Blueberry Inflation Literature Collection: Volume III

To A Fruitful Harvest

(trans protagonist, blueberry, humiliation, burping, chastity/orgasm denial)

The sounds of hurried footsteps and urgent whispers echoed throughout the imposing hallways of the Phelan Palace. Uniformed attendants and servants hastily wheeled numerous carts stacked high with powdered foundations and concealers, lavish robes of silk and velvet, and enough blueberry danish and puff pastries to feed a small village. This parade of complete and utter decadence was all being brought to one location: the princess's quarters.

Parting the red curtains that framed the doorway, what would hit you first was the almost saccharine aroma of freshly squeezed fruit juice, followed by the sight of a throng of royal servants, all clamoring around what can only be described as a tremendous 9 foot tall blue ball of glossy, swollen flesh. The orb depressed and bulged with every appendage placed against it, as if it was stretched tight with a semi-viscous liquid, the likes of which could just barely be heard bubbling under its trembling surface. Many maids circled this tremendous sphere, all quite busy working on the many adjustments that had to be made to the fleeting bits of cloth and jewelry that were draped along its circumference. Patterned yellow lace was being tightened around gloves that had been stretched into obscene parodies of their former selves over puffed-out appendages that sat deep within divots. A cape of sorts was being draped over the end that was faced away from the tremendous stained glass window that caused its azure surface to glisten so vibrantly. And on the opposite side of this cape were two maids, leaning over two exposed, dribbling breasts, methodically placing cream puff after cream puff past the fattened, pudgy cheeks of the puppy princess, Elodia, whose pouty face sat in its own deep indentation at roughly a 45 degree angle from the ceiling which her encroaching neck flesh forced her to observe. The undersized dog collar digging into her bulging neck only further emphasized the tremendous pressure that filled her entire mass. Droopy brown ears rested on top of long, frizzy bundles of raven black hair braided with ribbons and lightly colored flowers that spilled over the steep curve where her shoulders used to be, the last real signifier of her personhood visible to anyone not able to see her face over her garishly bloated cheeks.

In the Phelan Kingdom, each heir to the throne is expected to begin the new era brought in by their reign by making a crucial decision: picking the national fruit that will represent the reign of the current ruler. This comes with huge implications, as this not only decides what will surely become the country's most popular agricultural export for the foreseeable future, but also which fruit the sitting heir to the throne will then have to fatten up into.

Phelan tradition says that to ensure that the coming harvest seasons are bountiful, the queen-to-be must physically embody the very fruit that her people are entrusting their livelihoods to as a means of devoting her entire being to the people. With the help of the Royal Arcane Scholars, and an hours long incantation passed down through the generations, someone with the blood of the royal family line can have their fat cells converted into juice depositories, which will store excess calories as a form of mana-imbued fruit juice instead of the standard adipose cells that would be normally stored there. This magic tonic is already incredibly valuable as a source of concentrated energy, but it becomes all the more valuable when extracted in one specific manner.

"Mm- mmnnnph... uuuUOOOORP... urgh...."

The blueberry princess can only whine and wiggle about as Camellia, the feline head maid of the royal palace lovingly caresses her enormously swollen sack, packed with about 400 days and nights worth of blueberry flavored royal seed. The undersized cage of chastity locked around her pecker was proof of the many pleasureless nights she had endured all for this day. Each trace of the doting caretaker's clawed fingertips sent lightning through her body, her loins so oversensitive that even the slightest touch of her undercarriage was nearly enough to make her mewl.