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Similar Deviations
Damon turned over on the sterile white bunk-bed. The neon screen alarm on the wall rung shrilly, indicating that it was now 8:00 am.
Damon immediately pulled himself from the bed and stood up on the cold, black tiled floor. Whilst the other drowsy division members still groaned and shuffled around in there sheets, he was dragging on his purple, buttoned shirt on, His stripped navy-blue tie, his black trousers, and his highly polished shoes.
Damon was getting ready for work. What was his job? He was an inflationist.
Damon worked at the Explevi Expansion Laboratories (Better known as EEL) and he was one of EEL's top inflationist's. EEL was, despite its nature, very well organised.  It was comprised of many different divisions; The Water Inflation Division, The Air Inflation Division, The Fruit Transformation Division (Which consisted of many sub-divisions.) and the Bloat Division.
Damon originally started off in the fruit division, where, in his first year on the job, he became the head of the Blueberry Sub-Division. The chairmen of the Laboratories saw his skills and decided he was definitely one of the best inflationist's EEL had ever hired. He was then promoted to the Water Inflation Division, and un-surprisingly, became the head of division. Damon was indeed, good at what he did.
Perhaps he made up for being an uncaring and slightly pompous person by being a good inflationist, it was what most of his colleagues thought, but they were less than eager to share their thoughts with Damon.
"Fine then, you just lie in and I'll do all the work, shall I?" He asked the sleeping members of the division sarcastically.
"Then again, we'd probably get more work done that way."
Despite the fact that everyone was up all night having to restock faulty Water Release Capsules, and therefore had to stay in the laboratories rather than go home, Damon was easily wide awake, and enjoyed ruining everyone else's peaceful sleep.
Eventually, the other people dragged themselves out of bed and got prepared. Damon shook his sleek black hair out of his face and walked down the completely tiled, hospital-like corridor to the Stock Facility. Around the corner came a familiar face.
A short, thin young woman with large, lopsided glasses, a mane of frizzy brown hair and a pencil atop her ear walked past Damon. She was clutching a large amount of paper-work to her chest, and looking harassed. The girl was called Emma, and she was originally considered a rising star in the company, and Damon's old competition (though he'd never admit it.) She was originally one of his colleagues in the same division, but after a one of the divisions prime test subjects was drastically deflated by "Unknown Tampering", Emma received the blame, and was demoted. Since then she was considered a liability to the Laboratory and was shunted aside to less important divisions. Now being a pencil pusher for the Bloat Division.
Emma looked startled at Damon, and dropped some of her papers.
"Oh, hello Da-Damon..." She stuttered in her high voice.
"I didn't th-think you'd be up so earl-early."
"Well, the head of division has to keep busy." He said in a smug voice.
While Emma gave a nervous giggle, Damon reached down and picked up one of the papers she'd dropped. He skimmed through it and easily saw several errors in her work, he satisfactorily informed her of this.
"-And test subject 78 was released a few months ago, he wasn't in the Air Inflation division either. Tut, tut, tut Emma. Looks like you'll have to start all over again."
"Re-really, but it's only one sheet"
"Ah, but one sheet makes all the difference doesn't it? Or of course I could tell your division head how unimportant it is for you, I'm sure we could use some more secretaries."
"No! I'll get on it right away, Sorry!" And she hurried off immediately to spend another eight hours on the work. Damon had a brief, quiet laugh at her idiocy and continued walking down the hallway.
Finally, he reached a glass door with the words "Storage Facility" imprinted on it. He pushed the door open and strolled into the cavernous, dim room. There were hundreds of shelves with many boxes containing different inflation serums, pills or other objects. He took a box full of Water Inflation pills and carried it out under his arm.
A disembodied voice was echoing from out of the speakers saying things that Damon wasn't listening to. He headed over to another glass door with the words "Water Inflation Division" imprinted on the glass instead. He placed his hand on the palm scanner, there was a whirring sound and a ping and the door opened to allow him entrance. The other division members had put on their matching, powder blue uniforms and began working around the room at their allocated areas.
There was a group of people working on a group of metal desks behind a glass box, they were fumbling with vials and bowls, and their glass walls were thickly covered in condensation from steam. There were also rows of computers and chairs where many men and women were silently typing away at the keyboards, despite most of them getting on with work; Damon had to tell off a man who was sending emails to other colleagues.
Then, there was a large, metal, circular door on one of the vacant walls, along with another palm scanner. After scanning his hand, the metal door swung open and Damon climbed in. While it closed behind him with a loud Clang, Damon stared around the room. The wall opposite the entrance was lined with glass cells, inside the cells were the test subjects.
However, there was currently only one test subject occupying the room. Before he became a test subject, he had been a fairly thin, young man, roughly the same age as Damon. The difference between the two had been that this man was blonde, and had a bit of stubble. However, the stubble was now barely visible from his many chins. After becoming subject to a water inflation capsule, the man proved to be one of their best subjects. He had in the few seconds his inflation took place, become completely round, and grown four feet in height and seven feet in width. Due to the fact his original clothes were torn to shreds, he know wore merely a pair of (incredibly) resistant underwear.
"Ah yes, our prize pig." Damon announced proudly, the test subject scowled.
"Erin, how is he?" Damon asked one of the people monitoring him.
"He's stable, sir." She told Damon.
"He hasn't been deflating at all over the last 24 hours, the water seems to be replenishing inside him. But according to our research, the replenishment will cease in a few days, and he'll begin deflating."
"Finally." Sighed the man, as he had been Test Subject 53 for nearly three months.
"Oh where's your spirit, 53?" Joked Damon, he enjoyed poking some fun at the test subject. It was one of his many hobbies.
"You should be happy; you're the pride of our division! Look at yourself, you came out perfectly."
The test subject didn't look happy.
"The only plus side of you quacks giving me that pill was that I can roll you down!" He threatened, his large round sphere of a body seeming to shake with the mass of water inside when he shuffled.
"Whatever you want belly boy. But right now, it's time for your top-up."
At these words, one of the people monitoring the inflated man took a plate of dull looking, mushy food from a table and opened a compartment on the glass cell. He passed the plate through the compartment and gave it to the test subject, who begrudgingly ate it. Within was the pill that inflated the test subject, but it was always administered through the subjects meals, so they could inflate or starve.
The man (after eating) almost immediately let out a slight groan, as did his stomach, which seemed to bubble and ripple, before growing a few inches wide. He clutched his stomach with his large fingers, looking uncomfortable.
Damon left the room a few minutes later to continue inspecting the other workers, who seemed to be continuing their work as normal. Occasionally he was told of developments with inflation serums, or had to instruct the helpless workers as to what they were doing.
"Lunch break is now beginning, please make your way to the cafeteria" drowned a voice from the speaker, by the time it had finished repeating this sentence, the workers had filed out of the room and headed off to their lunches. Damon, however, often preferred a solitary lunch and ate a sandwich alone in the room. After finishing he decided to check up on the work that his fellow colleagues had been working on, where he noticed many faults in serums people had been developing. I work with idiots, Damon believed, and he wasn't hesitant to make others see that, especially when they made such obvious mistakes.
After a few minutes, the other employees had not returned, as lunch lasted half an hour, most of which consisted of talking rather than eating. Damon was growing steadily bored, having been seated in one of the computer chairs staring around the room for something interesting. He decided to have a glass of water, as his throat was slightly dry, and then returned to his seat, holding a paper cup of water.
Strangely, after a few seconds, Damon felt a sudden shiver of coldness, which afterwards, was replaced by an uncomfortably warm, constricted feeling. He realised the problem was, he realised, that he had put his belt on too tightly, so he readjusted it to a more comfortable tightness; but barley a second had passed, and it was again too tight.
Weird, he thought to himself, looking confused at the sudden sensations. But then, something else happen, he heard a loud gurgling noise come from some unknown place, it seemed to be coming from his stomach. But he'd just eaten, he couldn't be hungry. Maybe he was just feeling a little ill? It seemed so, he clutched his stomach, and it continued to gurgle, becoming louder and louder and echoed through the vacant room.
Then, when he finally heard a sound that confirmed what was wrong. It was a loud sloshing sound, like a large amount of water being splashed somewhere. He was inflating!
"No ... oh ... oh no!" Damon said helplessly.
It was becoming physically more obvious that he was inflating now, his belt that was as loose as possible, was now digging deeply into his thighs, and protesting them from swelling. His stomach was growing forward despite both of his sweaty hands clutching it.
"Help! Help! Someone!" He shouted, panicking. But everyone was at the other side of the laboratory, in the cafeteria.
Damon now filled the entire seat as much as he could, now stuck between the two armrests due to his rapidly increasing size, all he could do was squirm around as he continued to grow, trapped in the seat. His belt finally gave into the swelling and burst from his thighs, allowing more of his stomach to spill out. His torso was now completely round and spherical. In suit, the buttons on his shirt began to pop of his shirt with small popping noises, exposing his stomach that was now extremely taut looking and shined like a water balloon.
Crash! The chair he was sitting on collapsed completely, Damon landed on the floor with a thud and a squelch. He rolled around on the floor pitifully, trying to get to his feet as the growing continued. Finally, he rolled onto his front, and pushed himself to his feet with force. He then realised, though, that his weight was much more difficult to carry around, having to waddle around the room in a terrified manner.
Sweat was erupting all around him; his trousers had also begun to rip at the seams and had fallen in a torn heap on the ground. He dragged the button-less shirt from his body and kicked away his shoes before they too ripped, leaving him in his underwear, round as an oversized beach ball.
The first thing that seemed sensible to do was too leave the room, it held no help for him, as it only contained ways of increasing the inflation. He waddled out of the door and down the corridor, mercifully, no one was there to watch him in his humiliating situation, he was sure it would be a laughing point of his idiot workers for a long time.
Running around frantically gave a little voice inside his head time to think, while the rest of his brain was frozen with shock. He wondered what had caused him to inflate, he thought that it might help him find away to stop it. Was it his food? No, he had gotten it from home ... what else could it be?
Then it hit him, the water! It must have been the water; there wasn't a water cooler in the room! Just an inflation serum! How could he have been so ignorant? But now wasn't the time to beat himself up, his arms and legs had now become much stubby and harder to manoeuvre around, his cheeks had now began to swell like tennis balls.
Then, before he could reach the storage facility to look for a cure, he tripped! His spherical body rolled down the corridor and bounced off the walls like some strange pinball. Finally, he made contact with a wall, feeling dizzy, embarrassed and terrified. He could no longer get up to his feet, which were now the only part of his legs not consumed by his belly, he continued to squirm and wriggle, only causing more sloshing in his stomach.
Finally, he heard the droning voice emit from the speaker saying "The lunch half hour is now over, please continue your work"
How long had he been running around for!? This was horrible, he didn't want everyone to see him like this, he continued to squirm and wriggle. The unmistakable sound of people walking down the corridor began to grow louder and louder. Until finally-
"Is that Damon!?"
"He's that guy from the water division."
"What's he doing like that?!"
From the crowd of people he could make out most of his colleague's faces, in shock, or trying to maintain their laughter.
Finally, roughly four men in navy blue jump suits approached him, pushed him roughly in his back, and began rolling him forward.
As the crowd parted to make way for Damon, he shouted
"What are you doing?! Where are you taking me?!"
"To the water division test subject area, under new rules, staff members can now be placed as test subjects, under your rules sir." Answered one of the men gruffly.
Damon's heart sank, he was right, he had spearheaded the use of that new rules. He had, indeed, been impaled by his own sword.
This was an idea that had been sitting in my head for a while. I kinda thought that the usual inflating victims are just random people, who never really deserve it. I decided to give someone there comeuppance in the form of inflation. So i hope you enjoy this story, please comment any suggestions you may have.
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The sullied porcelain pressed hard against the top of his skull. Gushing water coated his glasses like rain on a windshield, running down and chilling his cheeks. He could only purse his mouth into a tight frown, and attempt to gather what little air he could through his nostrils. He almost welcomed the water blurring his vision; at least it obscured the pockmarked, smarmy faces of his tormentors.  Above the swirling, splashing waterfall, he still heard their laughter. Husky, high-pitched and cruel. How many others had faced water torture under that urinal? Were they regular practitioners, or was he a pioneer?

He should have just said 'yes'.

His head was pulled out from under the cascade, yet his meagre body was still held tightly by two pairs of sweaty gorilla paws. He was thrust before the pectoral shelf of their leader, who soon leant forward to look him in the eye, grinning wickedly.
'This was just a little reminder of what happens to anyone who doesn't think they deserve the privilege of doing my math homework.'
He nodded to his cronies, who released their grip on their prey. Before the smaller boy could adjust his glasses, the podgy associate sent him tumbling into one of the cubicles. The kiss of solid porcelain came much quicker and sharper, enough to send a wave of burning shock sizzling through his left wrist as it moved to break his fall. He had to stifle a scream; any loud noises would attract even more pain than he was already in. Instead, he clenched his teeth near to shattering. A tear welled in his eye. He gasped quickly for breath, winded by the shock. He could not bring himself to look up at his chuckling assailants.
'If anyone asks,' said the leader, 'you got careless coming down the stairs.'
His only reply was another strained gasp. The simian lackeys made for the door.
'Just have it done by tomorrow, and the rest of this week will go a lot smoother.' Their leader followed them out.

A loud, throbbing deafness filled his ears.

'I'm afraid that arm's going to be in a cast for about six weeks, son.'
'Just what were you doing to hurt your arm like that?'
'I told you, mom, I...I fell down the stairs at school.'
'I always tell you to look where you're going,' chided his mother. 'Get your nose out of those damn comic books.'
He said nothing. It was easier to let her get it out of her system. It wasn't like she was saving her breath for when she had to praise him.
'It's just one accident after another,' she continued.
Right from conception, he thought. Still, he just looked down at the floor. The doctor finished scrawling something on a prescription paper.
'These painkillers should do the trick. Pity they don't stop the casts from itching, too.'
'He'll be fine.'

This was Monday for Vincent Lord.

He always felt like the fish people throw back; never really good enough to be part of the big catch. It didn't help that his mother strove to find fault in everything he did, and his father was about as effectual as a house brick. Now he had bullies splashing toilet water over his head and fracturing his wrist just because he refused to do their homework for them. Or rather, because he was too weak to fight back. Vincent was barely over five feet tall, thin as a rail, with scraggly brown hair that always veiled his eyes. One only noticed his eyes, however, if they looked for two tiny raisins in the middle of his thick-rimmed glasses. He was glad his parents couldn't justify spending a fortune on braces, he didn't need the other half of the stereotype hanging off his face. He dressed very plainly, dark sweaters and jeans, and dragged his feet as if he loathed whatever direction he walked.

Few things gave him pleasure in life. There were his pet mice, his computer games. He was good at math, fascinated by physics and biology. His great love, however, was candy. He loved eating it, he loved making sweets and desserts (which he did in secret, of course). From the bright, shining wrapper to the creamy caramel centre, his sweet tooth was insatiable. He wanted to invent his own new confectionery, things that would give people the same happiness he got from each firework burst of sugar. If only he worked for...the Wonka Candy Company. Nerds, Gobstoppers, Laffy Taffy, they were bordering on the book that spawned the whole concept. He just wished that they were even closer. Imagine if they made Lickable Wallpaper, Fizzy Lifting Drinks, chocolate bars that came to you through the television. Granted, he was just fourteen, but Vincent's mind was anything but a child's. He had a real ambition: to make Roald Dahl's timeless creations a reality.

But was it all down to science, or magic?

He finished both sets of homework in less than an hour; algebra was a momentary distraction compared to what really lay ahead that night. Vincent locked his bedroom door (not that anyone would come to it willingly), and took his equipment out of his closet. Beakers, Bunsen burner, retort, pliers, and most importantly, snacks he'd covertly swiped from the pantry. A simple, rather crude setup, but he had to start somewhere. He'd been at it for the last week of evenings. At the very least, he'd test the possibility of distilling the nutritional value of food. If successful, however, he'd be a step closer to unlocking the secret to one of Dahl's most baffling creations: the Three-Course Chewing Gum Meal. Not only was the concept fascinating in itself, but it also had the potential to be a rather lucrative idea. If he was the one to crack it...the thought sent shivers of joy through every muscle in his body.

Unfortunately, there was only so much one boy could do with one small, battered chemistry set. Blue and green flames gave off whispers of purple smoke. He watched liquids, red, green, yellow course slowly through glass tubing. He sighed as he already recognised another dead end. More perfume that smelled of chips and dip. Red ink marked another failure in his little black book. On the bright side, the dirty white cast hadn't imprisoned his writing hand. He put the book away, and abandoned his desk for his bedroom window. The moon was an unfinished pearl hanging just beyond his reach. He could only grasp the shape in the glass with his fingers, a cold emptiness in the palm of his hand.
'See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?'
'No.'
'That's a nice cast. What did you tell them?'
'I fell down the stairs.'
'Smart move. We don't want any more little accidents. See ya round.'
He swaggered off, cronies in tow.

This was Tuesday for Jordan Leach.

Sixteen-year-old star quarterback for Rutland High, with every inch of him physical perfection. At least Vincent knew that his mental perfection left something to be desired. Sure, he was six feet tall, buffed, toned, with an angel face and shining golden locks, but every apple has its worm. Jordan was on the path to a football scholarship for college, but he was none too bright, and his pushy parents insisted on him picking up his grades as well. That's where it paid to have brawn and charisma. Vincent wasn't the first helpless...well, geek, to suffer Jordan's wrath. They'd do his homework so his grades would improve, and he'd let them survive high school. This was the law of the jungle in action.

Vincent was no fighter, but he wasn't a coward either. He didn't go to bed every night frozen with fear of Jordan. On the contrary, he plotted the ape's downfall with every functioning synapse. He felt like George, only without his Marvellous Medicine, and not much hope of getting it either. Still, the bully was yet another momentary distraction. Vincent was not going to be swayed from his own plans so easily. Besides, he was a strong believer in karma; instinct told him that with all that he'd done, Jordan was going to be in for one hell of a fall.

He hoped.

At lunch, Vincent finally got the chance to open the parcel he'd found on the doorstep that morning. The latest issue of Magnitude, a comic book drama featuring an evil genius who thought he could impress the woman of his dreams by taking control of the planet's tectonic plates and volcanoes. He skimmed through the pages, smiling for the first time today, when one near the middle of the volume made him freeze. His eyes grew wide, his hand even began to tremble. The page was bright purple, with curly white lettering proclaiming:

'WIN A CHANCE TO VISIT WONKA'S FACTORY
Wonka Candy Company (TM) are giving FIVE people the chance to visit their newest factory in Minneapolis. Simply find a Wonka GOLDEN TICKET in specially marked Wonka Candy Company products. The factory opens its doors on October 1st, where the lucky few will be taken on a guided tour of the vast engine of technological wizardry that brings you your favorite Wonka candies. There are just five tickets to be found, so you'd better hurry.'

Vincent blinked his beady brown eyes several times. He flipped the pages of the comic book back and forth. Still, the advertisement remained there. This wasn't a dream. A warm, electric feeling filled him from the feet up. His smile grew until his teeth were bared. This was his chance. The odds were stacked in their thousands against him, but he'd try. Oh God, he'd go to the ends of the Earth to win a chance to see that factory. He could try and persuade them to see his creations, on paper or on a plate. He'd endeavour to get his recipes right, and he'd show them. He'd show the world what one small, unsuspecting boy was capable of. He felt an invisible crown perch on his head. He very nearly stood on the cafeteria table with pride.

'Whatcha doin', Vince?'

It wasn't a crown. Just Lloyd Groen tapping his knuckles on his head. Vincent quickly shook himself out of dreamland before turning to face his friend.
'Oh, nothing,' he blurted out. 'Just...reading the new Magnitude.'
'Cool.'
The dark-haired scarecrow of a boy took the adjacent seat. He started slurping down what Vincent took to be macaroni and cheese.
'What happened to your arm?' he asked, not looking up from his lunch.
'I'm supposed to say I fell down the stairs.'
'Supposed to say?'
'But it was Jordan Leach. His goons took me into the bathroom and beat me up. I fractured it when I fell against the edge of the toilet.'
'Tough break. No offence.'
'It's nothing, really.'
'You're brave to take it on the chin. Most kids would wanna change schools.'
'He doesn't scare me.' He set down the comic book on the table. 'I've got karma on my side.'
'Good stuff.' Lloyd burped. 'Hope it works out for you.'
'Just have to have a little patience.'

Vincent ran home that afternoon, eager to unleash the contents of his bag. He tossed aside his homework (and Jordan's), his books and his lunch, and emptied out a dozen Wonka chocolate bars onto his bed. He held one in his hand. He closed his eyes and visualised the glint of gold under the wrapper. He took a deep breath, and without opening his eyes, peeled open the purple wrapper. The aroma of chocolate made his mouth water, but when he did finally open his eyes...he found silver foil. He carefully removed the chocolate bar to check underneath, but still no gold. His bated breath gave birth to a sigh of defeat. He lowered the candy bar, and tapped his fingers on it. His eyes fell upon the pile of its relatives. Each bore the gold flag proclaiming the chance to win, but he began to doubt whether there was any more gold in them than that. Moments later, he stuffed them into his desk drawer. He didn't feel like any more disappointments today. Still, at least the chocolate made up for it. Sort of.

The cast made sleeping awkward, so he was forced to lie on his back and hope he'd eventually drift off. Not tonight. His mind was wide awake, buzzing with questions. Should he have bought from all different stores instead of the same one? Should he have bought all kinds of bars? Was there a system or code to be cracked?

Was he sitting on the prize right now?

As soon as that particular light bulb switched on in his head, Vincent leapt out from under covers and shot over to his desk. He whipped out another Wonka bar, tearing off the wrapper. Dead end. Another bar. Silver. A third. Fail. Bar after bar, still nothing. It was only as he picked up the ninth that he stopped and realised what he was doing. He put on his glasses once more. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. His hand quivered as it put down the candy bar, near the pile of refuse building up on his desk. This wasn't him. This was some lunatic, some wild beast, some heat-affected prospector possessed by the temptation of gold. His I.Q. could potentially get him into the twelfth grade, but now he was acting like a kindergartener. All that beautiful chocolate would go to waste now. His heart sank. He took the remaining three bars and stuff them into his bag. The bag went into his closet, defended by his bike lock. He couldn't be trusted, so extreme measures were necessary. He climbed back into bed. Almost three hours passed before he finally nodded off into troubled dreams.

The next day, Vincent was beckoned from the hall into the school psychologist's office. Miss Wainwright was a small, plain woman in her forties, with dark blonde hair always back in a thick ponytail. She dressed impeccably in grey or plum suits, her lips always aglow with bright red lipstick. Vincent knew she meant well, but he often avoided eye contact; something about her deep green eyes made him feel like she could see into his soul. For a moment that morning, he thought it was true.
'I don't think you fell down the stairs, young man.'
'What? Yeah, I did.'
'Vincent, I've known you three years now. You're not the kind of person who breaks their arm falling down a flight of stairs.'
'It's just a fracture.'
'Who's been bullying you?'
A long silence.
'I know the signs, Vincent. I know you think no one's going to help you. That's why I'm here.'
Another pause, before....
'Jordan,' he said slowly and coldly. 'It was Jordan Leach.'
'I see.' Miss Wainwright scribbled it down on her pad. 'And how did this happen?'
'He...wanted me to do his homework for him. I said no, so he...he and two others flushed a...a toilet on my head.'
She looked up from her pad. 'Others?'
'I don't know their names. They looked his age. After that, they pushed me into a cubicle, and I landed hard on my arm.'
'Well, I'm afraid this is quite a serious matter. I'll be speaking to Jordan and any....'
'No!'
'I beg your pardon?'
'They can't find out I told. I don't know what they'll break next. The system can't stop people like them, it never does.'
'Vincent, this is assault. I'll have to report it.'
'Please, ma'am, I'll be fine so long as he doesn't know. I can handle myself.'
He enforced his point by looking her square in the eye. Another silence, before he noticed something cave in deep inside her.
'I'll be keeping an eye on you. And Jordan. If I hear or see any more between the two of you, I won't hesitate to act on it.'
'Thank you, ma'am.'
'I mean it. I don't want you getting dragged down by hooligans. You're too bright a spark.'
'I've always got a plan.' He reached into his bag and produced the three remaining Wonka bars, putting them on Miss Wainwright's desk.
'Vincent, I hope this isn't a bribe,' she said with a little smile.
'No, no, I just.... I bought them for my parents, but they don't really like them. I don't have anyone else to share with so....'
'That's very sweet of you, young man. I do have a bit of a weakness for these.' She scooped up the candy bars and slipped them into her desk drawer. 'You get off to class now. And remember, I'll be watching.'

Vincent began watching, too.

Over the next few days, he followed Jordan in secret, shadowing him in an attempt to try and expose any of his weaknesses. Well, other than his sub-par intellect, of which most of his friends were well aware. He didn't want to let it show in front of the ladies; he wouldn't want them to think he was just an average knuckle-dragging football player. Then again, the girls who'd had the 'privilege' of going out with him were hardly worth a Nobel prize themselves. The only other thing Vincent could tell was that Jordan had an insatiable ego, coupled with a ruthless personality. It was like he always had something to prove to people, that he had to be the best at whatever he put his mind to. From what Vincent saw, he spent plenty of time in the gym, building his physique, often lifting ridiculous amounts if a crowd was present. He'd run length after length of the football field til he was flat on his back, gasping for air. His school locker, and even the pocket of his blue letterman jacket housed mirrors so he could check his appearance at his leisure. This was roughly twenty times a day. Not a hair could be out of place, and God forbid he ever get the tiniest blemish on his cheek or chin. The alpha male of the twenty-first century; not only a brawny caveman, but one whose shopping lists frequently included moisturiser and exfoliating pads.

The only solution Vincent could see would be to humiliate Jordan in public, to expose him as weak and insecure. His appearance and his sporting ability were all he had, anything else was all for show. Even his supposed charisma. His friends and girlfriends were all roughly at the same intellectual level, and most of them natural bullies with a chip on their shoulder. They were united in their insecurity, and took it out on people like Vincent, who actually had the capacity to go far in life. After a fortnight or so, Vincent had all he thought he could gather about Jordan Leach. The trick now was to formulate a plan for revenge. It quickly became an obsession that dwarfed even his quest for the Golden Ticket.

Weeks went by, and eventually, Vincent's wrist was fully mended. He was freed from the cast, which went from beginning to end without a single well-wisher's signature. Not that it really mattered, he had more important things to think about. He'd read on the Internet that two of the Golden Tickets had been found; his chances were now even slimmer. There were a few weeks left, however, before the competition closed. Plenty of time, he thought. He'd been buying Wonka bars in smaller quantities, two or three at a time, once every few days. He didn't want to revert to the drooling, scampering maniac that had arisen when the whole affair had started. There was still a small sector of his brain that told him it was just a regular factory like any other. It wasn't as if they all carried their own Gene Wilder impressionist who'd burst into song every hour or so. Still, at least his experiments were starting to yield success. He'd been able to change the flavour of taffy and chewing gum, sometimes even the colour. The next step would be to see if he could replicate the nutritional value of actual food in the gum. That, of course, would call for some more advanced technology. His search for the ticket was once again building up steam.

'Hey, Vince, they've got those Wonka bars in the vending machine now.'
Lloyd tore open a bag of corn chips and munched loudly beside him. Vincent slammed his locker shut, his eyes bulging behind his glasses.
'You sure?'
'I just saw them.' He offered his bag of chips. 'Want some?'
'No way, I'm getting those candy bars. The tickets are still out there.'
He shot off down the hall to the vending machine. Sure enough, there was a row of candy bars in the familiar purple packaging, all boasting the chance of finding gold inside. He went to put some coins in the machine, when he realised his hand was shaking as it delved into his pocket. His other was pressed longingly against the glass. He took a small step back and took a moment to compose himself. He put in his money and pressed the buttons. Two Wonka bars slid down into the collection tray, and he snapped them both up as though the machine was about to have second thoughts about handing them over. He placed one in his bag for later, and held the other one like a sacred treasure in his hand. He'd take it somewhere quieter than the hall, just in case....

'Whatcha got there, squirt?'
Vincent froze. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around. That smarmy grin. 'Jordan.'
'Taking a little snack break?'
With little effort, he pulled the candy bar from Vincent's grip. He inspected it, before turning back to Vincent with a look of mock seriousness upon his face.
'These are my favourite.' His voice dripped with sarcasm. 'You really shouldn't spend your money on me.'
'I didn't.'
Jordan raised an eyebrow. Only now did Vincent realise his own icy tone. Big mistake.
'What?'
'That's not for you.' He was digging his own grave, but he couldn't stop himself. 'I thought a big-time football star like you would be able to afford his own snacks. Now I'd like my chocolate bar back. Please.'
Jordan exploded into an awkward hyena laugh. He pushed Vincent against the wall; an eagle trapping a snake under its claws.
'Here's how it works.' His voiced lowered to a deep rasp. 'You put the money in the vending machine. I get the candy bar. And you don't get your legs broken.'
Vincent hardened his own expression. He wasn't giving in now.
'Okay, Jordan. You get the candy bar. You can also have this....'
One swift knee to the groin, and Jordan doubled over, red-faced, with a howl. Vincent compounded all the strength in his skinny legs and bolted down the hall.

Right into Mr. Worth. English teacher.

The clock ticked away the endless minutes of silence. Only the faint scratches of Mr. Worth's pen provided an accompaniment. 4 PM. Jordan sat at a desk on the opposite side of the classroom, though due to its emptiness, he seemed much closer. Especially when he made quiet gestures with his fists. And the obligatory finger dragged across his throat. Vincent tried not to let his fear betray itself on his face, yet his mouth went sandpaper dry. His stomach gurgled, half in terror, half from hunger. He looked to the front of the room. Mr. Worth was busy with his marking, too busy to notice Vincent trying to relieve his anxiety with a surreptitious snack. He slowly reached a hand down into his bag, careful not to make too much of a sound as he withdrew the solitary Wonka bar. He held it in his lap, and with only a moment's hesitation (for prayer), he slid open the wrapper. Silver. Again. He bit his lip in frustration before cracking off a corner of the bar. For a brief moment, he didn't care about any ticket; just the pure, sweet taste of the chocolate was enough.

A loud rustle made him jump. He looked to his right to see Jordan opening the stolen Wonka bar. With much less finesse and tact, obviously. What came next made Vincent's heart stop in his chest. Warm bile seemed to fill his throat, as though the chocolate he'd just eaten was on its way back up. The remainder of the bar began to melt in his hands as they broke out in perspiration. There in Jordan's fingers. Gold. Shining, unmistakable. He took umbrage at the look of casual, almost bored pleasure upon the quarterback's face as he examined his ill-gotten prize. The feeling turned to rage as Jordan turned and gave his trademark smirk. A scream tried to erupt from his lips, but he forced them to remain closed. Instead, he just collapsed on his desk, drained of all his life's worth of joy.

There was no such thing as karma.

The next few weeks dragged by. Vincent shuffled through the long, hard days. He barely ever smiled. What was there to look forward to? Jordan had left him alone for the most part; he was too busy showing off his Golden Ticket to his followers (and his harem). That, and lapping up the spotlight on the football field of course, but that was just business as usual. Vincent tried to put a positive spin on his thoughts; Jordan must have been showing a sort of kindness for Vincent literally handing over his only chance of real happiness. Twisted, yes. He soon scrapped that thought. But the fact remained, with Jordan's ticket, and another found...one more. Just one more Golden Ticket. He felt nauseous every time the phrase entered his head. He didn't eat any chocolate throughout those weeks, that sickened him as well. There wasn't any point in eating it, or even buying it. All his chances had been whisked away by greedy, selfish, brutish, underachieving brats with no sense of --

Knock knock knock.

'Get the door, Vincent!'
He pried himself from the couch and plodded to the front door. Opening it, he was met with a mixture of hope and fear.
'Miss Wainwright?'
'Hello, Vincent.'
'Er...would you like to come in?'
'I won't stay long, I just wanted to...give you something.'
'Is this about that thing with Jordan?'
'Oh no, nothing like that.'
She opened her handbag, pulling out...a Wonka bar?
'Those candy bars you gave me some time ago,' she said. 'I found the last one this afternoon in my desk. I remembered they were yours of course, that's why I thought I'd return it to you. You see, I opened it up and, well....'
She carefully peeled back a corner of the wrapper. As his eyes fell upon it, Vincent went catatonic, as though struck by lightning or poisoned. The joy, the ecstasy was too great to register more than a look of numbness on his face. It was there in front of him.

Gold.

The chilly morning of October 1st. Vincent barely noticed the cold, as his body was running on pure adrenaline. It had built up from that moment a week ago, and filled him, fuelled him like ambrosia to a mortal's mouth. He'd barely slept last night, and while it might have caught up with him later, there wasn't a cell in his being that felt fatigued.
'You okay, Vincent?' asked Miss Wainwright. 'You've been fidgeting ever since we got here.'
'I'm fine. Just happy to be here.'
His parents, aside from caring very little about his interests, were always busy with their jobs. They couldn't (or wouldn't) even take time off to go with him on the bus ride to Minneapolis. That left him with one option. He managed to convince Miss Wainwright to accompany him, as it was a Saturday after all. She lodged it on her roster as a 'professional development day'. She wasn't the kind of person to say 'no' to visiting a chocolate factory; she felt almost as lucky as Vincent.

Looking around, he gathered he was the youngest ticket finder. The closest to him in terms of age was Jordan, who stood several feet away with his mother. He was trying to look like Rocky in a grey hooded sweater, even occasionally jogging on the spot. Two more, a tall red-headed girl and a chubby guy with light stubble, looked to be about in their freshman year of college. The last was a woman in her early thirties, dressed as though she'd just come from a screening of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Must not be kids buying all the candy, Vincent thought. The five ticket holders (plus two mothers, a husband, a boyfriend and a school psychologist) all stood in the factory courtyard. The crowd behind them was somewhat smaller than what was described in the eponymous novel, but the setup was similar. The factory, too, was not overly grand. It looked just like an office block, a collection of cubes and rectangles, with walls of windows and great chimneys that stretched towards the sky. Nothing particularly odd or even colourful about it. Still, at least he'd made it. At last, he'd get a peek inside what he hoped would become his future career. Maybe it was professional development after all.

The glass double doors swung open, and a slender man in a black pinstripe suit floated out to greet the factory's guests. He looked smart enough to be the CEO, but an earpiece and white gloves betrayed his status as a mere tour guide.
'Alright, where are the...ticket holders?' he asked.
The guests stepped forward, Golden Tickets in hand. The man picked up each ticket delicately, examining each very closely, as though he anticipated them to be forgeries. He soon placed them in his pocket. All must have been genuine.

'If you'd care to step inside, we can begin the tour.'

The man extended an arm towards the doors. The guests headed inside, with Jordan pushing past Vincent and the tall red-haired girl to be the first inside. His mother, naturally, didn't even tell him to apologise. The tour guide sniffed indignantly at his behaviour, but said nothing. They placed their coats on hooks in the foyer. Underneath the Rocky sweater, Jordan painted the complete picture, wearing a dark blue tank top with his black track pants. It was the first time Vincent had seen Miss Wainwright in anything but grey or plum; today's suit was emerald green. Then again, it may have just been her normal weekend attire. The guide, who identified himself as Paul, led them into the next room.

It would have been large enough to house a chocolate river, maybe even a waterfall. Instead, it was all just pipes and vats and grey, dull machinery. Practical, sure, but it was noticeably devoid of the magical imagery one gleaned from the book.
'Here we have the Chocolate Room,' Paul announced. 'This is the nerve centre for the production of Wonka bars, such as the Chocolate Kaboom, the Caramallow Delight, and the Nutty Fudgelicious. Feel free to sample our latest creation, the Jellymint Swirl.'
He waved a hand over a tray lined with neat little dark chocolate squares. Vincent was the first to act this time, snapping up a square and popping it into his mouth. He closed his eyes a moment, as it melted pleasantly in his mouth. The gooey mint centre was smooth and mild, perfectly complementing the bitter chocolate coating. There was delight all around, with the candy putting a smile on even Jordan's face. Vincent thought he'd be more at home with a tray of protein bars, but then again, everyone's full of surprises.

With each subsequent room, Vincent was pleased to note that the confectionery got more and more exotic. Fruit made of taffy with a chocolate centre, teddy-sized gummy bears, candy straws that turned water into soda as you drank, bubblegum with which you could blow bubbles of several different shapes, cupcakes that pumped up to normal size if you left a small bit lying around in the sun. 'Experimental items', they were called. Vincent gave a sly smile. He knew there had to be more to it than just chemicals and machines. It was all too weird to be so easily explicable. The factory itself went on and on, production line after production line It was easy to get lost in such vast, busy rooms, yet even if he did, Vincent felt right at home.

A door squeaked loudly to his right. He turned to see a worker heading into another room, hurrying as if desperate to escape. Yet this wasn't the most curious thing. The worker wore what looked like a white space suit that obscured his face. Vincent didn't get a good look at him, but anyone could have noticed that the worker was only two feet tall. His ears and eyebrows pricked up. He went over to examine the door. Below the large main handle, he found a hidden spot much lower down, which could be turned like the dial of an old phone. By the looks of it, it took very small hands to operate the mechanism, perhaps those of a child. Vincent tried opening the door with the main handle, but it was locked in place. Like that was going to stop him. He checked to make sure no one was looking, and crouched beside the little round panel on the door. His hands were thin enough that he could stick his thumb and forefinger into the dial and turn it. Carefully he turned it, until there was a faint click inside the thick metal door. The latch slid open, and the door swung open a crack. Vincent slipped through, pulling the door gently behind him.

Being of very slight build certainly had its uses.

Beyond the door lay a dark corridor, illuminated only by faint purple lights mounted in the floor. As he walked along, maybe it was designed to trick the eye, but Vincent swore the corridor twisted at odd angles. It almost became a spiral, with the floor on a definite slant. Okay, maybe not a visual trick. But who'd put such a bizarre hallway in a factory? It wasn't exactly practical for carting along heavy loads, plus you could barely see a few feet in front of your face.

Then again, this was the Wonka Candy Company.

Vincent stopped. A light bulb went on in his head. Just a tiny spark at first, but it got him thinking. The tiny well of joy inside him began to grow once more. The Wonka Candy Company. The Factory. A tiny person in a space suit, heading through a secret door, into a topsy turvy hallway. And now...Vincent sniffed. As he neared the far end of the corridor, a peculiar aroma permeated the air. It was...fruity. Spicy, a little bitter. Yet as he sniffed, the bitterness got sweeter. Another smell, earthy, like vegetables. Then another, hot like chilli. Then back to sweet again, mellow and sugary. The door lay just a few feet ahead. It was a large golden rectangle, with a great wheel mounted on the right like a bank vault. He was a moth to a lonely light in the darkness. Before he knew it, his hands were on the cold, golden metal wheel. He swallowed hard. With all the strength in his arms, he turned the wheel. He spun it and spun it until, with the satisfying click of a heavy latch, the door started to budge. Vincent pulled the door until there was a space big enough between it and the doorway to slip inside. The aromas came out stronger now, palpable, almost as coloured vapours through the air. There was a light, glowing softly, emanating from deep within. Vincent stared into it a moment, mesmerised. It was as though a voice called to him, reaching out, beckoning him to enter. He did not resist; he didn't want to.

'Now here's something you might be familiar with,' said Paul. 'Fizzy Lifting Drinks. Carbonated beverages that form so many bubbles inside of you that you become lighter than air. You can float, fly just like a bird.'
He demonstrated, flapping his arms about dramatically.
'Wait, aren't those out of the book or the movie or something?' asked the chubby guy.
'Correct. The Wonka Candy Company has recently come under new management. As such, we have been radically upgrading our output. New products, new methods of manufacturing, all to bring a little more scrumdiddlyumptiousness into every home in America.'
The guests scrunched up their faces, bewildered by Paul's increasingly neurotic behaviour. Miss Wainwright raised her eyebrows and gave a nervous smile. She always tried to see the good in people, even if they were a little...unbalanced. Needing to take her eyes off their strange host, Miss Wainwright looked over at Vincent. Or she would have....

'Umm, excuse me?' she piped up. 'We appear to be missing one of our party. Vincent Lord, he came with me.'
'Oh? Then we'll have to take a moment to look for him. It's quite all right. People get lost in here all the time. I get lost myself. But whoever goes missing is always found, rest assured of that, ma'am.'
Paul's sugary tone did nothing to ease her nerves. She had no children of her own. Instead, she treated the children she was assigned as hers. Very few of them was she quite so fond of as Vincent. She couldn't keep her sanity without him. Not to mention losing him would have serious repercussions from more than one party. Paul called in security guards to begin a search. One would have thought such a well-equipped facility would have the proper security and surveillance measures to deal with a missing child. Perhaps the money spent on all these kooky machines would have been better put towards more practical technology.

Jordan sniggered, leaning nonchalantly against a vat of Fizzy Lifting Drinks.
'Maybe he went off to find his invisible friend,' he said. 'Wouldn't be surprised if they'd keep away from him, too.'
Miss Wainwright was about to reprimand him, when the door from which they'd entered opened with a loud hiss.
'Oh, there he is,' exclaimed Paul, jovially, 'no need for the search party then. I told you they're always found sooner or later.'
'Vincent, thank goodness,' cried Miss Wainwright. She ran to Vincent and hugged him, quite forgetting her capacity. She wasn't surprised when he didn't reciprocate, but there was something else about him. He said nothing, yet...he was smiling. She'd never seen such a wide grin on his face. It was most odd, almost frightening. But at least it was a smile, he must have been happy or even just content. She hoped so.
'Where did you run off to?' she asked.
'I'm sorry, I must have taken a wrong turn a few rooms back,' replied Vincent. 'I ended up...somewhere different.'
'Yes, well now that you're back from your little adventure, we can --'
'From his face, it looks like he just walked into the room where they keep all the porn,' said Jordan. 'You guys keep porn here? In the back maybe?'
'It was better than that,' said Vincent. 'Much better.'
'Okay, we really must be --'
'Now I'm curious. Just where the hell DID you go?'
'Jordan, that's enough,' Miss Wainwright interjected.
'Tell me, squirt!'
'Why? Scared I might know about something you don't? Can't have that. Jordan Leach has to be ahead of everyone. He has to be the brains of the operation. Man, I'd hate to be in that operation.'
'You just shut your mouth right now, young man,' chided Mrs. Leach.
'Don't speak for me, mom!'
Jordan grabbed Vincent by the front of his shirt. He looked the kid straight in the eye, but he kept that smile on his face.
'You always wanna be a big man,' said Vincent. 'Picking on someone half your size. Yeah, that's REALLY the way to go about it.'
'Remember when I said I'd break your legs? Today's your lucky day.'

He threw Vincent to the floor. Miss Wainwright gasped in horror. The college students just chuckled; perhaps it was the smaller boy's awkward appearance, or the bigger one's apparent need to assert himself. Jordan lifted his foot, poised to bring it down hard on Vincent's chest, when one of the summoned security guards finally made himself useful. He grabbed Jordan's shoulder hard enough to make him wince.
'That'll do, son. Nobody wants any trouble.'
Jordan slowly lowered his leg. He looked down at the still-smiling Vincent. He delivered a small, swift kick to his side, and picked up a strip of chewing gum that had fallen out of the younger boy's pocket. Clearly he was willing to sink that low.

'Jordan, I'm going to be issuing a report to the principal,' cried Miss Wainwright. 'Your conduct here today has been disgusting.'
'Whatever.' Jordan popped the stick of gum into his mouth.
'His conduct?' wailed his mother. 'What about the way that boy insulted my son?'
'Mrs. Leach, your son beat Vincent Lord to a pulp. He even fractured Vincent's wrist.'
Jordan stopped a moment, then turned back to face Vincent, who was picking himself up off the ground. The smile hadn't faded.
'Is that what you do? If something doesn't go your way, you squeal like a pig?'
'I don't have the advantage of big, burly muscles,' Vincent said calmly. 'I use whatever weapons are available.'
'I told you what would happen if you opened your mouth.'
'Right now, I don't really care.'
'Oh, you don't really care, huh? Well right now, I'm gonna....'

His voice broke off. It was replaced by a loud, obnoxious chewing sound. Jordan grimaced in confusion.
'Tomato soup? I'm not eating tomato soup....'
'Jordan, honey, what are you talking about?'
'There's tomato soup in my mouth.'
'But...all you just had was a piece of gum, sweetheart.'
'I can feel it in my mouth and down my throat. I keep chewing and it keeps.... It's changing.'
'Jordan, what on Earth are you talking about?'
Vincent bared his teeth. He rubbed his hands together behind his back. It was if he was waiting for...no, willing something to happen. Whatever it was, it was right on schedule.
'It's changing, it's changing flavours,' cried Jordan, newly enraptured by this mysterious stick of gum. 'Tastes like...roast beef. Gravy. Baked potatoes....'
'Umm, sir?' Paul interjected. 'Just a suggestion. I think you should maybe spit that out right about now. You don't know wh--'
'Shut up, man, I'm trying to concentrate! This is like...food. It's like I'm eating. I can feel it going down my throat and into my stomach. Holy crap! This is so weird, it's like I'm eating dinner just by chewing this stuff!'
Vincent tilted his head, grinning dreamily. It takes such simple things to amuse simple minds, he thought. Jordan was like a dog with a new toy. Any minute now, he'd find the --
'Blueberries! Warm blueberry pie! With ice cream! Aww man, this is fantastic! Hey, chief, does this place make this stuff? What is it?'
'What you appear to be chewing, sir,' Paul began icily, 'is a prototype product of the Wonka Candy Company. It is the Three-Course Chewing Gum Meal. It's meant to be the world's most efficient meal, as it contains the nutritional content of a three-course meal, and is chewed like any other piece of gum. It has, however, proven difficult to get the formula right. Particularly with the dessert.'

'Why? What happens with the dessert?'

'Sweetheart, your nose has gone blue!'
'What?'
'You're not a big reader, are you sir?' Paul rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
'What are you talking about?'
'Jordan, your face is turning blue! Bright blue!'
'Huh?'
He took his security mirror out of his pants pocket and gazed into it a moment. Sure enough, his nose, his cheeks, his whole face, even his hair had turned blue as a peacock. He rubbed at it, as though it were just paint, like some kind of prank. It didn't come out. He started to panic.
'No.... No, no, no, this isn't happening! What's going on? What did you do to me?'
'Me, sir?' said Paul indignantly. 'It was you who started chewing the gum. I even tried to stop you.'
'I still taste blueberries....'
'Jordan, it's not just your face. Look, you're turning blue all over!'

He looked down at himself. The bright blue tinge was spreading, down his next, across his chest, to his arms, all the way to his hands. He lifted his tank top; his midriff was quickly turning blue as well. It worked its way down his legs. Within a few moments, his whole body had turned a brilliant purplish shade of blue. If he was anxious before, he looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown now. He clawed at his face, his chest, practically hyperventilating as his eyes darted around the room.
'What's wrong with me? Why am I blue? Why does it feel like there's goddamn blueberry juice in my mouth?'
'You're even dumber than I thought,' said Vincent.
'Yeah, kid,' the tall girl piped up, 'don't you remember what happened in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?'
'Acid trips?'
'Dude, that chick turned into a blueberry when she ate the gum.'
'WHAT?'
'It's true.'
'You mean...I'm turning into a...a blueberry? For real?'
'It would appear that way, sir.' Paul glanced at his pocket watch.
'Isn't there any way to stop it?' asked a frantic Mrs. Leach.
Jordan suddenly doubled over, moaning in discomfort.
'I doubt it.' Paul snapped the watch shut.

As Jordan straightened up, a loud gurgling emanated from his stomach. His abdomen had started to bulge under his clothes. It wasn't just bloated, it was growing before his eyes. It stuck out like a soccer ball, then larger, and larger still with every passing moment. It was soon large enough to create a rift between his tank top and his track pants, exposing his navel. His belly was a flawless blue sphere, now nearing the size of a beach ball.
'My abs!' cried Jordan. 'What happened to my abs?'
He grabbed at his large blue stomach, trying to fathom the mystery of his disappearing definition. Vincent shook his head, chuckling. Jordan's rear end groaned as it began to fill up like a water balloon. It quickly filled out his pants so that both cheeks were traceable against the material. His backside ballooned until it was large enough to cover a two-seater couch by itself. With both front and reverse sides of his body so swollen and distorted, it gave his body a distinct pear shape. His hips alone would have hindered his escape through a double doorway, let alone a regular one. His bottom-heavy figure put him off balance, he began to sway uneasily. His legs fattened, further restricting his movement, and rendering his baggy pants skin tight. It was a miracle that they didn't burst at the seams.

He looked around at the others. Vincent could see the genuine fear in his eyes, he relished it. It very nearly excited him. The embodiment of all self-obsessed jocks was now at his mercy, and the dimwit didn't even realise the true nature of his predicament. Nor was it over. A low gurgle, louder than before, echoed in the pit of Jordan's now enormous stomach. The small crowd slowly took a few steps backward, just in case. Their eyes remained glued to the gigantic blue boy, as though mesmerised by his panicked twitching and swaying. Jordan was now over seven feet tall, with his body the vague shape of a water balloon, freakishly distended and swollen from the chest down. His belly would have dwarfed his bed, and an adult man's fist would have rested comfortably in his navel. The tank top had given up trying to cover it, now resembling something from his infancy he'd tried to wear now. His butt could have very nearly crushed a car, with his track pants pulled to the consistency of a leotard across his thunderous thighs. Even the laces of his sneakers were coming undone as his feet bulged a couple of sizes too large for them. Still, he continued to grow. It was spreading upwards now. His chest pumped up, his pectorals resembling a pair of blue airbags. He lost the luxury of trying (in vain) to hold the growth spurt back with his arms. They followed the path of his legs, plumping up like great, thick blue sausages. He could barely move them, they stuck out rigid from his body. His hands grew chubby, larger than baseball mitts, and useless for anything but waving about. His pecs may have almost covered it as they blew up, but his face, too, became soft and podgy. His groans were muffled as his cheeks puffed out, as though he was smuggling coconuts in his mouth. Mrs. Leach screamed; she barely recognised her big, handsome son now. His poor face was ruined, it was worse than if he'd been obese. Worse than when he was....

Jordan's body gurgled and sloshed and groaned and creaked all over. It was as though whatever lay inside of him was multiplying at an accelerated rate. It filled him to the maximum, filling him out, rounding him out into a perfect sphere. His upper and lower hemispheres now grew in tandem, swelling evenly, giving him the unmistakable appearance of a giant blue fruit. His clothes were barely holding together, stretched tight and sparse across his round surface. He surged upwards and outwards, exceeding ten, even twelve feet in diameter. The speed of his expansion caused him to rock slightly from side to side. He had very little left to try and keep his balance, as his limbs had grown too fat retain their usual shape and structure. Instead, they were absorbed into the central mass, leaving his hands and feet to poke out like blemishes on the fruit's shining blue skin. His head sat atop the great sphere, although his sheer size prevented him seeing much more than a vast, quivering horizon of blue. His body began to feel taut, as though he were so full his skin had reached its limit. A wave of nausea passed over him. He couldn't...could he? They wouldn't let him...explode, would they? The creaking of overtaxed flesh grew louder and deeper. He wasn't stopping, his body just kept growing. It didn't know its own limits. He was powerless; all the strength and stamina in the world counted for nothing if there was something inside you trying to pop you like a balloon. Larger and larger, wider and wider, rounder and rounder. The fruit was ripe, too ripe. No signs of slowing down. He flapped his fingers, clenched his fists, wiggled his head, all in feeble protest against his dilemma. But his body wouldn't listen. It only responded with another spurt; bigger, bigger, bigger. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty feet across. Red hot pain shot through him; a sickening squelch sound. He tilted forward, unable to fight his own enormous mass. It choked all the screams out of him. He shut his eyes tight. He could only sit in agonising silence as he grew so big that he....

Stopped.

All was quiet. Still as stone.

No creaking, no groaning, no sloshing, no rocking, no swelling.

No explosion.

Jordan slowly opened his eyes. Much to his dismay, it wasn't all a dream. All he saw was the same great blue expanse as moments before. He felt full. Heavy. Tight. Sore. Tears of exhaustion, of relief, of terror all welled in his eyes at once. Hot, bitter tears that cleansed the eyes of the salt of fear. He couldn't move a muscle, it was a struggle to try. Any struggling might have brought him closer to bursting, so he dared not. He was big, too big. And blue. And full of...he didn't even want to imagine. What was he now?

'I said we'd been having some trouble getting the formula right,' said Paul, finally breaking the stunned silence.
'Getting the formula.... Just look what it's done to my son!'
'He was told to spit it out.'
'What sort of person makes...chewing gum that does this to people?' Mrs. Leach was practically hysterical.
'All experiments have to start somewhere. They all involve a little trial and error. This trial just happened to end in...error.'
Mrs. Leach's face went almost as purple as Jordan's.
'Is that what you think my son is? An experiment? Do you have any idea of the influence my husband holds back home? We will not stop until we've brought your...ridiculous establishment to its knees!'
'I'm afraid that may be difficult, ma'am. We're a registered, respectable company, with a great many assets at our disposal,' Paul retorted in a sing-song voice. 'You know what they say about trying to fight the system....'
'Well, I demand that you at least...remedy the situation by fixing my son!'
Paul checked his pocket watch once more.
'But of course. We'd be more than happy to provide some assistance.' He gave it a quick polish with his handkerchief before replacing it in his pocket.
'Some...assistance? You will turn Jordan back to the way he was this instant! Or I'll bring the full force of the law down on you so fast, your rainbow suspenders will spin!'

Paul raised an eyebrow.
'Quite. Well, he'll have to be conveyed to the industrial juicer.'
'Juicer?'
'Did you think there was air in there?' He pointed at Jordan. 'He's a blueberry. He's full of juice. If you want it removed, we'll need the industrial juicer. Understand?'
'Yes, but...surely that's not --'
'It's the only way. Undignified, perhaps. Embarrassing, most likely. But safe and efficient. If you want your son back to the way he was, he'll have to be juiced. Unless you want him to spend the rest of his life as a giant blueberry.'
'What kind of a thing is that to say? Of course I don't want that!'
'Then we shall have him...rolled to the Beverages Wing as soon as possible.'

Miss Wainwright crept over to Vincent. He was still looking quite pleased with himself, he was beginning to disturb her. He'd just seen a person transform into a giant blueberry, and he didn't even seem fazed. It was as if someone was whispering jokes into his ear. She was beginning to wonder about the validity of Jordan's statement about invisible friends. It was then she remembered the gum. The very gum that had put Jordan in this situation in the first place. It had fallen out of Vincent's pocket when he was pushed to the floor. Could it be that.... No. It was too fantastic. Too unbelievable. Then again, Vincent wasn't exactly...the most average sort of kid. Who knew what had been going on inside that brilliant mind of his? Miss Wainwright thought she'd at least try to find out.
'Are you...all right, Vincent?'
'Of course. Just happy to be here.'
'But...you saw what happened to Jordan?'
'Oh yeah.'
A moment's silence.
'That...gum he took from you. It was yours...wasn't it?'
'Sort of.'
'What do you mean?'
He turned to look her straight in the eye.

'I got the gum from some new friends of mine.'

Stares. Giggles. Whispered remarks. This was the welcome Jordan Leach received on Monday morning when he walked through the doors of Rutland High. He walked slowly, tentatively at first, but as the whispering grew in volume and frequency, he quickened his step. He just wanted to be out of their sight. This wasn't easy for a tall, muscular young man.

It was even harder for a tall, muscular, blue young man.

He had spent his Saturday morning in a candy factory with his mother and several other guests. His Saturday afternoon was spent with a massive vice-like contraption pressed tightly against his twenty-foot-wide, spherical, blue body. For five hours, he had been filled like a bladder with hundreds of gallons of viscous, purple juice; a giant blueberry. Four burly security guards had rolled him out of the vast chamber where Fizzy Lifting Drinks were stored and tested; not carried, rolled, like a bowling ball. All the juice inside of him sloshed and swirled like an ocean, while the constant spinning had made him feel quite ill. The 'industrial juicer' looked more like a torture device, and that's just what it felt like. A hose was shoved unceremoniously into his mouth. Several great metal prongs were clamped onto his swollen body, mechanically tightened until a torrent of juice came flowing out of his mouth, to be carried away by the hose.

Five long hours, until finally, the last tangible drop had passed from his body. He'd lain there amidst the juicer's prongs, stark naked, as his clothes had been ridiculously overstretched; no use to anyone who weighed less than three thousand pounds. He'd tried to cover himself with the curtain his tank top had become, but the garments were swiftly disposed of. The enigmatic Paul had brought him new clothes for the trip home, along with 'the company's sincerest apologies'. Mrs. Leach was livid. They might have removed all the juice and shrunk him back to size, but Jordan's skin still bore a purplish blue tinge. Paul explained that the juice had stained Jordan's cells to the point of altering his skin's pigmentation. Unfortunate, but not serious. It'd just be something he'd have to live with. Jordan left the factory that evening, with his mother still threatening Paul and any other staff member she saw with legal action. He'd bathed and gone to bed, with the hope in both instances that the blueness would somehow wash away. In both instances he was sorely disappointed. He'd spent Sunday indoors, away from prying eyes where possible.

He couldn't escape going back to school.

'Hello, Jordan.'
He spun around, startled by the voice. A chill went down his spine when he found Vincent Lord standing behind him, smiling a little too pleasantly.
'How are you today?' asked Vincent.
'You...' hissed Jordan. 'You did this to me. You gave me that stupid gum!'
'I didn't give it to you. You took it. Like you always did with my snacks. Like you did with whatever you wanted. Not anymore.'
'You little freak....'
'Are we really going to resort to name calling?'
Jordan assumed his usual stance, holding Vincent against the lockers by the front of his shirt. A furious fire burned his eyes, bright, piercing despite his face's new colouration.
'I am gonna make you sorry you were ever born.'
'But then I won't be able to show people the photos.'

Jordan's face went blank.

'Photos?'

Reaching into his jeans pocket, Vincent withdraw a small satchel of photographs and waved them in front of Jordan's eyes. Jordan relaxed his grip and seized the photos. His heart sank. The memories of Saturday came flooding back. Not memories, images. These were physical photographic proof. The factory, the gum, the blowing up, the...juicing. Oh God, how did he get these? He wasn't even there for the juicing. He looked back at Vincent.
'What are you trying to pull, you little ass?'
'I made some new friends in Minneapolis. They're very resourceful, very friendly. They loved some of my ideas for new candy and stuff. We became real pals at the factory. So after they let me take a sample of their Three-Course Chewing Gum Meal, they agreed to take some...souvenir photos.'
'The hell are you --'
'I thought people here might wanted to see some snaps of our little trip. Your goons, your girl, maybe Coach Parker....'
The tightness in Jordan's chest increased. He grabbed Vincent once more, ready to knock him out cold. He dropped the photos on the floor.
'You can kill me now, but those photos will be around forever.'
Jordan froze.
'If anything happens to me...my friends have access to Facebook. Among other things.'
Jordan released Vincent, with the latter quickly picking up the scattered photos. He stood up straight, right up close to his assailant.
'Here's how it works,' Vincent whispered. 'I do my homework. You do yours. You don't beat me up. No one has to know about your appointment with Mr. Juicer.'
Jordan stared down at his prey, his jaw set in anger. A moment's silence, until Jordan turned and headed down the hall.

This was the new Monday for Vincent Lord.

He couldn't help but chuckle as he glanced over the photos once more. He shoved them into his bag and headed for his own locker. He waved to Miss Wainwright as he saw her across the hall. She responded in kind, albeit with a nervous smile. It had been a weekend they wouldn't soon forget. They'd recall it every time they passed the world's only blue quarterback in the hall. Vincent would pass him, but nothing more.

Karma was sweet.

Sweet as blueberry pie.
A story commission for :iconsilver5cert:.

Quite a few people liked my Berryboy story. In some respects, it's my magnum opus.

But you can never have too many berries.

Here's a story about a high school football player who gets his...just desserts.
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Knock knock knock
"I'm coming!" I heard the voice of my boyfriend, Ari, from inside. He opened the door and without saying a word I flung my arms around him and kissed.
"Hey, how are you?" I asked after letting go.
"Not bad, come inside. I've been waiting here for ages!" He replied.
"I know, I'm sorry. It's just I had to get a few things."
"And what were they?"
"Just a few 'girl things.' " That was only the half truth. Yes, I did stop at the shop but to get inflation pills; which every girl must have of course! That helped clear my conscience knowing that technically I hadn't lied, and I could slip him a pill or two this afternoon.
I had been going out with Ari for about six months now, and everything about him captivated me: his dark blonde mop of hair, his light brown eyes, his tall and extremely slim physique, and his intelligent and effeminate personality. To me, everything about him screamed out to me that he was begging to be blown up!
"Oh ok, never mind then!" He laughed as he placed his arm around me as we walked into the lounge and sat down on the couch. Ari was about to turn on the TV when I said
"Wait, let's not watch TV at the moment. Sit down." I smiled as he gave me a slightly weird look but he sat down next to me anyway.
"So... do you wanna-" he began
"Come here boy!" I grabbed him by the collar and began making out with him. For about two minutes straight we didn't let go of eachother.
"I've been waiting all day for this," he said as we continued to kiss eachother.
"Oh me too!" I replyed.
I placed my hands underneath his tshirt and began to feel him him up. His smooth slim frame reminded me that I had come here for a reason. "Wait!" I gasped.
'What?! What is it?" Ari asked.
"Let me get us some drinks." I smiled but he just stared at me, puzzled.
"Umm.. ok?"
"Be back in a minute!" I quickly walked into the kitchen and got out two glasses. 'This is it!' I thought to myself. 'I'll just slip one of these pills into his drink and then let the magic begin!' I unscrewed the lid, placed a pill into his glass, and then quickly filled up the glasses with coke. I had to remember that his was the drink in my left hand, otherwise I'd be screwed!
"Here you are!" I grinned as I handed the glass to him.
"Why the sudden need to get drinks?" Ari asked me.
"Oh, umm... I was... uhh... I all of a sudden got really thirsty." He looked at me suspiciously but still drank.
About an hour later we snuggled up on the couch and turned on the TV. 'Any minute now!' Nothing. 'Any minute...' Still nothing. Then, I got a very horrible feeling that I may have drank the wrong glass! 'Was it the right or the left glass that had the pill? Which one did I have?!!' But just at that moment Ari sat up and grabbed his stomach.
"Uugh," he groaned. "I don't feel so well."
I smiled. 'That was close!' I thought to myself.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"I feel so... I feel so full." He stood up but I grabbed him by his long, smooth, wiry arm.
"You'll be fine! Don't worry! Now, sit back down and - " but I stopped mid sentence. I could no longer deny it: Ari saw what was happening to him.
He had begun swelling up. He stomach began bulging out and his shirt rode up past his belt and just over part of his stomach. His sides puffed out as well making him rounder and rounder by the second. "W-What's happening to me?!" Ari panicked.
Within a minute his body was enirely round. "Sharon! Help me!" he cried but I just grinned and watched him with glee. His belt popped off as well as a button which pinged of his jeans; it landed right next to me, and his shirt pulled back completely revealing his tight, round stomach, the waistband of his underwear and his belly button. "Why are you just staring at me?!" Ari yelled. "Do something!" His body continued to get bigger and rounder and his arms and legs began to absorb into him. Soon he had completely blown up like a balloon, with a head, and a pair of tiny hands and feet.
I grinned at him as he tried to walk but was too full and bloated. "What have you done to me?!" He demanded, but as I walked towards him he lifted off the ground and started floating up towards the ceiling. "Aaaaaaah!!! Help me!"
I quickly grabbed his foot and pulled him back down, holding him in place. "There we go. So what do you think of your new look?" I laugh as I patted his round belly.
"Stop that!" Ari yelled as he flapped his tiny hands.
"Now do you think it's wise that you get angry at me when..." I held up a helium cylinder, stuck the hose into his mouth and quickly turned on the pressure. I held the hose in his mouth so that he couldn't speak or spit it out, the whole time with him helplessly trying to stop me. "...I can do this to you?"
About a minute later Ari was so incredibly round and tight that I turned off the hose. "You're looking pretty full there, eh pretty boy?" I said as I held him down. "But maybe you can take a little more." It took everything for me to not laugh at him.
"Please!" he begged, "No more! I'm too full! Please, I'm begging you!"
"Well... that's up to me, isn't it?" I said, rolling him onto his back. "But why are you so panicked? You're adorable!" I spread my arms over his inflated body, simultaneously holding him down.
"Stop messing around and put me back to normal!" Ari demanded, but he was entirely helpless and at my mercy.
"Not quite yet, hun, I need to take you to my place first."
"But... that would mean... taking me outside?"
"Of course! Silly, where else?"
Based on my actual boyfriend, and probably what I'd do if I could inflate him.
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For All to See


Mike dipped his fingers in the jar of hair gel and ran it quickly through his buckwheat-blonde hair. He spent two full minutes on his mouth with his electric toothbrush before rinsing and checking himself out some more. His smile was fine, and his skin still looked great.

He grabbed his varsity jacket and headed out the door. His ride to school was waiting, as usual. A JV football junior with an old, beat up Camaro sat behind the driver's side window, looking up at him with his usual eagerness. Two other seniors, the team's center and safety sat in the back seat. "C'mon Mike, why do you always take so long?" one of them griped, reaching up front to punch him in the arm as he tried to buckle up.

"Hey!"

"Hey, knock it off guys," the driver said. "Don't hit Mike when I'm driving." It was well known that he idolized Mike - they both played tight end, and Mike was pretty much the only reason he was stuck on JV.

"Ah, keep it in your pants, Johnny," the center in the back seat shot. The others laughed.

"Hey, that party on Friday night?" Mike started. "I picked up a couple cases of beer."

"You did?" The safety blinked. "Did you get a fake ID or something?"

"Nah, that old guy... what's his name, Mr. Rivers?" Mike started. "He works Tuesday nights. That guy's crazy about the team, he'd get me anything I wanted."

"You'd get anything you wanted anyway," Johnny replied.

"Yeah, probably," the center muttered in agreement.

"I mean hell, if you wanted something from *that* place..." Johnny leaned to point out the opposite window. The car swerved a little and the guy sitting behind him kicked his seat amid the protests.

Mike looked where he'd been pointing. Looming downtown, he could see the old Wonka Chocolate plant. No one had been inside there for years.

"Very funny," he muttered.

"You probably could," the safety nodded indifferently.

"Yeah right," the center replied, effectively turning a random comment into a full-blown debate.

"He could so!" Johnny insisted.

"Ah, don't start with this..." the safety groaned, leaning his head against the window. "It's too early."

"I'm not saying break into their bank account or something, I just mean get in, get something and leave," Johnny insisted. "He can-"

"50 bucks," the center replied flatly. "50 bucks says he can't."

Still a bit drowsy himself, Mike expected Johnny to immediately accept this meaningless challenge, but Johnny had something else to say. "Yeah. In fact, I'd give him 50 bucks too. What about you, Chase, you in?"

The safety turned, one eye closed in sleepy displeasure. "Wha...? Sure, whatever." he leaned to the side, trying to catch a look at Mike's face. "...What, you actually thinking about doing it, Mike?"

Mike was about to reply with an automatic, "No, you dumbass," when Johnny suddenly began chanting. "Mii-IIKE! Miiii-IKE!"

At first the two in the back looked at Johnny with embarassment, but Chase quickly noticed the irritated look on Mike's face and joined in. The center followed suit.

"Miii-IKE! Miii-IKE! Miii-IKE!"

Mike's look of annoyance slowly turned to a wry grin. He could pretend the guys bugged him for a little while, but the truth was he loved it. He got more attention than anyone else at school, and he wouldn't have it any other way. What was one evening?

"All right, I'll do it," he smiled. The others cheered. Johnny missed a red light up ahead and barely stomped the brakes in time to avoid rear ending a minivan. "Dumbass," the center scoffed, cuffing the back of the junior's head.

"After practice, I'll swing by the place," Mike decided, "I'll show you something I got there later tonight."

"Mike's the man," Johnny grinned. Mike couldn't help but glow a little.



That evening, Mike found himself clinging to the back of a delivery truck as it trundled past the iron gates of the big old factory. He let go as it pulled in to the loading dock and snuck off into the shadows. He didn't see any workers - the place looked dead. Maybe the old coot had died and the factory was just running fully automated.

Still wearing his school-colored blue warm ups from practice, Mike ducked out of the area into a hallway, and the building seemed to light up. Colorful signs pointed to rooms with bizzare names, from "Kneader Room" to "Milking Room" to "Sugar Harvesting." Mike tiptoed awkwardly through the corridor, trying to keep his large frame silent as he snuck about, looking for something to jump out at him, something he could snag that would really make the trip worth it...

Suddenly he froze. He could scarcely believe his eyes - was that a river of chocolate?? Unable to help himself, he crept closer. It was... it was a veritable rapids in fact. What kind of factory was this? He felt his heart beating faster as he began to think maybe there was more than 150 dollars in this for him if he made it out with something. The area around the river was rather open, so Mike decided not to linger for very long. He didn't notice when a distant figure suddenly turned and bolted as Mike slipped away.


He continued exploring for a little while until he stumbled on a room with exactly the label he was looking for. "'Testing Room!' Finally!" he hurried inside, eager to get his hands on some new prototype candy.

Inside it was like a carnival. Lining the room were cartoonish machines, colorful candies, and more going on than Mike could stand and take in. He took a walk and came across a cotton candy spinner that promised the candy wouldn't melt on your tongue, a taffy puller meant to last you hours...

Mike's attention was caught suddenly by one rather massive machine. It looked like it hadn't been touched in a while, and old bits of food were crusted onto parts. He took a look at what appeared to be the final product of the device - a small, unassuming piece of gum. Mike looked down at the tiny candy, sitting naked in the machine. There was no wrapper or label to say what it was -it must have been pretty early in testing. Too bad it wasn't much good to him if he didn't know what it did.

There were a few pieces, though. He could try one out and then take a couple with so he could tell people what they were. What could go wrong? He popped the piece into his mouth and started chewing.

Instantly he could feel the delicious flavor pouring over his taste buds. It was blueberry, but more than that - like a scrumptious blueberry pie. Mike could taste the fruit, the crust, the sugar... it was simply unbelievable.

For a moment, Mike lost himself. As he leaned against a wall, shutting the world out while he enjoyed the treat, another figure entered the room.

"You really should spit that out."

Mike turned. It was him. The man himself, Wonka, decked out in a ridiculous purple suit and top hat.

"Ah, crap," Mike muttered, still chewing. He sighed. "Look, all I took was this piece of gum. Are you going to turn me in to the police?"

Wonka didn't seem to hear him. He raised a finger, a worried look on his face. "I don't think you understand. You really need to spit that out."

Mike laughed. "Why? You still gonna use it? That's pretty disgusting."

"No my boy, see that's a highly experimental three course meal gum I'm working on," he explained, crossing the floor to the football player. "The last experiment didn't go so well, so now I'm trying to isolate what the problem was. What you have in your mouth could be very dangerous."

Mike paused mid-chew. He stared at the man for a moment before dismissing the thought and smiling, starting to chew again. "Dangerous? What, like contaminated?"

"No... you don't unders..." Wonka cut himself off as he spotted a blue spot materializing on Mike's nose. "-oh never mind, it looks like I'm too late again."

Mike grinned obliviously as the blue tint spread across his face. "Too late, huh? So can I just leave with it?"

Wonka shook his head. "I'm afraid that may be impossible. You see, this candy was designed to concentrate an entire meal into a tiny piece of chewing gum. When the dessert portion had a dreadful side effect, I put development on hold while we tried to figure out what went wrong. So what you're currently chewing on with that silly smile is a concentrated version of just the dessert."

Mike stopped chewing once again. The sweet blueberry syrup continued to slide down his throat as his skin turned blue down his arms, creeping across his fingers to the tip. "So... what happened to the first tester?"

"The same thing that's happening to you, my dear thief," Wonka responded with a slight downward nod.

Mike glanced down and shrieked at the sight of his hands. He waved them in front of his face in shock and even tried to wipe the blue covering them off on his pants. "The heck??" he sputtered, a queasy feeling coming over him. "This stuff turns you blue?"

"Oh, it does more than that, son," Wonka said, a sideways, remorseful smile on his face. The doors around the room opened and Mike spun around to look, only to wince and grab his stomach in discomfort.

"Why do I... feel so... bloated?" he heaved, as without warning his stomach began to swell outward with a low burble. "YAH!"

Into the room trooped a dozen tiny figures. They looked ridiculous to Mike with their orange hue and almost neon hair, but at this point he was far too terrified to find their eccentric appearance hard to swallow.

"Is he filling up like the first tester?" one of them asked curiously.

"Indeed he is," Wonka replied, prodding at the swelling intruder with his cane. "Looks like we've found the problem at least, it's the blueberries themselves - they don't seem to react well to the concentration process."

"Oh god," Mike muttered, finally realizing he needed to get rid of the gum. He spat it into his hand but was startled to find Wonka's hand already holding his. "Don't bother," Wonka murmured, shaking his head wistfully. "The damage is done. You may as well enjoy the delicious taste at least."

With that he pushed Mike's palm back to his mouth and Mike, strangely unable to resist, began chewing once more. His form bloated up, beginning with his belly and then spreading to his waist. Mike grabbed his expanding body, feeling new pillowy mounds of himself seem to billow out as though from nowhere. His insides swirled and churned as the juice spread and congested.

Mike's warm ups stretched easily, hugging his swelling hips without binding or biting. His jacket hung on too, but it didn't stretch downward - Mike's blue belly peeked out of his outfit, his deep navel clearly visible as though he were an obese man - which he was quickly becoming.

"You have to help me!" he pleaded Wonka and the funny little men as he ballooned up. "My body... I'm a football player!"

"Not anymore!" one of the workers cheerfully pointed out.

"Noo!" he cried. His belly continued to gurgle and swell, establishing itself as the center of his expansion, but the rest of his body was now fighting to catch up. His upper torso seemed to pile on girth as it spread out, blueberry flesh spreading like flab as his body began to look less like it had swallowed a beach ball and more like a large, overripe pear.

Mike twisted around to look down at his melting physique, his hard ass filling up like a water balloon, his back blowing out like there was a fan under his shirt. But beneath it he knew was not air, but only his own, juice-filled body.

Mike's swelling gut and waist quit fighting each other and merged with a bubbly surge. His pants silently stretched wider as he felt his weight begin to descend, the swelling in his midsection continuing its search for more room and pushing his crotch toward the floor below.

"No," he pleaded, shaking his head as his fingers grabbed at his waist. His arms dug into his own sides as he forced them down, grabbing at the southern edge of the swell and trying to hold himself up. "Don't let me become a blueberry!"

"Don't worry, Mike," Wonka chuckled, stepping closer to pat Mike's bulging side. The former football player looked over as he continued to fight with the juice flooding his body. "The last test subject was all right. He had to be juiced, of course, but afterward he was right as rain. Just... rather blue."

Mike felt his own fingers swell. He lost his grip on his groin area and felt it immediately snap down lower still. His girth was beginning to absorb his legs now as they bloated on their own. "I don't want to be blue either!" he sobbed, but the truth was, he did feel a bit of relief. At least this was mostly reversible, right?

"He's so big!"

"Way bigger than Lenny!"

Mike tried to shut out the workers' amused taunts, but he couldn't. It was listen to them or consider the hopeless sensation of feeling his arms fattening to the point where he could no longer bend them. Mike heard his shirt rip and winced, realizing in a moment it was going to be more than his midriff exposed.

The rest of his clothing had held up remarkably well. He was lucky to have chosen to wear his warm ups for this plan, because the elastic was keeping his waistband in good shape, even if the nylon legs were probably about to come undone. His jacket still covered most of his back too, but now he could feel the sleeves tugging on his dwindling arms, pulling them backward and away from their natural, vestigial position.

Not that Mike had given in to this vestigial position yet. His hands searched for the rip in his shirt, trying to find out how much time he had left. He soon found it had started at the bottom and was working its way up, This was not a good sign. At the rate his stomach was *still* expanding, he only had seconds.

Mike shut his eyes tightly. He couldn't stand it anymore. "Stop... looking at me!" he roared helplessly, just before his shirt ripped in half and his round blue chest poured out, joining his exposed belly. One of the workers laughed. Mike shuffled his feet, turning his globular body to face away from the offender.

"How's the underwear holding up?" another one teased.

"That's enough," Wonka chided, but now that it had been said, Mike could feel his briefs cutting into his skin. They were so tight he could barely stand-

And then suddenly their pain was gone. They had torn beneath his pants and Mike breathed a sigh of relief. His shoes were a bit constricting, but his feet didn't seem so interested in swelling much, at least yet. And still he chewed, and still the juice poured down his throat. As he did though, feeling a bit more relaxed now that the tightest of his clothing had been dealt with, Mike began to feel the juice flooding into his cheeks. It was like a back up of juice, flowing down into his body only to rush back up and swell his face.

"Wonka, plSHHMM! Mmph... MMMPH!" The juice spread from his cheeks to his lips and then even his neck and soon the expansion took on a whole new direction.

He started to inflate in a uniform manner. Every part of him bulged at once, his belly, his back, all of it disappeared in favor of this new roundness that overtook him, swelling him up fat and ripe as it crept toward his hands and feet. The deep, slow churning of thick heavy liquids was heard as Mike turned with difficulty, stepping carefully as he could to face Wonka, to hear some kind of reassurance. Wonka responded with only a knowing nod.

"Hey, Mr. Wonka? Didn't Lenny's hair turn blue?"

Wonka tilted his head. "So it did. Peculiar."

Mike's left eye widened as Wonka stepped closer. The eccentric man poked Mike with his cane a few times, then knocked on his side with his fist. Aside from a slight thump, it made no sound, and Mike didn't feel a thing. Wonka hesitated, then reached into his coat and drew a large safety pin. "HMMMPH? MM, MMPH MMPH!" Mike panicked, waggling his hands up and down and shaking his spherical body. Wonka jabbed the blueberry's side with the pin. Mike felt a distant prick, but nothing more - some blueberry juice oozed from the hole for a moment, but quickly stopped itself. In seconds the mark was almost impossible to spot.

"Very, VERY peculiar," Wonka reiterated.

"MMmmMM? MMHMM, MMMMPHMPHHMM!" Mike urged, desperate to know what was happening now. The expansion was beginning to overtake him now as he grew. His groin finally touched the ground and he fought for balance, teetering on his swollen tiptoes. His sides had grown past his wrists, his jacket stretching to its limits as the sleeves hung on by what little remained of Mike's limbs. His neck had vanished beneath the deluge of blueberry..

"WEEllll," Wonka began, trying to explain the situation to poor Mike. "It seems this new concentrated version may have had some new unexpected consequence. You see, your hair appears to be turning green and your body is, well, ripening. Literally. Now, what this means, I can only guess at, but..."

"MMMMMPHH! MMMMMMMMMPH!!"

"...But it seems you may be more than just filling with juice," Wonka concluded. "It seems you may be turning into an actual blueberry."

Mike didn't respond. He was dumbfounded. An actual blueberry? What did that even MEAN?

As he seemed to debate this, Wonka muttered something to one of his workers, "See if you can get that gum back, I'd like to know for how long it's going to produce juice."

The worker obediently marched over and started to climb Mike's broad front. Mike seemed to awaken from his stupor as the little orange man stared him in the face.

"MRRRH!" he yelped. The worker jammed his fingers into Mike's lips, trying to pry his mouth open. His expression grew frustrated and after a moment, he turned back to Wonka. He pried the blueberry's lips apart and pointed, and Wonka saw the problem.

The interior of Mike's mouth was pressing together. Deep in the back, the gum could still be seen, dribbling juice as it was squeezed out by the collapsing cavern of Mike's mouth.

Two more incomprehensible moans escaped Mike's lips. Wonka nodded to the side and the worker hopped off the giant blueberry as still it grew, reaching up past seven feet - both tall and wide. Wonka approached him and took the former athlete by his ragged shirt, pulling to roll the helpless berry forward to look him face to face. Mike stared back out of the tops of his eyes as his body continued growing, pulling his head deeper and deeper into its orbicular form.

"Dreadfully sorry about this," Wonka said. "This is why I don't give tours, you know. Too many dangerous things around here. I daresay it serves you right for sneaking in to pilfer my secrets though, wouldn't you agree?"

Mike let out a pitiful whimper.

"Take him to the field, make him comfortable," Wonka instructed as he turned his back on the giant, still-growing fruit. "Let's get back to work trying to fix this gum."

No! Mike thought desperately, as the little orange workers surrounded him and began to push, rocking him side to side before bowling him over to roll away. Don't turn your back! Don't give up on me! Don't leave meee!

The last words he heard as they rolled him out of the room, were of Wonka brightly stating, "Good thing none of you got stuck with that one... We're rather lucky he came along, really..."


Mike howled in his mind as they rolled him down the corridors. How big would he grow? How much would he change? Was he doomed to spend the rest of his life in this god-forsaken factory?

"Whoops, lost his shoe," one of the workers said after one big push.

"And here's his other one."

"Well no wonder! His feet are barely sticking out anymore!"

Mike tried to kick and thrash his feet. The workers didn't seem to notice. It's not fair! he mentally wailed. This isn't supposed to happen to me! I'm a star! I'm going to play in college!

"How long do you think his clothes will last?"

"I thought they'd have fallen off before we even started rolling him."

Mike's sight began to disappear. All around him was the rising blue flesh of his body, leaving him with a narrow tunnel of vision alone. As this happened, he found sounds becoming slightly muffled as well.

Instead of the whirling hallway, Mike was left staring at his own berry body. He couldn't believe the internal pressure. All around his head, he felt a horrendous itching suddenly begin to break out. What was happening now? Was this it? Was he about to go "full berry?"

His fingers flexed as he maddeningly tried to scratch his body, succeeding in nothing more than a little finger wave. Suddenly, all around the focus of the itching, his skin split. A deep blue could be seen beneath as his skin bent up in a ridge, almost like an elegant collar around his head.

"Look at that!"

"Wow, he does look like a blueberry. Look how dark his head is getting!"

Mike's reaction to this and his emotions were now about as coherent as his sense of up and down. He was aware, however, of a change in the texture of the ground as he rolled across it. It felt softer, more yielding, and almost tickled his exposed body.

"Here we are! The candy field!"

"Where should we take him?"

"Let's see if he likes any spot."

It wasn't clear how the blueberry was going to tell anyone which spot he liked. His hands and feet were now totally gone, and his head was a mere pair of delirious eyes with leaf-like hair strewn about. They looked around dizzily, taking in what they could of the rich, colorful field of children's dreams.

"Let's show him around!"

The workers proceeded to enthusiastically roll the blueberry hither and thither, telling it excitedly about the different candy plants growing and hills where it might enjoy resting. It wasn't until they passed by one tree in particular that Mike seemed to emerge from his state of self-pity and turned to one of active concern.

"Here, we have the Crystal Tree, a plant that likes to produce-"

"Hey hey! Look at that!"

The tree had clearly sensed the massive blueberry being pushed aside it, for it was lowering one branch toward it right then.

Mike looked up and spotted it coming right for him. What the... Immediately he tried to escape, but he had nothing left to move. For all intents and purposes, he was a blueberry with eyes.

Mike tried to scream, but only felt his mouth constrict more, this time feeling the top and bottom press together completely. A final untapped gush of blueberry juice poured down into his body, and promptly exploded outward in all directions.

"Look! The tree likes him!"

"I think they like each other! Look at the berry growing up to meet him!"

Mike's jacket slipped free of the ridge that used to house Mike's hands. It slid down his back, revealing his smooth, firm blueness. The surge pushed him further off the ground, and the pants hugging his waist were given one slight tug downward. They fell right off, revealing nothing but Mike's vast blueberry self.

He was a solid blue ball, filled with delicious blueberry and about to be plucked up by a strange, welcoming crystalline tree. Mike's eyes squinted in helpless fear as a strange bud sprouted from the end of the branch before jabbing him gently in the head.

The workers watched, mesmerized, as the accepting branch thickened and solidified, strengthening the union of the delicate-looking tree and the massive blueberry staring up fearfully at it. Finally it tugged, and Mike felt his massive weight lifting up. He watched helplessly as the field fell away and he rose up into the air, attached to the tree now invested in nurturing him.

Mike's eyes swelled like a boxer and his world began to fade. Not this way, he thought as any lasting imagery of himself as a human was consumed by his juice-laden girth. His leafy green hair flattened and spread, his head joined seamlessly with the branch and his eyes swelled shut and faded away. Not huge this way...

Way up high over the workers' heads, the massive eight foot wide blueberry hung precariously by the attractive red tree. They watched for a few minutes until the growth had stopped and all movement had completely ceased.

"What does the Crystal Tree make again?" one of them asked suddenly.

"Crystallized fruit," another answered. "It grows them so delicious."

"That's one lucky blueberry, he'll get the sweetest and most splendid stuff from that tree!"

They started to troop away, back to rejoin Wonka in trying to fix the gum. "Let's check back on him in a month," one of them suggested brightly. "I can't wait to see how delicious he looks then!"
This was a fun commission for :iconsilver4cert:, who wanted a guy subjected to one of Wonka's earlier, less refined tests on the infamous gum. Fruit + free reigns = happy BoT. :D

Eventually, in the distant future, I'm still thinking of taking a crack at a real traditional blueberry story, even though it's not really my style - that is, the victim's a girl, she doesn't transform this far, juicing is involved, etc. We'll see if I keep at it that long though.

At this time, I'm not taking more commissions, though I hope to soon put up a more comprehensive notice regarding whether I will be or not, since I'm asked pretty frequently about them.
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Don't scream, breathe. Breathe. Close your eyes for a second, gather your thoughts. Blue. Blue all over. All I see is blue. Everywhere. Calm down. But I'm blue! Calm down! It's all just a prank. Just someone's idea of a joke. It's blue, it's shiny. It's just some kind of paint. They must have put a dispenser in the shower head. What? Look, just get back under the shower and wash it off. No one will ever know.
His hands shaking, Ben quickly turned the shower tap on. He jumped back in case the head only shot more blue paint. He saw only clean water (or the closest imagining of it) and thrust himself under the cleansing heat. He stood there, eyes closed, scrubbing at his arms, his legs, his body with force that should have set him on fire. The soap was quickly worn down to a sliver and fell lifeless to the tiled floor. The water stopped flowing, leaving only steam monoliths to hang in the humid, strangling air. Ben's arms parted the steam like a falcon's wings breaking through the clouds above. Blue wings…
What?
His chest tightened. He ran to the grubby mirror above a nearby sink and wiped away the obscurity of the steam. His jaw hung open, his throat so dry and empty from panic that it couldn't manage a scream. No. Please, God, no.
It's not paint.
He clawed at his face with his fingers. His brows curved and his lip began to quiver out of genuine fear. He rubbed his chest, as if feebly trying to remove whatever affliction had cursed his skin. All he could really do was stand there, nude, shivering and vulnerable, and stare at his smooth, muscular, flawless, peacock blue body. It was as if he'd been dyed blue from the inside out. He didn't know any sort of sickness or disease that did this to people. What kind of demon had possessed him? He knew for certain, though, that he needed an angel's healing hands.

No one to the left. No one to the right. All clear. Time to move.
The grounds were dead silent, as if each student had simultaneously returned to their dorms. Ben half expected that, since he'd seen the state of hypnosis that most had been in throughout the day. He'd begun to suspect that something wasn't quite normal about Hanson College. Students in vibrant clothes shuffling around in a trance, ducking in and out of dark classrooms and lecture theatres, participating in sports that few of them were even scarcely decent at. Teachers that either didn't care about their job, or cared a little too much about their students. And who puts a university in Frankenstein's castle in the first place? The only thing that seemed normal was the lousiness of the cafeteria food. On top of that, he had been mysteriously turned blue at what was apparently a cellular level. That seemed hardly regular, even for a freshman.
Ben dashed across to a side entrance of the main building. He ran up the stairs, and in through the open glass door. Open? He quickly hid beside a trophy cabinet to compose himself. Back in the change room, he'd tossed on his usual T-shirt and jeans, while his athletics gear was thrown into his bag. His jeans and shoes covered his legs completely. His T-shirt meant that he had to carry his bag against his tummy, with his arms partially concealed in and behind it. He'd found an old Yankees cap in his bag, though it wasn't exactly a mask. The visor just sort of obscured his blue visage from the nose up. All it really covered was most of his hair, which was of course its usual nut brown. There was clearly no explaining how all this happened, but maybe the nurse could try treating him. Perhaps it was simply an allergic reaction? To that macaroni and cheese maybe. Maybe he'd overdone it at athletics practice? He did manage to become some kind of contortionist after all. That's never happened before. Oh God, what is happening to me? He pounded the wall with his fist. There was a loud gurgling. His stomach was churning, maybe from stress, maybe from hunger. Whatever the cause, he began to feel quite unwell. Great, just what I need right now. Ugh, feels like I ate a zoo. Only one thing for it.
Ben got to his feet. If he was going to heave, he'd do it in the nurse's office, where there'd most certainly be a bucket, strategically placed for just such an occasion. He looked round each corner before going round it, walking quietly despite his rubber-soled shoes, and keeping his arms concealed as best he could. The eerie dark stone corridors seemed to stretch for miles. This wasn't a school, this was three cathedrals put together. At least it gave him more of a chance to hide. Then again, from what? He didn't even run into a janitor. The whole place was more devoid of life than that book store on 23rd Street. There didn’t seem to be as many shadows lurking in the corners, even though it was approaching the twilight hours. Strange echoes seemed to come from all around. Ben may have even been spooked by the surroundings alone if he hadn't been preoccupied with his current state. He found a sign at the end of a hallway, near a lecture theatre. It directed him towards the nurse, but it pointed in the direction from whence he'd just come. Damn it's easy to get lost in here.

Who'd have thought that the words 'Sick Bay' would be so refreshing to see? After the nightmarish maze of corridors and stairways, Ben couldn't have been more relieved. He thrust a blue hand out in front of him and swung the door as far open as the hinges would allow.
"Excuse me, ma'am. I don't know if you've ever seen anything like this before, but…ma'am?"
He looked around. A bed, a sink, a desk, anatomy charts, a mirror, two chairs, all monotonously coloured and grubby from use, all enclosed by four grey stone walls, all worn, cracked and filthy. A shadow in the corner that seemed to flicker ever so slightly. No one else. Just a blue boy and a silent gust of stale air.
He didn't know whether to laugh or scream or cry or just faint on the floor. His one hope of someone telling him what the hell was wrong with him, dashed completely at the very last moment. Totally drained of energy, Ben sat in one of the old brown wooden chairs, dumping his bag on the floor. He glanced at the desk. Not even a stupid note to say that she'd gone for coffee. He kicked the bed and threw his cap to the ground in defeat. He examined his arms. The thought crossed his anxious mind that he would be blue forever, for the rest of his life. The very notion made his stomach churn. So much that it felt like he'd just eaten a bad burrito. He squirmed a little in his seat. It wasn't just his nerves, he actually was feeling nauseous. Bloated even. Maybe it was just gas? Right now, he prayed for his life that it was just gas. His stomach groaned a little too audibly to be normal. Something was tearing him up inside.
He got to his feet. He scanned the room for the nearest trash can. He ran to the foot of the bed and bent over the little grey metal bucket. Here it comes…. A belch that could have sunk a battleship, then silence.
Ben opened his eyes and looked into the empty trash can. His heart suddenly relaxed, as if a vice that held it had been smashed apart. He let out a great sigh of relief and straightened up. A new vice captured his heart. His eyes widened. His hands froze, just trembling a little in midair. That wasn't there before. He stared down at the bulge under his shirt, the blood rushing to his head as he grew ever tenser. This wasn't just a lump; this was the size of a melon, jutting out as if he'd been smuggling a portable TV in his shirt. Only one option. Lift it up. Just do it quick like a band-aid. He gripped his T-shirt with his fingers. A moment's pause. Up it went like the unveiling of a sideshow. If his jaw was open before, it was touching the ground now. That wasn't a smuggled portable TV. It wasn't even a melon. It was Ben's stomach.

Big, bulging and bright beautiful blue. He hardly found it beautiful though. Nothing attractive about a round, protuberant blue belly. Not by his standards at least. This just kept getting worse and worse. Ben was starting to feel glad that the nurse wasn't here. She would have run off by now, screaming 'Demon, demon!'. Though it went against his better judgment, something possessed him to extend a finger and prod his belly, once, twice. It gurgled again. He felt it again. The sickening churning, the rising of gas and fluid alike. There was no stopping it. Just as the bile climbed his throat, it relinquished itself as another loud burp. Yet the feeling continued. Worse still, his bloated stomach started to grow larger. And larger. And larger still. His stomach was growing before his eyes, pushing against his shirt, expanding like a balloon. It wasn't stopping, nor did it show any signs of slowing down. Please, no, don't do this to me. His stomach wouldn't listen; it just kept on growing. It quickly reached the size of a soccer ball, but it didn't stop there. Soon, it resembled a blue watermelon peeking out from under his T-shirt. It looked like it wanted to reach the size of a beach ball. It began to strain his belt; it was actually beginning to hurt. It wasn't just his stomach, though. The back of his jeans was starting to tighten, heralded by an odd creaking sound. His butt was growing just like his belly. Twin balloons quickly filling with air, filling out his jeans and causing them to stretch dramatically. His legs soon followed suit, his thighs bulging against his pants as if testing their durability, as if trying to break free. They were beginning to succeed. A small rip appeared on the left leg of his jeans; they were tearing at the seams. He grew frightened that his body would do the same. Got to get out of here.
Come on, you have to get out!
I'm trying!
What's the matter?
I'm stuck!
He tried to just walk through the open doorway as normal; the outcome was anything but. He pushed again and again, but something impeded his movement. A downward glance proved that although his head was in the hallway, his legs remained in the nurse's office; his hips were too wide for the door frame. His legs and waist had distended so far that he was too big to fit through. He shoved and groaned, but each attempt was as futile as the last. He gritted his teeth as he felt a further squeeze. He was already too big for the doorway, but he was still growing. He'd be impossible to budge, or worse, the pressure on either side of his skin would become too much…. He very nearly started to cry at the thought. The sickening squeak of skin against denim against wood. He wasn't stopping. He had to move. It was now or never.
He put both hands on the frame and clutched it tight. He positioned his feet as though about to perform a pole vault. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He mustered all his strength and heaved forward. Heaved again. And again. And again. The pain was blinding and intensified with each push. He had to keep going. Another shove. He slid forward suddenly. The massive blue balloon of his abdomen was safely through the doorway. Now for his legs. Another push and a further wave of pain. Oh God, please don't let me explode. He took a few more quick breaths and gritted his teeth. He pushed again, and he began to feel some movement. Come on, come on. Another push. Almost. He bellowed like a wild beast and gave one final mighty shove. A strange rubbery noise, then a loud pop. Too much momentum. He reflexively held his arms out in front of him, letting his hands hit the wall instead of his precariously swollen stomach. Through slightly blurred vision, he sighed and tried to smile. He was free. He wasn't back to normal, but thank God he was free. Now he knew how mothers felt.

Oh, someone get this belt off of me!
The thin but oh-so-sturdy leather belt of his jeans constricted his middle, which now resembled an hourglass. These pants were getting very uncomfortable. He just wished that his waist could be free of the leather and denim stranglehold. He tried to hunt for the buckle, but it was lost beneath the unhindered portion of his belly that bulged up and out from under his clothes. Someone save me.
A loud, high-pitched creak, then a snap. The buckle hit the floor with a tinkle that echoed through the empty passage. Another snap as the fly gave way. Ben felt as if air returned to his lungs after endless minutes of struggling. The round blue blimp now flaunted its fullness, and continued to expand with nothing to hold it back. His flawless abs were destroyed by the fleshy balloon as it grew and deformed his torso. His fine musculature was further tarnished by his now rapidly expanding pectorals. They were like blue airbags on his chest, pumping up with each passing second, with no hint that they might be stopping. He couldn't resist the temptation to reach up under his shirt and touch them with his fingers. Like his stomach, they seemed soft and flabby at first, but soon became taut like footballs. Another ripping sound told him that his T-shirt didn't have long to live in one piece. He felt it gradually split across his back, which was now even starting to match the shape of the front of him. This sure was some allergic reaction. Nothing like he'd had before, nothing like he'd ever seen. He just wanted to know what the hell caused it, and what the hell he was turning into. He knew he still needed to find help. It didn't matter who from, just as long as they stopped all this, and soon.
Walking with legs like tree trunks was not as easy as comic book heroes made it out to be. Especially when those tree trunks were still growing. Ben's legs had swollen to such a size that his jeans had split almost completely open at the seams. They were quite literally hanging by a thread. His shirt felt like it was soon to cross the same threshold. Each stride was a lunge forward, struggling to maintain any notion of balance. He held his arms out to either side to try and keep from tipping over. Slowly he made his way down the hall, step by annoyingly difficult step. He just hoped his ankles could bear his new weight. You look ridiculous, you know. Well how am I supposed to walk when I'm turning into a giant balloon animal? Cut me a little slack here. His wide, awkward gait quickened as he gained confidence. See, now I've got the hang of it. Yeah, but where are you going? Wherever there are people. Wherever there's someone to help me.
He was so purposeful in his advance that he didn't notice his arms growing fatter along with the rest of him. They became stiff and compact, remaining outstretched as they couldn't move in any other fashion. The sublime physique that had earned him glances over girls' shoulders had deteriorated to tightly-packed fat of some description, and that fat proceeded to flourish in a liquid form, transforming him, little by little, into a human blimp. The very concept spat in the face of scientific reasoning. Ben was no biologist, but he knew that people rarely turned into living blue balloons by themselves in less than half an hour. As he lumbered forward, he heard fluid sloshing about inside of him. It just seemed to be a source of liquid that kept flowing from somewhere in a visceral cavity, swimming about and filling him up. There must have been a hell of a lot; he still hadn't stopped growing. What's that taste in my mouth? Sort of sweet, fruity. Blackcurrant? Strawberry? Blueberry, that's the one, blueberry.
He froze on the spot, denying the forward momentum he'd built up, a huge sessile mass. His eyes fell upon his chubby blue arms. He looked past his swollen chest to his enormous round belly. It groaned indignantly. The sight of himself finally jogged his already troubled mind.
Oh my God. I'm turning into a…a….
"I'm a freakin' blueberry!"
His voice carried through the building as if it were an ice cavern. Thankfully there were no avalanches nearby; Ben was not in the mood for running. He was a giant fruit. He wasn't swelling up, he was ripening. It was just like that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory movie. The gum in his bag. But he didn't eat it. Then what the hell was causing all this? Wait, if this is like the movie…then I'm going to…oh no. No way. Oh no, I can't explode, I can't. I wasn't meant to go like this. Who says? Shut up, I'm through listening to you. Fine, be like that. Go ahead and burst, blueberry. Shut up!
He had to get out of here. He looked everywhere for an exit. No luck at all. He suddenly noticed he was significantly heavier. Still growing. Growing faster even. Not much time. Getting hard to move. Oh man. I'll be bigger than the corridors soon. He needed somewhere to rest, somewhere he could fit comfortably, fast. A second later, he found the answer to all his prayers.
"The gym."
He gathered up the last remnants of his strength and managed one final charge towards the great double doors. One last push along the home stretch. Unable to put his arm forward, he forced open the doors with his abdomen. He waddled with all the speed he could scavenge until he reached the middle of the huge waxed wood floor of the basketball court. He planted his feet and ground eventually to a halt. He was not a minute too soon.
A few moments after this, his clothing completely gave way. His shirt tore open, his jeans were obliterated. His tighty whities weren't quite strong enough and snapped like a flimsy rubber band. Even his shoes were reduced to ribbons as his feet bulged and stretched to several sizes larger. His torso became completely round. His limbs lost all resemblance to their former shape. They were even absorbed into the main ball of his body, vanishing until only his swollen hands and feet were visible. The massive blue sphere just grew and grew, ripening into a gargantuan human fruit. His now relatively tiny head rose higher and higher off the ground. He couldn't see past his middle any more. His skin felt so tight, and it was getting tighter with every inch he gained. He couldn't stop. He was going to…. Ben closed his eyes.

A gruesome low squeak to signal his mortal flesh's limit.

Silence.

He opened his eyes. He looked around. Up at the ceiling. Around the walls. Down at the floor. He couldn't see much down there, his own bloated blue body was blocking the view. He could just make out, though, that he was now about twenty feet high. A big, round, twenty-foot human blueberry, with only a head, hands and feet protruding from the gleaming smooth surface of the giant fleshy, liquid-filled orb. I can't feel my arms. He flapped his hands a little and waved his hidden feet about. He still had control of the discernible parts of his body. What the hell did his innards look like though? What about his muscles, his skeleton? It was impossible, yet it just happened right before his eyes. This was beyond the principles of science. This was something more sinister at play. Whatever it was, he knew he'd be damn sore tomorrow morning.

A creak of hinges echoed through the gym. The double doors opened once more, revealing a now miniscule figure (compared to Ben, that is). The doors closed with an odd silence despite their size. The figure stood in front of the entrance, his gaze fixed on the freakish behemoth that awaited him.
"You were smart to come here. Plenty of space."
It was when Ben made out the face of his visitor that his eyes widened. His jaw fell open.
"You…."
Chapter four of Berryboy. The part that most of you have been waiting for.
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“Hey batter batter, hey batter batter, hey batter batter SWING!”

The players chuckled as Frankie Peterson struck out.  Again.  But no one was so
amused as Joey Palermo, who had to clutch his ribs for his guffawing.  Several
of the other players turned mild glares on him.  Joey was a baseball fiend.  Day
and night, he could be found practicing his fastballs against his own fence.  
And he was good.  So good, in fact, that he found it hilarious when someone else
did poorly.  Not something generally smiled upon by his peers.

It wasn’t that he meant any harm, of course.  His friends knew he had a good
heart and wasn’t meaning anything by his constant teasing.  It was other people
who didn’t know him well that generally got confused.  After all, with his tan,
muscular built stuffed beneath a tight white muscle shirt, a gold chain, and
slicked-back black hair, Joey looked more like a cover boy Greaser or Jock than
nice kid.

Which was exactly the misconception Frankie got as the teams ambled off the
field and into their dressing rooms.

“Hey,” Joey called, jogging up to the nerd and patting him hard on the back.  
Frankie frowned and readjusted his glasses, which had come askew.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say that you weren’t bad today,” Joey said, still grinning.
“Why, you almost did as well as my sister!”

Joey’s sister Lizabell was also a baseball fiend, and rather good.  But even so,
the insult stood that he had just accused Frankie of playing like a girl.  At
Frankie’s unamused glare, Joey burst into laughter again, hugging his sides as
the nerd stalked off the field, muttering under his breath.

“Hey, Joey,” a voice called.  Joey turned to see his friend, Kyle, heading for
him, his face a mask of concern. “Maybe you shouldn’t pick on Frankie like
that.”

“What’s wrong?” Joey laughed. “I’m just teasing.  He knows that.”

“Not everybody does, Joey,” Kyle warned. “And you’ve been picking on Frankie an
awful lot lately.”

“Aw, that’s an exaggeration.”

“Last week you made fun of him for being so skinny, showing off your muscles.”

“Teasing.”

“And said he’s be better off if he just got fat, then he could pretend he had
muscles underneath.”

“Well…”

“He stalked off the field, insisting that if you took your own advice, life
would be easier for everyone.  And then when you said he was catching
butterflies with his bat, and then the time you said that the ball wasn’t going
to kill him, so he might as well not run away from it.”

“Okay,” Joey sighed. “I guess I’m being a bit harsh.  Still, it’s not like I
mean anything.  Frankie’s a good kid, and that’s just how I like to hang out
with people.”

“Well, what if he started making fun of your English grades?”

“Hey!  I’m not all that bad at English.”

“And Frankie’s not all that bad at baseball.”

Joey paused, frowning as he glanced at the team still retreating for the locker
room.  Frankie had already run off.  He sighed.

“Okay, I hear you,” Joey admit. “I’ll apologize to him tomorrow before
practice.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Joey had no time to apologize, however.

He barreled into the locker room, panting heavily.  Halfway to the field, his
car had decided to break down.  Leaving Lizabell to deal with it when the tow
truck arrived, he had run all the way.

“Palermo!” Coach growled, peeking his head in to see Joey leaning against the
lockers, gasping for breath.

“Sorry… coach…” Joey panted. “Car…. Broke down.  Ran…. All… the way… be out
soon…”

“Right, right,” the coach grunted, scowling. “Well, get out there soon.  
Peterson says he’s got an upset stomach, and he’s gonna hang in here a while.  
We can’t afford to be set back two players.”

Joey watched as the coach left, still muttering to himself, and groaned.  He was
exhausted, and as much as he loved baseball, he doubted he would really be able
to get his head in the game today.

He began opening his locker, trying to focus on the combo with trembling fingers
when he heard footsteps.  He turned to see Frankie striding in more proudly than
ever, showing no signs of an upset stomach at all.  Was the scamp trying to pull
the wool over Coach’s eyes to get out of a practice?  Well, it was rather hot
outside.

“Hey, Joey,” Frankie said, grinning.  Joey furrowed his brows, frowning.  
Frankie had never been so friendly before.  What gave?

“Uh, hey Frankie,” he replied uncertainly. “What’s up?”

“With me?  Oh, nothing.  You on the other hand, geez.  You look about five kinds
of dehydrated.”

“Yeah,” Joey sighed, leaning his head against his open locker. “Hungry, too.  I
had to skip breakfast.”

“Oh, well,” Frankie said smugly, suddenly standing up straight and pulling a
foreign article out of his pocket.

Joey eyed it curiously.  It looked to be a small square of gum, wrapped in old
fashioned blue paper covered with superfluous, flowing script.  Definitely a
brand he’d never seen before.

“I suppose I won’t be needing this as much as you, then,” Frankie said, tossing
the gum, which Joey caught eagerly.

“Hey, thanks Frankie,” he said, hurriedly unwrapping the blue gum and stuffing
it in his mouth.  Frankie chuckled.

“Just be sure to swallow it before practice.  You know how Coach is about
chewing gum.”

“Yeah,” Joey laughed. “He’s just like my old choir teach- oh, wow!”

The flavor hit him like an anvil.  For a moment, he was stunned.  Blueberry gum,
which he had never heard of, with such intense flavor that he would have thought
he was eating actual fresh blueberries.  For a moment, he forgot all his other
senses, completely focused on the taste that had filled his mouth.  It was
incredible!

“What is it?” Frankie asked a little too eagerly.  Joey moaned, smiling as he
enjoyed the taste.

“This is the most incredible stuff I’ve ever had… where did you get it,
Frankie?”

“Oh you know.  Around.”

Joey would have pressed his teammate for further information, but couldn’t think
much around the taste.  Remarkable!  He didn’t even USE words like remarkable!

The hunger and dehydration had already ebbed severely, as though he had just
gorged himself on fruit.  But he couldn’t stop chewing.  The gum was just too
good!  Now all he really had to worry About was being too full to play the game well!

“Hey, Coach is probably going to call you out, soon,” Frankie said suddenly,
startling Joey out of his euphoria.  “You’d probably better swallow that stuff
so you can get out there.”

Joey sighed.  He was reluctant to stop chewing, but swallowing would probably be
a good deal easier than trying to somehow spit it out.  He gulped, feeling the
blueberry-tasting lump slide down his throat, where he lost all feeling of it.  
The taste in his mouth, however, didn’t fade.  Frankie leaned against the
locker, his eyes alight with a wicked gleam that matched the smirk on his lips.

“That was pretty amazing stuff, Frankie,” Joey said, stretching his suddenly
stiff muscles. “You have to tell me where you got it.”

But Frankie wasn’t listening.  Instead, his face melted into an expression of
staged shock and he pointed at Joey with a gasp.

“Joey, l-look at you!” he stuttered.  Joey, puzzled, looked down at himself, and
gasped equally.  A pale lavender sheen had crept onto his once perfectly tan
skin.  He lifted up a hand, looking it over, and started in shock to see it
darkening into a deep indigo.

“What’s happening to-hic-me?” he jumped slightly at the hiccup, suddenly feeling
bloated.  The taste hadn’t lessened one bit.  He hiccuped twice more, perturbed
as the bloated feeling intensified.  He tried holding his breath, placing his
hands on his head.

“Hic…hic…hic…”

The sheer fullness that centered in his gut was growing horribly uncomfortable.  
He groaned and placed his hands on his abdomen, shocked to discover his once
tight stomach had grown rounder and puffier.

“What the-hic”

He gasped, feeling his stomach actually puff out more beneath his fingers, which
sent him into a new wave of hiccups.  Each spasm of his diaphragm send his
stomach out another millimeter, then another centimeter.

“Wow, the gum must have caught in your espohagus,” Frankie remarked calmly.
“Every hiccup is probably causing more juice to flow down into your stomach and
intestines.”

“How do you-hic-ugh…”  Joey groaned as this hiccup pushed his stomach out a
noticeable inch.  The rounded belly had become more obvious beneath his white
body shirt, through which his indigo skin was clearly visible.

“Do you want me to get you some water?” Frankie suggested thoughtfully.  Joey
moaned (and hiccuped) as his stomach grew tauter and rounder.

“N-no –hic- I’m so full I –hic, hic- don’t think that –hic- would be such a good
–hic- idea.”

And it was true.  With every hiccup, he could actually feel the juice pumping
into his gut.  As appealing as the idea of stopping the hiccups was, he couldn’t
imagine consciously eating or drinking anything.

“Ugh, I’m so –hic- full,” Joey groaned, leaning back against the lockers and
massaging his belly, which had begun peeking our the bottom of his shirt.  He
was afraid to look down, but he already knew how it probably looked.  He’d seen
pregnant women before.

He hiccuped again, and the shirt slid up above his belly button.  It was getting
heavier and heavier.  Joey’s legs shook with the effort of holding the bulk up.  
He slid his hands underneath, trying to support his girth with his arms.  More
hiccups.  He could only just wrap his arms around it now.

“We’d better get you out of here, man," Frankie said suddenly. "Want to make
sure you can fit through the door.  You don't want to get stuck, do you?"

Joey glanced up, struggling to how back a hiccup.

"How big am I gonna -hic- get?"

"I don't know," Frankie replied, a little too quickly.  He took Joey's arm and
began to steer him toward the door.  In a few steps, Joey was already struggling
to catch his breath.  It was hard to breathe when he was so full and fat.

He took up a waddling gait, hurrying awkwardly for the door, hiccuping the whole
way.  Each hiccup made movement even more impossible, but there was nothing he
could do about it.

"W-Wait," he gasped as they neared the door. "I need to... catch my...
breath..."

He let go of his stomach to lean his arms against the wall, breathing heavily.  
His back ached from the effort of supporting his girth, and he hated the feeling
of his belly, so huge now, fitting between his thoughs.  He hurriedly closed his
legs together, if nothing else for the sake of modesty.

"At least your hiccups stopped," Frankie remarked wryly.  Joey glanced up,
realizing that Frankie was right.  Relief flooded through him and he sighed.

"Yeah, but how am I gonna get rid of this?"

He gestured helplessly toward his stomach.

Frankie pondered this very seriously for several moments.

“Well, seeing as you’re filled with juice…”

“Wait!” Joey interrupted.  Awkwardly, he shifted around for a better view of his
teammate. “How do you know this is juice?”

Frankie seemed momentarily stunned, but shook it off.

“Just a guess.  But since it’s juice, we’ll probably have to juice you.  If we
can.”

Joey gulped uncomfortably, deciding not to push whatever Frankie meant.  
Besides, the sooner he got out of the locker room, the sooner he could get help.  
It was strange, though, that Frankie didn’t run to get it right when Joey had
started turning blue.

Joey stood, prepared to waddle forward when he felt something odd.  Like a
continuous, odd gush flowing.

His thighs pressed together tightly.  Panicked, he tried to hold them there, but
despite his efforts, they began pushing out against each other, widening his
stance.  He couldn’t see them, but he could feel them inflating, as his stomach
had, barely fitting within the boundaries of his jeans.

“Wh-what now?” he gasped.  Frankie leaned against the wall calmly.

“Well, this is just a guess,” he supplied. “But suppose the hiccups in your
esophagus sent the juice flowing into your stomach?  Well, now that it’s there,
it can start flowing out more.”

Joey groaned as hit pants began to pinch uncomfortably around his thighs as they
filled fuller and fuller.  Even his backside was flowing out, his hips
attempting to flare but for the restraining waist size he had once sported.

“You’d better get out of the locker room,” Frankie said. “Before you’re too
big.”

“Too… big…” Joey gasped.  The larger stomach must have meant more room for
butterflies in his stomach, because he had never felt so anxious.

Slowly, now with his steadily expanding lower body to contend with, he waddled
toward the door, one ponderous step at a time.  Just as he was slipping through
the frame, though, he paused as realization is him.

His hips brushed both sides of the doorframe.

“Come on, get out there!” Frankie snapped, giving Joey a sport push in the back.  
Joey stumbled forward, suddenly realizing that had Frankie not pushed him, he
would probably have been stuck in the doorframe.  Maybe indefinitely.

When he reached the middle of the hall, he stopped, gasping for air.

“C-can’t go… further,” he panted. “T-t-too… full…”

“That’s okay,” Frankie said cheerfully, coming up to pat his shoulder. “ At
least now you’re in a position where I can help you.”

Joey would have said ‘thanks’, had the steady tightening of his pants not been a
factor in taking away his breath.  He groaned, fumbling under his massive belly
to unbutton them.  That was when he noticed how huge his fingers were.

Joey choked, bringing one hand up to view.  His once normal fingers were not fat
sausages in a fatter arm.  He grimaced, half from horror, half from the painful
tightening of his clothes.

Bang!

Relief flooded through him as the button shot off like a bullet, allowing some
of his breath to return.  Inhaling quickly, he turned to Frankie, suddenly aware
that the nerd was still watching with a strange bemusement.

“Frankie,” he said seriously, brows furrowing on his dark indigo face. “Tell me
what’s going on.  What’s happening to me?  How big am I gonna get?”

“You ever seen Willie Wonka?”  Frankie asked offhandedly.  The butterflies
returned tenfold, some flittering up into his chest.  Frankie must have seen
this in Joey’s face, because he grinned and chuckled. “Just look at the
expresion on that fat face of yours!”

Joey sputtered, bringing his inflating hands up to feel his face.  Sure enough,
his cheeks has poofed out slightly, not enough for him to notice on his own.  
Frankie seemed momentarily pleased before returning to the topic at hand.

“Well, you’ll be bigger than the old version.  A lot bigger.  But not quite as
big as the new one.  Do you get what I’m saying?”

“YOU!” Joey yelled angrily. “You’re doing this as some kind of sick revenge
plot."

"good job," Frankie chuckled. "I didn't even have to say it myself.  You're not
a dumb as you look, blueberry boy."

Joey scowled, infuriated as he balled his fat hands into fists.

“Why you little-I’m gonna pound your dork face in till you see out of the back
of your head!”

Angrily, he made to stamp forward, momentarily forgetting the nature of his
predicament.  He could barely lift his foot off the ground, and when he tried,
it only caused the juice within him to slosh and splash loudly.  He wobbled
uncertainly, waving his arms until two seemingly miniscule hands caught his
side, steadying him.  Instinctively, Joey tried to turn to face Frankie, to beat
the snot out of him, but found that he could no longer move.

“Be patient,” Frankie said irritably, taking a few steps back. “This will all be
over soon.  Making a fuss isn’t going to help you or anything.  Though it is
pretty funny to see the blueberry boy wobble.”

Joey groaned in humiliation, but there was nothing he could do.  A series of
rips and snaps sounded as, little by little, his jeans began to coma apart at
the seams, no longer capable of holding in his massive legs.

His muscle shirt, which had long since rolled up over his stomach, was now
stretched tightly and uncomfortably from armpit to armpit.  Awkwardly, he tried
to remove it with arms that grew rounder and more conelike by the second.  
Frankie came in and helped to pull the shirt over his head, but hurried off to a
safe distance of about five feet before Joey could hit him.

Joey’s backside had also begun to round out, easing the weight on his front, but
doing nothing to alleviate the humiliation of his situation.  His legs were now
nothing more than conelike knees, his arms fat and nearly horizontal to his
almost spherical body.

He began to notice that the hall, large as it was, was becoming uncomfortably
small, the ceiling seeming to get lower and lower.  Not only was he getting
rounder, he was getting taller, too!

When he felt his crotch touch the floor, it all came out.  He couldn’t just wait
here for Frankie to enact whatever sick revenge he had in mind (if there was
anything sicker than this!)  How could he trust the guy to really juice him in
the end!?  For all Joey knew, Frankie could have a safety pin in his pocket
right now.

Grunting and flapping his arms, he tried to shift forward and move.  Frankie
only laughed at his efforts, but Joey refused to give up.  Every second he could
see his belly expanding further, his arms growing smaller, his legs shrinking.  
He couldn’t waste any time.

With a terrific lurch, Joey managed to move his bloated form… but it was nothing
more than an embarrassing roll onto his stomach.  Juice sloshed and gushed
uncomfortably inside him, like small waves, causing his body to rock violently.

To his dismay, he found that his limbs held no hope of touching the ground.  
Even his head was hovering several feet above the stone floor, and inching
farther away by the second.

An uncomfortably pat on his bare back alerted him to Frankie’s presence.

“You know, that’s really useless,” the nerd explained. “You can’t exactly move
on your own anymore.  Kinda sad for the baseball star, isn’t it?”

Joey moaned in despair.  Frankie patted his back harder this time, causing some
pressure to well up in Joey’s bloated stomach.

“Amazing… I don’t know what to compare you to.  I’d say a balloon, but your skin
is way too tight this way.  Never thought human skin was so elastic and touch at
the same time.  You really do feel like a blueberry, skin, juice, even smell and
all.  Except much, much more fragile.”

Frankie began tapping his fingers on Joey’s back, causing the pressure to gurgle
and intensify.  Joey swallowed, focusing only on a chip in the paint on the
cement floor.

“What, nothing to say?  Maybe your insides have started turning into blueberry
flesh.  I wouldn’t know, I didn’t make the gum.  Wish I could find out.”

Joey gulped, and suddenly the pressure exploded from his mouth.

“BEEEEEEEEELCH!”

Joey gasped for air, a slight leak of blueberry juice falling from his mouth.  
Frankie leaned down, examining it.

“Well, what do you know.  You can juice yourself.  Hope you know how to control
your belches, blueberry boy.”

Frankie grinned and turned to walk away, leaving Joey, poor and inflating, along
in the hallway.

“N-no, wait!” he called.  Frankie paused and turned around, a wicked smirk in
place.

“Ah, so you need me?”

Joey sighed and dropped his head.  He didn’t need to go on beckoning Frankie,
though, for he returned.  Almost instantly, Joey felt himself being rolled back
into a position he would have once called “On his feet”

Those very feet, he noticed disdainfully, dangled above the floor, nothing more
than fat nubs from his ankles down.

His arms, also, were useless but for his wrists outward.  It was hopeless.  
Frankie had won.

Joey watched in semi-morbid fascination as his inflating body engulfed what was
left of his limbs, save for fat hands and feet.  Surely this was it.  Now if
only Frankie would get this juice out of him…

But that wasn’t the end.  The juice continued to flow, now rising up into his
shoulders, puffing them out further.  His neck thickened, becoming one with the
rest of his body.  Joey tried to calm his breathing as he felt his shoulders
pressing up into his jaw.

Next, the juice flowed into his face.  Before it had been but a sample, a taste
of juice to help his cheeks to match the rest of his fat body.  Now, his lips
plumped, his nose fattened, his cheeks puffed out as extremely as a chipmunk’s.  
Joey whimpered softly as they began to press up into his lower eyelids, making
vision difficult.

“Well, you look good and round,” Frankie mocked. “What say we roll you out.”

“P-pweeze…” Joey blubbered, his voice muffled by his cheeks and shoulders.
“Pw-pw-mmph… mmm”

“What was that?  You’re not ready.  You’re a daring one, Joey, how big to you
want to get?”

“Pw…aw cwn bwee-mmph pmmph  mm-mmm!  Mmph!”

“Well, I’m gonna roll you out,” Frankie said.  Joey assumed he was shrugging,
though he couldn’t see through his fat cheeks.  He felt hands on his swollen
side toppling him over and rolling him steadily across the concrete floor.  
Nausea welled up in his stomach, and he wished desperately to throw up.  Maybe
that would get rid of some of the juice.

He felt the doors swing open by his side and bright sunlight filtered down.

Joey grimaced (though expression was hard with his swollen face) at the shocked gasps and murmurs that exploded around the field at his ghastly appearance.

"Frankie, what happened?"

"Joey?  Joey?  Holy cow!"

"I don't know!" Frankie cried in false shock, patting Joey's swollen side. "I just found him this way."

"That's not right."

"You were in there when he got here."

"You must have seen what happened!"

"MMPH!" Joey blubbered. "Mmm-mm-mmph!"

"What's wrong?"

"Why can't he talk?"

"The juice has filled him too tight," Frankie explained. "He's too swollen to say anything."

There was a brief pause, before more outraged yells.

"Yeah?  And how do you know that for certain, Frankie?"

"I thought you had no idea."

Frankie had begun to panic, feebly defending himself, but for all his acting before Joey, he had no defense against an outraged baseball team.

"You jerk!  He was going to apologize to you, but he got here too late to do it."

"Geez, if this is your revenge for a little namecalling, you're over the top, Frankie."

"I-I'm sorry," Frankie stumbled, genuine guilt seeping into his voice. "I didn't realize... wait, I know how to juice him.  But it's going to be messy."

"How do we do that?"

"I say you should do it yourself, you idiot!"

"No, think of poor Joey."

"Okay, Team!" the coach's voice suddenly boomed. "Play together, work together.  We're going to help our teammate out."

Joey tried to sigh in relief, but couldn't through his puffy cheeks.

"First, boys, we roll him to the football field.  That'll teach coach Burmann to insult my sport..."

"But Coach, won't they know it was us?"

"How would they know?  Blueberry juice and baseball aren't regularly affiliated things, you know."

Joey felt hands press gently against him, rolling him across the soft grass, down the hill (very carefully) and into the middle of what he assumed to be the football field.  Coach shouted directions, and the team shifted around, people surrounding him in a big circle.

"Ready?  One, two..."

Every pair of hands suddenly pressed against his skin.

"Three!"

And pushed.  An intense pressure welled up inside of him, making his ears ring.  For a moment, Joey feared he would pop.  Then, a torrent of blueberry juice rushed out his mouth, dripped from his nose, leaked from his ears, his eyes, even his very pores.

The pressure stopped, and already Joey could feel himself returning to normal.

"One, two, three!"

.........................................................

When Joey was at a very human side again, and no longer capable of being juiced by others, he took it upon himself to press down on his stomach and cough up the last of the juice.  It was rather embarrassing to sit, drenched in blueberry juice, clad only in his too-big underwear in the middle of a blueberry-juice drenched football field, but he was just glad to be back to normal.

Unfortunately, though, no one could locate the gum amidst the lake of blueberry Juice.  Joey was fine with it, though.  He never wanted to see that gum again.

They all hit the showers before a belated practice was to begin again.  Joey borrowed clothes from a slight boy named Jason.  Coach wouldn't allow him to practice right away, for despite his recent superhydration, Joey was rather white and shaky.

He sat out the first half of practice, watching with a strange new respect for Frankie, who really did play better.

He didn't plan to cross the nerd again.

Coach let him take part in the second half of practice, and though his performance was a little down, he was glad to play the game again.  Seemingly without any lingering effects.

As they wandered off the field, though, sweating and laughing, Kyle stopped in his tracks, staring wide-eyed at Joey.

"What?" Joey demanded, still rather self conscious.

"Y-your nose," Kyle choked. "It's turning blue."

"Blue as a blueberry," Frankie gasped, a complete not-what-I-planned look etched on his face.
Just a simple trade with theblueberrybull. Took me forever to get to sit down and write, though. It was rather fun, as my general line of stories don't usually involve villain interaction.
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Pumped Up for the Football Game

Alex was heading to the locker room all by himself.  It was the night before the first game of the season and he had just finished football practice.  He had hung back on the field after his teammates, flirting with a group of cheerleaders.  When he finally headed to the showers the rest of the team had changed and left for home.  

Alex was no doubt the top jock on the squad. Short in stature, a deficiency that he more than compensated for by his big muscles, the jock liked to say there was no way he was going to make himself taller so he bout as well be wider. Captain of the team, Alex and his crew ruled the school and everyone in it.  If Alex liked you – life could be good but if Alex didn’t, he could make your life hell.  

The team manager and water boy was a tall skinny freshman named Derek; the stud wouldn't give the time of day to. Derek envied any guy who got close to him.  Though Derek knew there could be worse things than being invisible to Alex and his crew. Derek had witnessed Alex and his pals at work the week before when they held down one of the other water boys and duct taped him to a bench in the locker room.  The jocks had done quite a job, stripping the boy to his underwear and not stopping until the boy was covered with silver tape from the neck to his ankles like some space age mummy.  It had taken the coaches and Derek nearly thirty minutes to cut the boy free and pull the tape off, stripping the victim clean of what body hair he had in the process. The only fallout that Derek knew of was that the boy was no longer a water boy for the football team.  

Back on the practice field, Derek had watched as the fawning cheerleaders had pealed the stud’s jersey off his padded torso as the manager hauled equipment to the locker room.  The jock had made a big deal of picking one of the hot cheerleaders he would loan the jersey to so she could wear it to school the following day as they ‘oohhed’ and ‘aahhed’ over the stud’s six-pack abs.  The manager had heard the girls tease and plead for the honor.  

Alex walked into the locker room where the manager was cleaning up and shelving equipment.  "Hey Alex", said Derek.

"Hi," he replied coldly.  

By the time he strutted into the locker room, Alex carried his decal - covered helmet under his arm while he still wore his shoulder pads over a long sleeved UA shirt.  His silver practice pants were skin tight and clung to his muscled legs and meaty ass. His leg pads stood out distinctly under the thin material highlighting his already thick legs.  His shoes clicked against the cement floor.  The athlete was absentmindedly chewing on the strap to his mouth guard.

Derek was always surprised at how muscled the senior was when he stood next to the hulk.  He could have walked onto any bodybuilding stage and fit right in. There were other strong jocks in the school but none compared to Alex. Thick neck, broad shoulders, eighteen inch arms, and prominent traps, he had them all.  Alex’s pecs were always on view for all to see in the tight shirts the jock favored.  Suited up for football Alex looked even bigger if not taller.  At 5’6” the jock was no giant but ready for a game he looked almost as wide as he was tall.  Alex grabbed up a couple towels from a nearby pile and wiped the sweat off his head.  His muscled arms stretched the thin sleeves of his shirt with every movement.  His biceps swelled under the pale blue fabric.

The jock pulled the towels from his face and dropped them to the floor before he noticed the manager watching him.  Alex pulled the mouth guard from his teeth with a sneer on his handsome face and asked, “What are you staring at, pussy?”

“Nothing.”

Alex tossed his helmet to Derek with two hands, hard as if he were passing him a basketball.  Derek caught the helmet and gave it a twirl as he deftly hung it up over the lockers with the others.  The manager thought he caught a momentary look of amusement in Alex’s eye – was it grudging respect or just surprise that he hadn’t clumsily dropped and fumbled over the helmet?

“Good practice!  Game aught to be a breeze tomorrow.”  Derek said, “Boy was it hot out there.”

“Yeah, hot”, the jock mumbled.

In a flash the manager picked up a jug from a rack in front of him and tossed the bottle hard at Alex as he said, “I saved a Gatorade for ya.”

The jock was caught off guard by the unexpected move as much as Derek had been when he tossed him his helmet.  Alex reached up and knocked the sweaty bottle into the air just before it would have impacted his chest. He watched it spin in the air a couple times before he caught it with his other hand.  Alex took a deep swig at the bottle and chuckled.  He glanced over to Derek and said, “Thanks, dude.”

The manager went back to sorting out the empty water bottles and tossing them into a nearby sink of soapy water.  Alex sat down on the bench with a groan and bent over and started plucking at the laces on one of his shoes.  All the while he sucked on the bottle that Derek had given him.

“Shit, I’m beat.”  The jock said as he gave up on his shoes and just sat there for a moment.  The player straddled the bench and lay down on his back staring up at the ceiling.  “I thought Coach was gonna kill us tonight. We used to be able to count on an easy practice before a game night.”

Derek chuckled as he glanced up from his work. The bully looked huge lying on the bench. Alex was thick even if he hadn’t been wearing his pads.  Derek watched the jock stretched out in front of him.

“What’s your name, Eric or something?”  Alex sat up and drummed on the bench between his legs.

“Derek”

“Yeah, yeah that’s right.  Derek.”  Alex let out a belch.  “That sports drink hit the spot.  Got another?”

The manager thought, ‘Especially for you I do, stud.’  He reached over and pulled another from the cooler and handed it to Alex who seemed to have relaxed his attitude toward him a bit.  He was almost friendly now.

Alex belched again.  “You was here when we gave ole Burnsy the mummy treatment the other day weren’t ya?”  Alex looked down and rubbed his hand over the sticky spot on the wood bench next to him where the water boy had been attached to the seat as he replayed the scene proudly in his mind.

“Benny.”

“What?”

“His name is Benny. Yeah, I was here.”

“Yeah, Benny – the little dude – looks like he’s about twelve.” Alex laughed loudly,

“That was some funny shit!  We got some pictures and are gonna see they make the yearbook.  Where is that little cunt anyway?  I haven’t seen him all week.”

“I think he is managing the swim team now.”

BELCH!  Alex laughed again.  “Well good for him, that whiny little turd got on my nerves.  You taking over his job?”

“Yeah.”

“Good”, the jock said.

Derek glanced up at Alex.  The football stud was sucking down the last of the second bottle of the sports drink.  Derek’s plans couldn’t have gone any better as he watched the jock suck the bottle dry.  The muscled jock gave the bottle a high toss and Alex snatched it out of the air.  Alex let go with a wall shacking burp.  “I’m a fucking gas bag tonight.”

Derek grinned to himself.

“I’d better shut up and get changed.  Got plans to meet the cheerleaders for pizza.  Those bitches just about pull each other’s hair out for the chance for a some private time with ‘Little Alex’.”  The football stud reached down and adjusted the cup he wore under his tight pants with a cocky grin. “If I play my cards right, I bet I can talk them into a group party with this stud.”   The jock laughed. “You notice the rack on Sally.  I’m talking grade A mammerys, my friend.” The jock cupped his hands out over his chest as he squeezed her imaginary jugs as if he suddenly sported them.  

Alex stood up and slowly reached up under his shoulder pads and started to fumble with the strap connected to the left plastic breastplate.  He couldn’t get it unhooked.  The thickly muscled player had trouble looking down for a better view as he worked since the pads were shoved under his chin by the effort.  “Son of a bitch!  I’m stiff as hell tonight.”  The jock swallowed another belch.  “I feel like I’m out growing my pads.”

“You’re blowing up all right.  All those big muscles are making you clumsy?  Maybe you aught to back of the weight lifting before you get too muscle bound.”

“Muscle bound my ass!” Alex laughed, “No fucking way.”  He dropped his hands from the strap giving up for the moment as he swung his muscled arms back and forth and stuck out his chest proudly. Alex did a favorite trick of bouncing his meaty pecs which made his shoulder pads rise and fall a bit just to show off.  The man grinned as he rocked his thick neck back and forth as he stood with his arms wide flexing his muscles proudly. His shoulder pads seemed to rise up on his torso till they rubbed under his ears as he strutted.  “There’s no such thing as too much muscle and I’m just getting started, little man! Remember that!”

Derek grinned as he glanced up at the jacked stud. ‘We’ll see if you still feel that way in about twenty minutes’, he thought.  Derek could see the guy’s muscled belly starting to pout just a bit.

“I’m just a growing boy, that’s all.  I’ll have to talk to Coach about some bigger gear before long.  Hey Eric, is the whirlpool warmed up?  Maybe I aught to soak these big muscles before I head out.  I’m just stiff from all the weights and practice.”

“It’s Derek.”

“Yeah, sure whatever you say, stud.”

The manager walked over to the stainless steel tank on the far side of the room and turned it on.  He dipped his hand into the water.  “Yeah, it’s hot.”  He turned to face the jock who had returned his attention again to the straps that ran under his arms. The jock was pressing up on the pads with his eyes rolled down as if he could see what the problem was.

Derek could see what the problem was.  Alex was inflating.  His body was slowly blowing up just as he had planned.  The young manager could hardly take his eyes off the clueless stud as his muscles seemed to inflating all at once.  Derek had spiked the sports drinks he had held back for him.  After what the water boy had seen the stud do to Benny the week before, he thought it fitting that Alex’s body was now blowing up to match the size of his inflated ego.

Alex’s arms were packed with swelling muscles slowing his movements.  Derek could see that his tight pants had grown even tighter as ripples appeared near the laces up the front and the belt was digging tightly into his waist.  Alex had cut the tail of his shirt off and his thickening abs and gut ball could be seen poking out under the jagged edge of the shirt as he swelled.  All the while the jock was racked with belches.

Alex said, “Well fuck!”  He dropped his hands down again giving up on the strap under his arms.  His back and chest had widened so that now the heavy belt that circled his chest on the lowered edges of the shoulder pads seemed to be cinching tighter by the second.  The jock was having trouble-drawing air into his lungs.  Alex reached up and unhooked the heavy belt with a clatter letting the straps hang from the back of the pads as he glanced up at Derek.  The manager could tell the jock was thinking about asking for help getting out of his pads but didn’t want to.  The jock turned and looked at a mirror on the opposite wall so he could see why the hook on the strap was implanted into the pads so tightly.  

When he did, Derrick got a good view of Alex’s bubbled ass rising out of the top of his tightening pants.  He had a good inch or two of ass crack and bloated buns showing at the top.  Alex stepped closer to the mirror as he fumbled with the hook on the front of the pads.  He reached back and tried to pull his pants higher as he felt the air hit bare skin.  The jock tugged at the strap as he stepped back from the mirror when he for the first time noticed how hulked out his muscles looked.  He mumbled, “What the hell is happening to me!”

At the same moment, he freed the strap from the left side of his chest with a pop and stood there staring at his reflection.  Alex lowered his head and let out a slow but loud belch.  Just then the belt on his pants broke open and hung from the loops around his waist. The lacing up the front had begun to rip open. Alex glanced down but couldn’t see anything below his plastic armored chest.  He glanced back up at his reflection and muttered, “ I look like I’m blowing up like a fucking balloon!”

He started to fumble with the other strap under his right arm but had trouble bending his hulking arms now.  The jock lost his patience and grabbed the shoulder pads and tried to push them over his head but between the remaining strap and his swollen upper body he failed.  “Help me get these off, damn it!”  The man turned stiffly toward Derek to see the kid grinning at him.  Derek didn’t move.

Alex felt the straps and pads of his football gear cutting into him on all fronts.  The big man took a step toward Derek but stopped winching with pain.  Alex looked like he might explode out of his uniform at any moment as he stood before him with his arms and legs spread wide and the too small shoulder pads rubbing under his chin forcing his head back.  Then Alex slowly reached his fingers into his tight elastic pants and fished out the cup that held his jewels so uncomfortably and tossed it aside.  He took another swaying step toward Derek as he rubbed his bulging crotch.

Alex looked up at Derek and his eyes widened.  “You did this to me! You skinny fuck!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”  Derek grinned. “You’re just a growing boy, right?”

Alex looked around and said, “I got to get out of here.” He took a step for the door – a waddle was more like it.  His swelling muscles packed into the tight clothes made any movement awkward and clumsy.  The tightening cuffs of his pants were squeezing into his knees cutting off his circulation.  The guy’s calves were about the size of volleyballs and wrapped around his shins. Tiny patches of skin were erupting through holes as the seams on his pants began to give out.

"You're not going anywhere," Derek laughed as he out moved the inflated jock with a rough shoulder to his chest nearly knocking Alex out of the way.  The team manager locked the locker room door and slipped the keys into his pocket.  

The jock yelled, “Hey coach! Get out here. Help me.  COACH?”

“Save your voice.  Coach had to go downtown to a school board meeting. He left me to lock up tonight so there’s nobody to hear you, big guy.”

Alex was panicked as he glanced over at the mirror to check on his growth.  He was so transfixed on his swelling reflection in the mirror that he didn’t noticed Derek coming up quickly behind him with the hose in his hand. “You should be about ready for some real growth right about now.”   The manager grabbed a hand full of Alex’s blond hair and jerked his head back.  Before the jock could say anything he shoved the hose deeply into his mouth and down his throat.  The jock’s arms were already stiff and his shoulder pads blocked him from reaching the rubber hose.  The jock looked over trembling as he saw Derek open the valve on a large air tank that was attached to the hose.

Alex had a look of terror about him. He felt pressure growing in his muscles.  The shoulder pads now pressed firmly under his chin as his upper body out grew them.  It felt as though his neck was being stretched out longer by the second. "Oh no, he’s blowing me up like a balloon!" he thought to himself. Alex began to waddle backwards trying to get away from Derek.  The grinning manager followed him closely as he strung out the hose that fed Alex’s inflation as he went. Alex backed into the door leading into the gymnasium, which easily swung open.  The football star stumbled into the vast gym with his arms and legs growing stiff as he felt his muscled body growing thicker and wider by the second.  The helpless jock was only able to watch his body swell with wide eyes.

Alex out grew his football uniform quickly.  With a loud pop the strap that ran under his right arm broke free and the shoulder pads kicked sideways.  Derek reached over with a knife and sliced open the laces down the front of the pads and pulled them off the ballooning man. In a few seconds Alex’s pants were giving way to the pressure and falling away in pieces.  Alex was dressed now in a black jock strap and the cropped pale blue spandex shirt that now barely covered his enormous pecs.  

Derek walked around the swelling jock as he inspected his handy work.  Alex was huge now.  His over blown upper body were bigger than he had been padded up.  His thick upper back over shadowed his tight waist.  The tanned skin of his back was stretched thin over quaking mounds of swelling muscle.  The jock looked like an inflating anatomy chart. His shoulders were capped with two basketball - sized delts and the man’s arms hung out at his sides as the swollen muscles pressed together on all sides.  Alex’s forearms were almost as big as his upper arms making bending at the elbow nearly impossible.  Everywhere fat veins covered his body.  As the football player inflated he slowly bent forward as if his rubber muscles were taking over his joints, contorting his small frame to make room for more growth.  

Alex’s bubbled assed stuck out enormously as the sphere was dimpled with thickening rippled muscles.  The straps of his black jock strap dug deeply into his ass.  Derek laughed as he noticed the jock’s tan ended in a tiny pale area of the skimpy posing suit the jock must have worn while tanning.  Alex’s legs were wider than Derek’s chest and his hamstrings had the look of real hams now as if two huge hunks of meat had been stuffed under his thin skin and supported his mammoth ass.  His calves were unreal as the swelling vein covered globes covered his legs from knees to ankle.

Derek slowly walked around the front side of Alex.  The hulk’s body was forced to lean forward even further by his inflation.  His massive arms hung down under his chest uselessly.  Alex’s spandex shirt had held up to the inflation but now his nipples were peaking out beneath the jagged edge where the jock had shortened the shirt to show off his six-pack.  Alex’s pecs were so big now his erect nipples pointed to the floor under the huge balloons of muscle.  

“Sally’s got nothing on your jugs now!” Derek said as he reached up and squeezed the jock’s thick nipple roughly.

Alex’s muscle packed waist was still small in comparison to the overblown rest of him, almost too small as he now looked oddly wasp waisted.  

Derek was proud of what he had done to the cocky jock. He reached out and poked a finger into the football stud’s swollen pec noting how inflated it felt.

Alex began to try to talk despite the thick hose that was firmly lodged into his mouth.  As a result a mumbled senseless noise resulted frequently interrupted by what had to be muffled burps.  The jock’s handsome face was red and distorted by fear as he tried to beg for help.  All the while Alex feared that the manager planned to inflate him until he popped like an over blown balloon and the way he felt that moment wasn’t far off.

Alex’s short body continued to bend forward as the air tank hulked him out.  He had taken on the look of a hairless gorilla as his muscled legs and arms overpowered the rest of his body.  His wide upper back continued to grow wider and thicker by the second as he was forced to lean further forward.  

Derek noticed the stud’s frightened eyes locked on him as he inspected the jock’s inflated muscles.  The manager chuckled at his helpless victim blowing up beside him.  Derek noticed a tear fall from the Alex’s eye.  

He grinned as he reached up and put his hand on the hulk’s back while reaching under and rubbing his inflated abs, “There, there big guy.  No need to get all upset.”  Derek leaned and whispered, “Though you got to admit: this is some funny shit.”  

As the manager rubbed his belly he noticed the pressure growing in that area and stood back to check it out.  As if the stud’s over blown muscles could take no more air, Alex’s prized muscled belly began to mound up.  The manager watched as it morphed into a melon sized roid gut, then to the size of a basketball before swelling to the size of a beach ball.  All the while the inflating muscle gut forced his upper body to a more upright position as it inflated.  Alex’s garbled pleading grew more intense.  The manager stepped up and poked the massive gut ball as it grew big enough to hold a couple of Alex’s fawning cheerleaders.

The football stud was completely immobilized. Alex fell onto his swollen back before Derek like some over blown muscle blimp. Derek laughed as he put his foot on the inflated man’s chest and pulled the hose slowly out his mouth.

The inflated jock let out a steady and loud belch that had no effect on his now parade sized inflation.  "What have YOU done to me? I'm huge! I can’t move! You got to fix me," Alex moaned.

"Dude, fix you?  I just got done fixing you. I just got you pumped up for the big game bro," Derek replied coolly.  “Besides what was that you said about there being no such thing as too much muscle, big man? Wait till everybody gets a load of you.”

“No man, you can’t leave me like this!  You got to help me and let some air out.  I can’t move, dude.”

Derek laughed at him.

“Come on man, name your price.  I’ll get you anything.  You want my car it’s yours, just don’t leave me like this.  How about Sally?  You like Sally – all I have to do is say the word and she would do anything ya want.”

The manager walked over to a box nearby and pulled out a shaving kit that had Alex’s initials on the side.  The inflated athlete’s eyes grew wide.  “Where did you get that?”

“Where the fuck do you think I got it?  You don’t want people going through your car, I’d suggest you not leave your keys in your jeans pocket during practice.”  As he spoke Derek had sat down on the next to Alex’s head and opened the leather pouch.  He slowly pulled out some bags of pills and vials that he sat on the shiny floor in front of Alex.

“You want my juice – I don’t care it’s yours.  I’ll get you more.  Fuck, you want big muscles I’ll train ya – just don’t leave me like this.”

“Nah, what I was thinking was unless you want your stash found, you’d better forget how you blew up all of a sudden when everybody finds you here in the morning.”

BELCH “I…I… You can’t!  

“I’d suggest an allergic reaction or maybe you got real hungry cause the way I see it the coaches don’t give a shit what you do to jack yourself up for the team but there is no way they can ignore something like this when it is laid out in front of them.”  The manager gave the shave kit a shake.

“No… no, there are scouts from three colleges gonna be at the game tomorrow night.  I could get a free ride out of that game.  You can’t leave me like this!”   Alex pleaded as Derek rolled the inflated jock into center court and left him there to wait for the big pep rally in the morning.

As Derek walked away locking the inflated jock in the building he was looking forward to the next day of school.  As he started to walk home Derek wondered if Alex would remember Benny’s name from now on.
Another story that was inspired by a story about a guy who blew up a cheerleader who wouldn't give him the time of day and a morph someone did of a football player swelled up in his pads and game pants. Nothing wild here but some of the language is crude so put it under erotic. I always liked this one.
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Warning: Male inflation

Matt stormed back into his apartment. This was just not his day. He was late for work at the lab, got caught in a chemical explosion and had who-knows-what dumped all over him. He was drenched in an awful-smelling substance that he couldn’t get off, even with several showers and hours of scrubbing in the washroom. He decided to go home early and thankfully his boss had given him permission.

 He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, downed it, and then went into his bedroom. He took his dirty clothes off and dropped them on the floor, and went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and got in, letting the water run down him. He shut his eyes and let himself soak.

Matt got out of the shower and dried off, then ignored his clothes and just went back into the main room and flopped on the couch. He turned on the TV and just stared at the images, not really focusing on them.

He scratched his stomach, the somewhat pliable flesh squishing underneath his fingers. Matt rested his hand on his stomach, and then looked down. He felt his belly coming out farther, and not just when he breathed. He saw his hand moving upward as his stomach began to grow. He then began to feel tight, his belly stretching to accommodate the pressure beginning to mount inside.

He groaned slightly as he began to feel heavier, his stomach pushing outward. His eyes widened as he felt his rear swell, pushing into the couch. He looked down at his arms, which had also begun to grow. He let out a strangled cry and stood up, only to fall as he heard sloshing inside of him.

His body began to swell faster, his chest going the same route as his stomach, quickly making his middle a half-circle. His back began to bulge out, merging with his rear and completing the circle within a minute.

Matt tried to right himself, but his arms and legs were being sucked into his body as it swelled outward. He grimaced as his skin got tighter and tighter, stretch marks appearing on it. He let his head flop back as he became completely immobile, his body still growing. He began to press into the couch, and Matt feared he would pop on the sharp corners. He began trying to roll himself, which was simpler than he thought, and rolled away from the couch, feeling safe for the moment.

He was still swelling, touching both the couch and the TV by now, and panic began to grip him. If he didn't stop inflating, he might pop on something, or he would reach his maximum capacity. He already felt tight, like if he inflated one more inch he would burst.

He heard the phone ring, and then go to voice mail.

"Matt, this is your boss. That stuff that got dumped on you? For some reason it makes your skin act like a sponge, and soaks up any liquid you get on you. All those showers you took will make you swell up like a water balloon, and we're not sure when it ends. I'm sorry I couldn't reach you until now, I was stuck trying to help the others." The message ended, and Matt realized the others probably exploded.

He let out one small whimper as his body swelled that last inch.

I saw another inflation story about a woman who got dumped in something and got really thirsty and inflated because she drank so much. I'm sorry if I'm stealing, I really only remembered that story when I was near the end.
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   "Hey, you." said a familiar voice as I entered the shop. I looked up to see Sophie smiling back at me.
   "Hey. Busy day?"
   "Ugh, no. It's been so dead in here, I considered closing up and going home. I mean, who would know?"
   "I would..." I said playfully. "I could get you fired!"
   "Yeah but then they'd replace me with someone else who probably wouldn't give you free stuff."
   "Well you've got me there."
   "So, what will it be?"
   "Well I'm pretty hungry but I don't have much money so I want as much as I can get for..." I noticed a sly smile start to spread across her face.
   "I might have something..." she said seductively. She walked over to the door and locked it before pulling the blinds down. "...but not for just anybody."
   I watched as she went back behind the counter and pulled out a small bottle containing two blue capsules, one paler than the other. She took the pale one and swallowed it.
   "Watch this." she said. "It's a formula I've been working on. Look..."
   At first I wasn't sure what I was looking at but then I noticed that her blue top appeared to be getting tighter. Then I realised it was her getting bigger. Her breasts slowly started to fill out, but the real change was happening below as her tummy started to round out. She rubbed it and smiled as it slowly grew to about 3 times its normal size, stopping just as her belly button was becoming visible.
   "See? Now I feel like I've eaten a load so I'm not hungry anymore! Wanna try it?" she asked, shaking the bottle with the darker pill at me.
   "Actually... I kinda do." I admitted. "How much is it?"
   "All it will cost you is a hug and a kiss." she said innocently, smiling sweetly. I wasn't sure if she was joking or not but went for it anyway, holding her belly and leaning in for a deep passionate kiss. She kissed me back luckily.
   "Now, this other one is a bit stronger. I doubled the formula so I guess it'll make you twice as big as me. Is that ok?"
   "Sure." I said.
   "Good, I always thought you'd be sexier if you were a bit rounder. Here you go." She pushed the pill into my mouth and kissed me again. "Now we sit back and watch your belly grow."
   Sure enough I looked down and saw it slowly starting to grow. At first it just looked like I was pushing it out but then it became clear it was getting bigger as it pushed out, getting rounder. I put my hands on it to feel it growing before Sophie pulled them off.
   "Don't hide it, I wanna see you grow!" she giggled. I was now slightly bigger than her and feeling pretty full as if I'd been eating non-stop, my feet disappearing from view under the increasing curve of my belly. As it grew, my tshirt became more and more stretched over it and started to ride up, exposing my belly button. Sophie's eyes lit up as she watched this.
   "You're so big!" she said, throwing her arms round me and hugging me as best she could. By this time I was twice her size.
   "So... it'll be stopping now, right?"
   "Yeah..." she said dreamily before snapping out of it and looking down at my still growing belly. "Wait, yeah. It should've stopped by now..."
   "But...?" I said, feeling increasingly full as each second passed.
   "Um... it kinda hasn't. I thought doubling it would just make you twice as big but it looks like it might've made it..." She took a step back. "...even stronger."
   As she said that, my cheeks bloated out as the fullness spread throughout my body. My belly button popped out into an outie and the button pinged off my jeans. My arms began to push out to the sides as I started to become more spherical. Sophie approached me slowly.
   "I have to admit, this does just make me find you even sexier..." she said, rubbing me and kissing me deeply again. Not seeing any other options I kissed her back. There was no way I could tell her now but I wasn't hating the experience. I continued to balloon outwards, lifting her higher off the ground as she held on, kissing me. Her own belly swelled up a bit more as she kissed me but it wasn't enough to relieve the pressure as I just kept filling up relentlessly. My cheeks started to bloat more and I started making creaking noises as I filled up just a bit too much. She stopped kissing me and slid down to the floor. She rubbed her belly again, satisfied with her new size and looked up at me apologetically as I inflated more, almost reaching the ceiling. My hands were disappearing into me and I was filling most of the room now.
   "Well it's been fun. Sorry I messed it up a bit but I'm gonna have to leave now because, well, you're gonna blow." She blew a kiss at me and opened the door. Unfortunately her new size wouldn't allow her through the door, or back into the shop. She was stuck. She tried in vain to wriggle free and looked back up at me, blown up to my absolute limit.
   "Oh great..." she said, as I gave one last creak before popping, blowing the shop apart.
   As the dust cleared, Sophie plopped out of the door frame, the only part of the shop still standing. She looked at the wreckage and sighed, flipping the sign on the door around to say 'closed'.
A quick story based on another one of my fantasies. It involves first person male inflation (although there's a tiny bit of female in there too) and popping but it's not graphic
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A Blueberry Boy and the Chocolate Factory

Part 1
(Dude inflation sorry folks)

There was an amazing confectioner called Wilma Wonka, a mysterious woman that survived in a business that was full of much older and more experienced men. Anyone could walk into her factory, they said she wasn't even 16 then, or at least looked it. But then she closed her factory off to the world, all except for the army of trucks that went in and out in the morning. Many suspected she had closed off because of spies and some believed that for all her genius she was a naive woman for even allowing so many into her chocolate factory in the first place.
Victor Beauregarde, who hated his name, stood poised and ready to run for his high school track team. He was a fit young man and he had a feeling from the way his body was arched and tense that a lot of women there were watching him especially close. The signal was given and Victor was around the middle of the mass of runners, his short brown hair swaying slightly by the wind but mostly keeping in place making him look quite cool. Then he was at the front, he had conserved his energy wisely and burst forward first over the finish line.
Then he just smiled calmly as he was surrounded by classmates who cheered him louder than ever and patted his back and shoulders.
"Oh my god! I just gotta..." one woman said after fighting her way through the ground and kissed Victor. He smiled around her lips and started to feel her tongue when he was pulled back by another woman who started to lean in to give him a kiss too.
There were others, women wanted to date him and men wanted to hang out with him. Until a strong arm grabbed Victor from behind and threw a smoke bomb onto the ground. Victor and the crowd were blinded for a moment and they all began to cough while Victor was hauled off by the smoke bomb thrower. The runner was pulled behind the bleachers and coughed for a few more moments as a figure all in dark and a mask just stood patiently.
"God why not make us all choke to death?" Victor said as tears bubbled in his eyes.
"Sorry," the figure said and removed his mask to show a blonde haired young man about the same age as Victor but much taller.
"They're going to think you were a terrorist or something."
"Is that my thanks for coming up with a plan to get you out of there?"
"It wasn't very good, Charles."
"You didn't give me any time to plan."
"Alright well thanks anyway. You could have waited a few more minutes and left me with the ladies."
"Hm-hm. So you're not going to any of the parties in your honor or-"
"Never! I don't know any of those damn people. They just pretend to be my friends in hopes of some of my fame or talent rubbing off on them."
"You want to get a burger then or something?"
Victor shook his head, "Not just yet. I got a fencing lesson."
"I'll tag along then."
"And afterwards I should do some math homework," he was sinking his teeth into some college level stuff early.
Charles shrugged, "Okay we can have a burger for dinner then."
Victor grinned, "Alright if you don't mind waiting so be it. I'll have my victory meal with you for dinner. I gotta change up." He made a meeting spot and he went off to quickly shower and change before being assaulted by more fans.

Victor was something of the 'ace' of his school. At a young age his parents pushed him into many activities in hopes he would find his passion early. They were not exactly the fittest parents and worried their child would follow in their footsteps, they hoped he would take an interest in soccer and that would have been good enough. However somehow Victor excelled at everything they had him try from sports to academics and for that matter he was apparently blessed with looks and was quite friendly too.
Only problem was he didn't trust anyone, sometimes even members of his own family. Though maybe he did show a little trust to a pretty girl. Except for Charles his oldest friend. The only friend that stuck with him and that did not give a damn about Victor's skills, popularity and just wanted to chill with 'The Ace'. To Charles he wasn't the ace of the school but because he was Victor from way back.
"Just watching you do all that stuff exhausts me." Charles said hours later as they waited for their food in an old time burger joint that was much like a malt shop. He had seen him fencing and then saw him pour into his college level math, even stopping to give Charles a hand with his homework and Victor looked only slightly worn out.
Victor smiled slightly, "I dunno either. I'll probably live until thirty or something."
"Hey don't say that!"
The Ace fiddled with his phone a moment and showed a list to him. "Well this was a slower day. Here's my to do list."
"What? That's for the week?"
"No, that's for tomorrow."
"Christ! I think you'll be lucky to live to twenty!"
"Aw well, I'll have lived a full life." He stopped talking when their food arrived, even the pretty server gave him a wink.
"Do you even like any of the stuff you do?" Charles asked halfway through the meal.
"Like?"
"You know. Fulfillment?"
"Well...I hate to admit it but it does feel good to be congratulated..." Victor thought of all those faces cheering him. They were happy with him but he did not want to admit it. Did he really do it for attention while at the same time never trusting them? Shouldn't he be more trusting if he liked all that attention? And was it wrong to like the attention while preferring quiet company? He most certainly didn't have answers for something like that.
Charles shook his head, "I don't mean fulfillment like that. I think walls full of trophies, medals and degrees are nothing to sneer at, loads to be proud of in fact. But I'm not asking that. I'm asking: do you enjoy all these things?"
"I..." he stopped to think a moment just before taking a bite from his burger. "Well archery is kind of fun and mastering computers is useful-"
"Yes but is it fun? I mean you're fencing...that's something only rich kids do or people who really like doing it. Or are you trying to be Zorro or Batman? That's great you like archery so why not stick to that on weekends and we'll hang out more?"
"Yeah but...I can't just drop all these commitments. Basketball game, dance stuff and-"
"That's what you told me a year ago. You won all that and then picked up more!"
"Get off my back. You're not my dad. I'll do what I want."
"No you're doing what you think you need." Charles noticed something odd about Victor's face, he quickly leaned forward with a napkin and wiped a the skin beneath his eyes.
"Hey!" Victor said and caught his wrist but Charles could see the make up Victor had smeared under his eyes to hide the fact they were very dark.
"So what do you do to keep your eyes from going red?"
Victor took the napkin and crumbled it up. "Look I missed sleep a few days-"
"And? God you're a hell of an actor. I bet a stiff breeze could knock you out."
"Aw shut up," Victor said and suddenly felt very weary. As though being discovered suddenly made him realize how worn out he really was.
"I bet I could take you! All those Karate, Brazilian Ju-Jitsu and other stuff doesn't mean much if you're too tired to lift your arms."
They were best friends and though Victor was thoughtful about all the attention he got he still figured he would have to fight if challenged. It was not the first time and usually it was Charles who pushed it, Victor had to admire his determination.
"Alright. But you'll be sorry as usual but first..." Victor got up and bought a Wonka bar and then went back to the table. "So you got a time and date set up?"
"As soon as possible...like right outside this place if you got time for it in your schedule..."
Victor stopped taking the outer wrapping off, leaving the inner foil around the bar. "Oh I can fit it. How about a dare to spice it up?"
"Gladly..." The two took out note cards and scribbled down their dare for the loser then folded them over and then traded cards and put them in their pockets.
"Let me just enjoy my dessert and we can get to business," he was about to take the foil off.
"Oh you heard about the tour huh?" Charles' normal demeanor returned since they weren't going to fight for a little while longer. "Oh duh who hasn't heard of it?"
"Tour?" Victor stopped.
"The tour."
"What 'the tour?'"
"Are you kidding!? Wilma Wonka is having a tour of her factory! Five lucky fuckers are going to get in and see a shit load of secrets that people may have killed for! People have been buying up her candy to find one of the five golden tickets!"
"Sounds creepy and a little like a rip off. I mean it sounds like she was watching that movie where an eccentric toy maker invites-"
"Hey just open the candy bar already."
"Why you think I'm going to get one of these golden tickets?"
"Just hurry up so we can fight."
He started to take off the foil "The chances of a single person finding a golden ticket are..." Victor stopped when a golden ticket landed on the table.
The two friends sat in silence in a moment before Victor quickly grabbed it and stuffed it into his pocket.
"Oh god...I can't believe it...You just found the last-" but Charles was stopped by Victor putting his hand over his mouth.
Victor put a finger to his lips, "Shush! I don't want people to know!"
"Why not? You're the fifth and final person. How are you going to go if no one-"
"Look it's going to clash with my schedule! You take it!"
Charles blinked and saw the chance of a life time right before him. He loved writing best and he could only imagine the kind of poetry and stories he could get from seeing the factory and yet he remembered those dark circles under his friend's eyes.
"No. You take it Victor. You found it and you should have fun for once in your life."
"I told you I won't have time to go! I'm sure my schedule is filled up then!"
"Aw for the love of god!" Maybe he should just take it since he would appreciate it.
Victor got up, "I got to use the bathroom and then I'll give it to you."
There was another talent Charles had that Victor did not, aside from a love of the English language, a knack for chemistry, one that excelled Victor's, and one skill he kept a secret from Victor. That skill was how he was able to bring a smoke bomb past security earlier that day. His hand shot out and perfectly sank into Victor's pocket, while he was getting up and turning away, and thus he extracted back his own 'dare card.'
Victor did not even notice in that brief second so he went to the restroom without noticing he was missing something. Charles took a deep breathe, made sure he had the same pen as before, and added a little something to his dare, then hid the card in his sleeve when he saw Victor coming back.
They both put money on the table and started to leave, Charles tapped Victor's shoulder, making him turn, then put the card back in his pocket smoothly.
"I hate it when you do that," Victor said irritably.
"Well just showing you how easy it is for me to get close and hit you." Charles said and opened the door for Victor.
"We're not seriously still going to fight are we?"
"Yes! Let's go!" Charles put his fists up and stupidly starting darting around like an idiot down the alley next to the diner.
"Oh please..." Victor sighed and followed down. He would end it quickly rather than letting himself waste energy struggling with his friend.
"You ready?" Charles asked.
"Yeah..."
"I SAID ARE YOU READY!?"
"I'm ready already!" Victor put his fists up, he figured a good punch to Charles' jaw would do it.
"Alright!" Charles ran forward and everything was going to plan for Victor.
Until Charles threw his second smoke bomb, his emergency back up for earlier that day, and blinded Victor.
"What the hell-"
*BAM!*

The two friends were right about a few things. The first was that Victor was right: even months ahead for the tour far his schedule was quite filled. He grumbled as he canceled all his lessons for that day. The second thing, the thing Charles was correct about, was that it wouldn't take much for Victor to be knocked out, even a punch from Charles.
It was a cold morning and Victor had a thick coat on with Charles next to him.
"Can't believe you cheated." Victor muttered.
"Hey we set no rules."
"Hmph. I'm a gentleman so I have to respect the outcome."
"Knock it off. You're going to enjoy yourself today."
Victor begrudgingly admitted that it was great sleeping in so late, what with having no Tai-Chi lessons that morning.
"Hey you're wearing it right?" Charles asked.
Victor sighed, "Yes."
"C'mon let me see it."
Victor sighed again and opened his coat up to show what was Charles' original dare. It was a blue suit with bright yellow buttons and a red belt around his waste. How Victor would have preferred jeans and a t-shirt.
"It looks great on you."
"Shut up!" Charles closed his coat again. He had to admit it was comfortable and kept him warm, he just tightened his coat to hide it. But he hoped he only had to go number 1 while wearing it, it wasn't as useful as wearing pants.
Victor had changed the dare from wearing that, to adding 'do what Charles says for one day.' With his command being 'cancel your things, you're going to the Chocolate Factory.'
"Hmm!" A voice said and another teenager man stepped between Victor and Charles. "That shows off your hips so well!"
"Who the hell are you?" Victor demanded.
The teenager just grinned devilishly, his hair was black and very straight and his skin was a handsome bronze. "Oh please! If you don't know who I am you've been living under a rock!" He then walked off in his fancy Italian coat without another word.
"Asshole." Victor muttered.
"That asshole is Vincent Salto."
"So?"
"He's one of the Golden Ticket winners."
"Crap," Victor closed his coat tighter.
"He comes from a rich family that produces-"
"I don't care what he produces. All I know is that he's a dick."
"I doubt many would disagree with you."
The crowds parted and for a moment Victor thought Wilma Wonka was coming but instead another woman came out, though you would think from her shape it was she that ran the Chocolate Factory.
"Hey Mr. Know It All," Victor said. "Who is that lard ball?"
"Do you seriously not pay attention to anything aside from winning?"
"And the ladies...the nice looking ones," he quickly added,
Charles sighed, "That's Anges Gloop."
"She sure looks like a gloop."
"Be nice already!"
Anges was most certainly not one one would call obese but she was quite curvy and defined and some men loved that in women, Victor certainly didn't. But even he admitted that while she seemed big her personality seems bigger. She waved happily to the crowd and without arrogance and seemed genuinely happy to see so many strangers about. She even blew a few kisses. So far she was the oldest of all the Golden Ticket winners, what with not being a teenager.
Victor looked towards his friend, "So...warn me ahead of time: are the other two freaks or assholes or-"
A great cry broke out from around where Agnes was, Victor spun to see a man with a knife that seemed bent on trying to press against her throat while his hand roamed for something on her person: a Golden Ticket. The knife was not meant to kill her, just keep her in fright as he took what wasn't his. Victor had thoughts of trying to help her but like lightning Anges' hand shut up and twisted the knife out of the mugger's hand in the blink of an eye.
"Whoa..." Charles whispered.
He hadn't seen anything yet for Agnes then lifted her would be attacker up and flung him into a batch of garbage cans, making them and their lids roll and scatter. Gloop then marched over to her assailant...and helped him up. Even dusting off his coat.
"There there. I forgive you. Maybe this will be a lesson for you to go straight. Here..." she even extracted a small butterscotch from her blouse pocket and put it in one of his coat pockets.  "A little something." The man quickly ran away from her and in great fear leaving her to shrug.
Charles relaxed his grip on his coat for he had gripped it tightly during the scene just before them. "Uh... you better watch what you say around that lady."
"Yeah...think you're right on that one," Victor nodded. He tensed again when he saw Anges begin to make towards them.
"Hello!" she said smiling and in excellent English. "Victor Beauregarde was it?"
"Yes, how do you do?" he held his hand out and was surprised that for all her strength Anges took it quite gently.
"So polite! I knew never to believe the rumors about American teenagers being rude! Who is your friend?"
"I'm Charles..." he said and shook her hand.
"I don't like to brag, Victor" Gloop said, "But I think I'll be the one to win the prize."
Victor blinked. "Prize? What prize?"
Charles slapped is forehead, "Jesus! Do you really not care!?"
Gloop hushed him, "No need to shout. Victor struck me as a very hard working man. He has good reasons to not know about the mystery prize. Just how many trophies do you have?"
"Well uh-" Victor began to say when there was gun fire. Quickly he found himself getting shoved down with Charles by Gloop for protection and people began to scream.
Then there was a woman's laughter and "They're blanks! Relax folks!"
As Gloop relaxed Victor looked up to see a tall woman garbed like a cowgirl. She even had a cowboy hat on with jeans, a black vest and dark pink shirt. Her black hair was in a pony tail and she twirled her two revolved around while walking and performed all sorts of tricks with them before putting them away into their hostels.
"Howdy!" she tilted her hat.
Victor whispered, "Please don't tell me she's another winner."
"Yeah..." Charles said and made Victor sigh.
Vincent stood up and quickly brushed off his coat. "The hell is wrong with you!?"
The cow-woman, she was a teenager as well, just tisked. "If you can't stand the heat then get out of the kitchen, amigo. I like a strong entrance."
"You probably hurt someone!" Gloop said and stood up.
"What are you so afraid of? You threw that mugger like he was just a pebble. I'd have just drawn one of these suckers..." she patted one of her revolvers "and pointed it right in his face. No fuse no muse and he wouldn't know there were no live ammunition in them."
Victor stood up, "J-just who are you?"
The cow-woman seemed surprised for a moment then grinned and tipped her hat. "Handsome, the name's Tee-Vee, if you can believe it. You can call me Michelle."
"How about I call you crazy woman?"
"Oh! I heard you were lively! You make me want to hog tie you!"
"W-What!?"
"That'd be mighty rude on a first date though," with that Tee-Vee marched off while whistling.
Victor just red in the face a moment. "A...date...the hell?"
Charles nudged him, "Sometimes you're like that actually."
"You're not helping!"
Vincent just snorted in irritation and leaned against a light post. He was becoming impatient with all the weirdos that were gathering around. He was used to getting his way right away and wanted to demand Wilma Wonka hand over the grande prize pronto. Frustrated was he and he wanted to lash out. No one, not even Victor or Gloop noticed the small young woman with blonde hair and glasses get up off the ground and adjusted her long skirt and blouse. She took off her glasses to clean them and took a few steps forward only to trip over the foot Salto had extended out.
"Oh!" she cried and fell forward but was able to save her glasses.
"Oh dear..." Vincent said but made no movement to help her up.
"Hey!" shouted Victor and he bolted forward to stand in front of Salto "What's the big idea?" He quickly knelt down to help up the lady. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine...it was just an accident. Thank you." Her face became bright red when she saw who was helping her up.
She looked rather plain to Victor but that was no excuse for what Salto had done. "Hey you! Say you're sorry!"
"Why? She's okay with it. And even if she wasn't I'm from the Salto family."
"I don't care what family you're from!" With that Victor struck his leg out but his foot only hit the lamp post for Vincent had dodged skillfully and he made his own poise.
"I um-um..." the blonde said.
"You wanna be friends?" Vincente asked and his knuckles cracked
"Yeah. Best friends!" Victor said and the two started to move towards each other.
Bells began to sound from the Chocolate Factory. Long ago that was a daily occurrence when anyone could tour the factory just as the day started. Those bells were ringing again for the first time in over ten years. Tensely Victor and Vincent stepped away from each other and watched to see what would happen.
And a voice from the factory boomed: "Now presenting Wilma Wonka!" Thus the front doors of the factory opened and no one stepped out.
"So she's invisible?" Tee Vee asked.
A tiny cart had been cutting its way through the crowds. It honked frequently and took some time to get there. It was still coming even as Victor and Vincent prepared for their showdown and then with a final push it reached the front gates of the factory.
"What's that?" Victor asked and then looked at Charles, expecting his friend to be exasperated. Yet his friend didn't seem to know what it was either.
One of the doors of the cart opened and a pantsed leg extended out with a business shoe at the end. Another leg and then her rear and the rest of a short woman followed. Her movements had a burst of energy yet her face looked kind of glum as though she was just waking up. Wilma Wonka had bright red and frizzly hair and her face had a tiny nose and high cheek bones. She had long eye lashes and grey eyes with slightly plump lips that could easily turn into a smile or a frown with a flick of her cheek muscles. She was dressed in a red vest and striped shirt and reminded Victor of a clown that forgot her make up. Adjusting her coat Wilma reached back into the car to pull out a mug of coffee and then promptly locked the tiny car and started to search for keys in all her pockets.
"Morning, morning, good morning," she said quietly to each of the Golden Ticket winners and finally fished out a single key and opened the gate. "Hold this please," she said and handed Charles her mug of coffee to clear her throat and turn around to the crowd. "I have returned! With me are my Five Golden Ticket-hold on!"
Wonka reached behind her and pulled out a clipboard. "Michelle Tee Vee? Are you here?"
"Yes ma'am," Tee Vee replied "May I say that you make the best-"
"Yes I know. Anges Gloop?"
"Present, ma'am!"
"Thank you." Wonka made a notch on her check list of names. "Vincent Salto?"
"The great Vincent Salto has long been-"
"We ain't got all day, Salto." Wonka checked his name off. "Charlotte Bucket?"
Victor looked around, realizing he had forgotten that there were five winners and much to his surprise the blonde woman he had defended from Vincent raised her hand. "H-h-here Mrs. Wonka."
Wonka looked up from her clipboard and smiled pleasantly, Charlotte was afraid she had said something wrong.
"Hon, no need to be so shy. I don't bite. And second I've never been married, divorced or widowed. Ms. Wonka is fine but Wilma would be better."
"Y-yes Ms.-I mean Wilma," Charlotte replied quietly.
Wonka nodded and went to the last name, "Victor Beauregarde?"
"I'm here!" he raised his hand.
"Hmm" Wonka studied him a moment, and then a cane shot out from her sleeve, somehow. She grasped it and slide it between his coat lapels to get a look at the blue clothes underneath his coat.
"Hey!" Victor cried and swatted her cane aside.
Wonka chuckled, "I heard you were very talented, something of a Renaissance Man. Alas you don't have taste in clothing."
Victor shoved his hands into his pockets while his cheeks burned. "I lost a bet with this guy!" He nodded his head towards Charles who just grinned.
Wonka's red eyebrows jumped a moment, "Oh yes the Charles Ostrum! I've heard of you!"
"You...have?"
Wonka strolled forward and put an arm around Charles' shoulders. "Yes...I heard about how Victor got his golden ticket."
"But-but how?"
"That was a very unselfish and kind thing to do for your friend. All work and no play does make Victor a dull boy."
"What?" Victor said nearly shouting, Charlotte covered her mouth and giggled slightly.
Wonka reached into her coat pocket, "You should be rewarded! Here you're an honory tour member!" She then stuck a star shaped sticker onto Charles' shirt.
"What!?" shouted Tee Vee while throwing her hat to the ground.
"That's not fair!" Vincent roared.
Wonka folded her arms behind her back and stepped towards the two. "You're right I only sent out five Golden Tickets. Just deciding to bring in a sixth like this isn't fair."
"Darn tootin'!" Tee Vee said and put her hat back on.
"Let's see..." Wonka tapped her chin with a well manicured finger. "Tee Vee I hear that in spite of your...flamboyant appearance you're a math wiz."
Tee Vee stuck he chest out proudly "Someone who isn't accomplished in the mathematics isn't fit to run a ranch or any business!"
"Too true! A lady after my own heart! But I hear you did a lot of calculations to figure out the probability of finding a golden ticket."
"That ain't cheating! That's what you're implying!"
"No it's thinking outside of the box. What is cheating is that hacking into shipping directories and figuring out what bars go to which store or plane. Then driving off and rummaging through a certain box and looking for an exact chocolate bar. However that's only a rumor right?"
"...Only a rumor ma'am." Tee Vee wished that she had some real bullets all of a sudden.
"Well if that was true then I'd say who ever did that should give up their ticket. Oh well...and as for you Vincent Salto"
Wonka turned to him and he tensed up, "Hey! I got my golden ticket fair and square!"
"I hear your father bought ship loads upon ship loads of Wonka bars and had one hundred workers unwrap them just to look for a golden ticket. What happened to the chocolate?"
"Threw it away."
Wonka clutched at her heart "Oh that poor chocolate!"
"There's no rules that say golden tickets can't be traded!"
"True. But if there was proof it was...taken. Then-"
"There ain't any other truth! Look, can we get on with this tour or not!?"
Wonka looked to Charles, "All I'm saying is that if I allowed two people who did those things, two people worth only, maybe, half a ticket, at best, then I think it's only fair I make it a full five with Charles here. Besides I'm the boss so what I say goes! So yes let's begin the tour!"
Thus she ushered the five lucky, and one extremely lucky, young people past the gates.
"Way to go man!" Victor said and punched Charles' shoulder.
"I um...thanks..." he could hardly believe the last few moments that transpired. Apparently sometimes karma did work out! To the great joy of those there Wonka lead them right into the Chocolate Factory.
"Sorry about the heat." Wilma said as perspiration started to form on some of the guests' faces within a few minutes of walking in. "My workers like it hot. Never fear some places are a bit cooler. Your coats will be safe here."
"If you think this is hot," Vincent said "You haven't been to Spain in the summer."
"This is a pleasant day for me out on a trail." Tee Vee boasted.
"Blow hards," Victor muttered and finally surrendered his coat to the coat hanger, showing off his stupid blue jump suit and belt.
"Yeah! Take it all off!" Tee Vee said and whistled.
"Can't believe you made me wear this!" Victor hissed at Charles.
"You lost the bet," Charles shrugged. He admitted it himself it felt really good winning a bet for once.
While hanging her coat up Charlotte's lips twitched just slightly. "...nice...you.."
"What?" Victor said and looked to the quiet woman.
"Oh! Nothing!"
"You said: 'nice you?'"
"No. I didn't say anything."
"Oh c'mon you can tell me. I know it looks bad on me so you can say it."
"No no!" Charlotte waved her arms quickly. "I said it looks nice on you!"
"Oh. Well, thanks. I'm glad someone likes it." He started to walk off but he saw her lips move again. "What was that again?"
"Thank you. I never thanked you for..." she looked over her shoulder to see Salto walking away.
"Oh that. Don't think anything of it."
"But it meant a lot-" Charlotte tried to explain but Wonka called to all of them.
"C'mon now! So much to see and so little time!"
Charlotte quickly shuffled away from Victor while pushing her glasses up her face. Charles and Victor walked on with Charles grinning and started sliding his finger through an 'o' he was making with his thumb and index.
"Stop it!" Victor said and knocked his hands aside.
"Just saying its the quiet and shy ones that turn out to be total animals."
"Yeah like you would know that!"
"Yeah, like you've totally gotten laid a 1,000 times already."
"Oh shut up," Victor said. But if anyone knew the truth it was Charles, for all his swagger Victor didn't go all the way with as many women as the people in school said. In fact maybe even Charles' numbers were inflated far too much.
"I thought we'd start off with some place special!" Wonka said while brimming with smiles. It seemed as though the further they went into the factory the happier she was. Like an elf or a pixie returning to its hidden domain in a great forest. "I could show all of you the more conventional boring stuff but it has been an awful long time since I've had any guests here I really should bring out the expensive china so to speak." Thus far on the tour they had not seen anything too odd. Just very typical floors, wall, lighting and so on for a factory. At least until they reached an enormous door that would have been used for a bank vault. Wilma Wonka turned the dial around and opened up a room that was full of machines no one had a clue what any did. Machines that whistled and danced as though alive, machines that should have collapsed upon themselves or seemingly had no function. There were machines that transformed from one to another and some machines would beep and then roar like a lion all while carrying on their tasks.
Gloop looked the most bewildered out of the whole group, even Salto could not hide how impressed he was. "Goodness..." Gloop whispered, "My father is an engineer and I can't even tell what any of this stuff does." She wondered if her dad could either.
"This is the Inventing Room!!" Wonka said and spread her arms out. "WA-LA!"
"What an inventive name..." Salto said.
Wonka turned to him. "Young man you need to speak up."
"What?"
"You have a problem with mumbling. No need to be so shy, your English is excellent! Let us all hear it!"
Charlotte covered her mouth to stop from giggling.
"Here's something I just started trying out a week ago." Wonka said and went to a box shaped machine and reached in holding  chocolate bar. "Exploding Candy for Your Enemies!"
"Waaa...." Gloop said.
"Yeah," Wonka grinned. "Sneak this into your enemy's food supply and BOOM!"
Salto's eyes glittered at that.
Victor whispered to Charlotte. "You think she's an assassin or something?"
"With her it'd be a hobby."
"Heh heh heh! Fair enough, Charlotte!" The group started moving and Charles stepped away from his friend and Charlotte.
"So..uh...hm..." Charlotte said.
"Hey you gotta stop doing that." Victor said and gently took her chin and had her look into his eyes. She had lovely green eyes he realized but her glasses hid that. "Now what do you have to say?"
"I was wondering if you had a favorite out of all those hobbies you do?" Her face was fighting not to turn red.
"Aw, I dunno. I'm not sure which I hate or which I tolerate or which I like."
"But don't you like any of that?" She blinked. "How could you be so talented and yet not enjoy any of that?"
Victor sighed. "Y'know it's crazy. For most of my life I've gone around schedules and going to this and that."
"Yeah?"
Wonka kept talking about candies. So Victor said "I lost a bet. But for the first time ever I'm not following a schedule to cram something in...I kinda like not knowing what is ahead today."
"It's good to live like that. I don't think I could stand seeing what's coming all the time."
"Really? No offense but you seem so...afraid of everything I figure you dislike random."
"It's alrigh, heh. I kind of like some excitement...uh..."
"Just ask it!" Victor said and laughed.
"Do you know how to dance?"
"Which one? I think I know them all."
"I've never gotten around to dance and-"
"Tell you what. I'll give you a lesson whatever you want. Ballroom, flamigo whatever you want!"
"Oh cool!" With that Charlotte spun on one foot. Her side nudged a machine, one that towered all the others and she jumped back with a squeak. "W-what's this?" she said barely above a whisper.
Then Wonka was right behind her, having heard perfectly what she said. "Oh the name of this is too long and silly. It's something of a gene food splicer you could say.
Salto patted Charlotte's shoulder. "Hey you should try speaking up! I barely heard you!"
Wonka turned on Salto. "Again with the mumbling! If you got something to say young man then spit it out!"
Salto frowned at Wonka. "How the hell did you not hear-"
"Anyway!" Wonka said and began to press buttons on the mysterious tower. "This is something of a gene splicer from various foods to create certain candies. It isn't perfect but y'know you can't have perfect inventions without hiccups!"
"Cool..." whispered Victor as the machine started to shake and jig with work.
"Excuse me." Tee Vee said, "But foods and plants and stuff don't have genes!"
"Hon, I tend to look at hard sciences and go 'get out of my way I'm making magic!" with that Wonka held her hand out to a little door on the machine and waited. A few seconds passed and then she slapped her forehead. "I forgot! I haven't used this in a while." She then put a quarter in a little slot, turned a knob, making it click and then a cube landed in her waiting hand.
"I'd think that'd be really inconvenient." Charles whispered to Victor.
"No kidding."
"Anyone know what this is?" Wonka asked and held the tiny cube between her fingers.
"Gum?" asked Victor.
"Correct! But not just any gum! It's an amazing idea-"
"So modest!" Salto whispered to Tee Vee.
"MUMBLING! STOP MUMBLING!" Wonka shouted out loud while in the middle of her explanation and making everyone jump. "...So anyway you wouldn't believe it but this little cube has-"
"Three meals in it..?" Charlotte asked.
Wonka blinked. "Why yes! What tipped you off?"
"Well uh..." Charlotte nervously played with her pony tail a moment. "I notice there's several layers in the cube, like sandwich layers, each a different color. They could have been decoration but...really just a lucky guess, Wilma."
"You are quite perceptive! Maybe I should give you a job interview some time."
"Oh I could never..." Charlotte smiled and blushed.
"I'm green with envy!" Gloop said and patted Charlotte gently.
Victor was not listening but ever staring at the cube in Wonka's hand. The last layer seemed to call to him. It was blue and not exactly the prettiest blue he had ever seen but very alluring. It was saying 'take me take me! I want to be in your mouth! Chew chew chew all day long!' Even his mouth watered slightly and his hand grabbed at a pant leg as he fought the urge to jet forward and snatch it from Ms. Wonka's hand. Then he unclenched his hand as though he decided and backed a few feet away to break contact with the gum cube. He was a guest after all and he wouldn't want to get pulled away by security or break something of Wonka's.
Wonka shrugged. "There's a few problems with the dessert. Would you believe me that each person who tested this turned in a blueberry?"
"Oh you're joking!" Gloop said and laughed.
Wonka smiled. "My dear I am quite serious. Each one had to be rolled away for juicing! The first two stages are perfect but it's always the blueberry pie! Something in the blueberry I haven't got my finger quite on. Hm" She turned and put the cube back in the slot it came out of.
Salto gave a significant glance to Tee Vee and she grinned back.
The Candy Wizard brushed her red hair a moment and said "While I haven't given up on the three course meal, it did lead into an interesting branch off. These are called Ever Lasting Gobstoppers!!" She lead to bulk of the group to another machine but Tee Vee and Salto lagged behind.
Salto's hand shot out and quickly took the cube from the slot  Wonka had put it in.
"You act like you have a plan." Tee Vee said.
"I think I've found a brilliant way to knock off one of these goody goodies."
"One down. Making our chances of getting the grand prize better."
"Yes."
The duo walked closer as to not rouse suspicion from Wonka or anyone but far enough enough so no one could hear their plans.
"Hm, I thought I could just..." Salto weighed the cube in his hand. "Maybe throw it into one of their mouths at just the right moment."
"That's your brilliant plan?" Tee Vee hissed.
"Oh and I suppose you know anything about throwing?"
"Even better." Tee Vee extracted from her back pocket a kiddy sling shot.
"Do you carry that everywhere you go?"
"Of course I do. It's my lucky sling shot from when I was a girl." She then snatched the gum from Salto's hand since he left it out in the open. "Hmm who first?" She thought out loud while putting it into the sling.
"How about the blonde wuss? I'd love to see her turn into a blueberry." He was referring to Charlotte as Wonka seemed to decide to start passing candy out. A perfect time!
"Very well." Tee Vee waited a few moments and was rewarded by Charlotte opening her mouth and preparing to roll the candy in it to eat. The cow-woman pulled back, aimed and fired.
At the same time Victor turned away and as far as he could see Tee Vee was aiming to shoot something at Charlotte. Poor Charlotte was completely unaware and already she was harassed enough on that trip. He was very athletic and in his prime, easily getting in the way of whatever it was Tee Vee was launching.
"Watch-" Victor started to say but the projectile went into his mouth, hitting the roof of his mouth. His jaw closed and sucked in air and accidentally swallowed it. The young man doubled over and started coughing while everyone turned their attention to him in concern.
"Are you okay?" Charlotte asked, having no idea about Tee Vee shooting at her.
"Hey man what's wrong?" Charles asked and started slapping Victor on the back.
"That won't do!" Gloop said and seized Victor and tried the Heimlich Maneuver , forgetting that if a person is coughing then they can't be choking.
Victor slapped at her arms, "I'm fine! I'm fine! I'm not choking!"
"Sorry!" Anges Gloop let him go.
"What did you do!?" Victor stomped towards Tee Vee and Salto who seemed to be fighting smiles.
"N-nothin'." Tee Vee said.
"What did I swallow?" Victor demanded.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Salto said and realized Victor was a better target and hoped Wonka wasn't pulling their legs about that gum.
"What's this about?" Wonka asked and stepped next to Victor.
"It's...it's..." he stopped when he tasted something in his mouth. It wasn't blood but something else. "There's something weird in my mouth." He licked his lips, licked the inside of his mouth, even felt around with a finger but found nothing. And yet he couldn't stop tasting.... "Tomato soup?"
"Oh...that's interesting..." Wonka said and her face fell slightly but she looked suspicious at not just Tee Vee and Salto but Victor as well.
The taste was changing in Victor's mouth. From soup to steak and baked potato and he said that out loud. He hated to admit it but it tasted good. "Wow..." he moved his tongue around eagerly to savor it all.
"Hmmm." Wonka folded her arms. "Those are the first two courses for the three course gum. Somehow it got into your stomach. But you're supposed to chew gum not swallow it young Victor."
Then Victor remembered what Wonka said about the third course. She must have been joking and yet...His hand went to his mouth and he tried to make himself gag and throw up but Wonka's hand caught his wrist and stopped him.
"A good try but throwing up will do you no good at this stage. Some of it has become juice and gotten in your system. Might as well save your strength for what's next."
Victor glared at the duo that was causing trouble in the tour. "What did you do to me?"
Sadly Michelle Tee Vee was not intimidated by his glare. Instead she put a hand to her mouth and started giggle. "Holy cow it is true!"
"What?" Victor looked over his shoulder, showing to everyone else that his nose had become blue.
"Um...your nose..." Charles said.
"Now you're cheeks!" Gloop added.
Victor touched his nose and then his blueing cheeks. "There's nothing there." He was expecting to find some food that was somehow missed. He didn't feel anything amiss that would leave everyone reacting so strongly.
Charlotte drilled the tip of her shoe against the floor. "It's spreading around. Oh I'm sorry." She said as though pointing out the obvious was going to make it worse.
The mysterious blueness that had invaded Victor's skin crept not only over his cheeks but up his face, darting into his forehead and hiding under his wild bangs. It did not stop moving and touched his temples and even to his ears.
"You feeling alright, man?" Charles asked and placed his hand on his friend's forehead.
"A little hot because I'm getting angry." He slapped Charle's hand away when he tried to insert a finger into the collar of Victor's suit to watch the blue seeping into there too.
"What's happening to him?" Gloop asked and spun on Wonka.
Wonka sighed "Well I guess I wasn't clear enough earlier. Ah you'll see. Here" She extracted from her vest a tiny mirror and held it up to Victor's face.
He was not too pleased to see a blue version of his face staring back at him with wide eyes. "W-what!? What the fuck!?" He ignored the chuckles of Salto and Tee Vee as he pulled at his collar to see the smooth and hairless skin on his chest becoming blue, and then at his sleeves to see his wrists and down to his fingers changed to blue. He let his hands go over, checking places on his body to see if it was stopping or not. He wedged two fingers in the lapels of his jumpsuit to check his stomach: blue pecs. He opened an even lower button and saw blue upper thighs, being careful that no one saw his skin or underwear before closing it back up. Then he bent down, pulled at a pant leg and saw his very ankle changing too.
Blue, blue, blue every where blue!
"Wow he does look like a blueberry!" Tee Vee laughed.
"You!" Victor said and sprang at Tee Vee. Victor was quick but so was she and she lead him around various machines while Wonka didn't seem to be bothered to much. Victor would have caught her but he changed his target to Salto who also was quite quick...and yet somehow getting faster.
Or maybe Victor was getting slower.
Victor put his hands on his knees and started to catch his breathe. "Damn...it!" He huffed and wondered why he was out of breathe so fast. Surely it must have just been the heat? He could still hear Tee Vee's mocking laughter around him and Victor had stopped next to Charlotte who seemed to be staring at him very intently.
"Uh..un..." she said and pointed at him.
"Yeah?" Victor asked and forgot his manners since he wasn't in a good mood.
"You're-hm..." She couldn't find the words.
"Well? Spit it out!" Victor barked at her.
Charlotte yelped and clenched her hands into her fists and said with her eyes closed. "You're getting big!"
"Big?" Victor asked and could hardly understand what she was saying. He did notice out of the corner of his eye: a gold button around his belly was sticking out further. "Hmph!" He said and passed a hand over the button to smooth his suit out. Only for the offending button to bounce back out of place once his hand had passed it. "Whatever."
"Yeah big..." Charles muttered.
"What are you guys talking about?" Victor tugged at the lower half of his suit and then at his belt. He was getting angry, everyone was looking at him, he had blue skin, Tee Vee and Salto were pissing him off, he couldn't catch them even though he was a star track runner and never missed practice.
And the stupid blue suit his friend made him wear wasn't so comfortable anymore and seemed to stick to him. Victor noticed again that the bright, almost mocking, button was still protruding out and what was worse was that another was glimmering up at him. The young man did not look down but instead slapped at the glittering buttons in frustration.
The sound wasn't that of his hand hitting muscles...softer...and...and...
He swore that he felt jiggly.
It was only a few seconds but it felt like Victor was standing there in confusion and trepidation for minutes. Victor did what he normally did when staring down a tough contest. He licked his lips and decided to deal with it as calmly as possible. One of his fingers went down and he poked at his stomach. It sank in through the soft fabric of his suit but also felt it touching his skin. That was off. He moved his finger around and tried to find a tracing of one of his abs, moving in spirals, nudging his finger against his buttons and finally started to stab frantically as his abs seemed to have been replaced by a slight beer gut.
"W-w-what the..." at long last he found the courage to look down. To his horror he was seeing what his finger was feeling: his midsection was growing. Victor's stomach was pushing out against his suit, blue fabric and more shiny yellow buttons looking up along with his belt trying to deal with his new figure.
Tee Vee nearly started cackling but Salto put a hand over her mouth and motioned with his head. The two then fled while everyone was focused on Victor's transformation.
"I...feel funny..." Victor finally admitted to himself as he thought he heard a gurgling coming from within his suddenly unfamiliar body.
"It happens ever time..." Wonka sighed. "They all turn into blueberries."

To be continued.
I don't know why. Sometimes I just kind of get an urge to do some male inflation. I was sort of inspired by this
[link]

It just looked so cute! Although this version is a bit older.
And this was going to be a one shot but god damn it I just got too attached to Victor and Charles and the story and...Well hope you all enjoy this first part.

I got permission from [link] to do this story.
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