that was nearly as wide as his torso. 

The owner of said thigh peered down at him with almost predatory intrigue, somehow menacing in her reindeer antlers headband. Before Brandon could get a word in, she snatched him up. He tried to pull away but was hopelessly overpowered as she flagged over a friend. The woman didn’t say a word, shooting him a chilling wink. 

Reindeer Antlers held him steady, clamping his upper body between her bare thighs. She started to sway to the music, and he was forced to sway with her. Despite the bizarre situation, Brandon had to admit being flanked by two huge legs wasn’t exactly torture. He was almost enjoying it until an ample rear wrapped in green spandex swung into view. As it turned out, Reindeer Antlers' friend was wearing matching shorts. There was nowhere for him to flee when she backed up. As they began to playfully grind on each other, Brandon found himself buried from the neck up. The first woman held him steady against her crotch while the second attempted to wedge his face between her cheeks.

The night only got stranger from there. 

Once Brandon finally managed to squirm free, he attempted to escape the dance floor. The process was only made more difficult by his condition. He slowly went from bumping into wide hips and plump rear ends to knees and even shins. Eventually, he was forced to kick off his shoes and leave behind his jeans. He was left wearing his forest green thermal shirt like a large shawl as he finally breached the sea of legs. Not a second later, a statuesque figure materialized before him. 

“C’mere!” A pair of huge hands sank into his armpits, scooping him up with heart-stopping ease. He was lifted past the fluffy white hem of this person's dress. The rest of her outfit was dark crimson, invoking the image of St. Nick himself. Brandon looked toward her face and found he’d been captured by one of the few people at the party Claire had actually deigned to introduce him to.

 Marla was the Platonic ideal of an extraverted host. As he understood it, she was a supervisor at the hospital where Claire worked as a nurse. Maybe five years older than them, her gregarious presence was only underscored by her curvaceous figure. Brandon cringed as she cradled him against her impressive bust. He was no bigger than an infant. 

“I was wondering where my little elf went!” Marla chuckled, carrying him over to a massive chair where about a dozen people were gathered. He groaned at the oohs and ahs he received as she sat him in her lap. A strong arm hugged him tight against the red velvet of Marla's dress to ensure he didn't run off. His head, which couldn't have been much larger than an apple at that point, sunk awkwardly into her massive tit. 

Seemingly energized with him in her grasp, Marla called over another petitioner. She didn't bother setting Brandon aside, instead repositioning him against her bosom to accept the young woman into her lap. The blonde host didn't even notice that she'd pulled him right out of the neck hole of his sweater, leaving him fully nude. Before he could even cover his crotch, the side of the newcomer's modest right breast slammed into his upper body, pinning him against Marla’s bust.

“And what would you like for Christmas, dear?” Marla asked, her voice rumbling through her body and into Brandon's.

The other woman paused for a moment be for leaning in to whisper to Marla. “I want … a doll!”

Oh no, Brandon thought. He would've said it out loud if his head wasn't smooshed between two giant breasts. The tiny man gasped for air as their chests finally separated, but the relief was fleeting. He felt a hand seal around his upper legs and waist, the doughy flesh uncomfortably warm against his crotch. He struggled weakly as the fist carried him up to a youthful face. This brunette was probably in her early twenties. He pleaded for her help, only to be drowned out by amused giggles. Could she even understand his frantic chirping?

“Merry Christmas, little guy!” Brandon squirmed in her grasp as she puckered up. The kiss she planted on him left his whole face sticky with cherry-flavored lip gloss. He grimaced, sighing though the candied mask. It was gonna be a long night ...