Blueberry Inflation Literature Collection: Volume II

Veruca's Latest Investment

Contains: Second-person Wonka fetish stuff, post-blueberry-transformation, humiliation/sub-dom stuff

You knew it probably wasn't good news when Wonka told you not to take that strip of gum. But you pressed on anyway. What's the worst that could happen, you figured? You were hungry, besides, and not a damn thing in that whole chocolate room was anything you could really properly chew on. 'Sounds like my kind of gum', you had declared proudly, before popping it between your lips.

You worried less as the first and second flavors hit you. It was really three whole courses – incredible. You were the first girl in the world to try it, to boot. 'It's amazing!', you had said, and you certainly weren't exaggerating. It was really something special.

The worries came back a bit when Wonka and the other guests started saying something about your face turning colors. Could there be something wrong, you wondered? But nah, between that snotty billionaire Veruca, and the foul-mouthed video game addict Mike, and that smug asshole Charlie who seemed to look down on everyone else, why would you ever listen to any of them? 'I'm not afraid of anything!' you'd shouted back, proudly blowing a bubble with the miraculous strip of gum.

They were words you now regretted. All you had been able to do after that was greedily smack at the gum, your hunger soon far past sated as your body swelled into a turgid blimp of juice and pulp. In minutes, you were a helpless ball, being rolled around by strange factory workers as aforementioned hateful onlookers giggled at your predicament. It still tasted wonderful, your juicy cheeks wobbling against your body as your tumbled in every direction. You had no idea what exactly happened to you, as Wonka's cryptic 'each one ended up as a blueberry' meant virtually nothing to you. How could it?

What you did catch, at least, was something about a 'juicing room'. It seemed they were going to squeeze you, as crazy as that seemed. Something of a relief, you thought – this was nothing short of awful, and the only thing you wanted at that moment was to end this humiliating ordeal. Well... that, and more of the delicious blueberry pie... but it wasn't worth this. You'd get your old figure back, and do your best to pretend like none of this had ever happened.

One industrial-strength hydraulic press the size of a launch pad and several weeks later, it was 'done'. Wonka said the squeezing process had to be taken very slowly, although based on just how much of your juices he'd collected over those weeks, you had a strong inkling he was milking you for all you were worth. Not like you could do much about it, as for most of that time you were utterly incapable of moving under your own power. Hand flaps and impotent sloshing were the best you could muster.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the juicing process was... imperfect, at best. "What do you mean, 'all done''?!" you'd screamed, on the day Wonka had proudly declared your squeezing to be complete.

'Done' was apparently a word Wonka used rather lightly. Your body was easily three times as wide as it had been before, a dumpy pear shape that filled out your enormously overstretched tracksuit bottom to its limits. Your body was no longer the taut ball of juice that it had been, but what replaced it was almost worse – a flabby sack of indigo pie-fat, sagging down over your thighs nearly to your knees.

"Just what I said, of course!" Wonka said cheerily, ignoring the enraged look on your fleshy, still-blue cheeks. "It's not quite what we'd hoped, I know, but I'm afraid that's the best we can do! Just really not much more to squeeze out, I'm afraid. If you're hoping to slim down a bit, might I suggest diet and exercise?" His cheery demeanor seemed almost sincere. You wanted to deck him, but you had no confidence in your blue blimp of a body that you'd be able to make contact, and you really didn't want to piss off this misanthropic maniac without knocking him flat first.