Your soupified mind can hardly comprehend the pair of gargantuan hands that perfectly cup your vast lower hemisphere, desperate moans teased out of you as they draw slight circles in the softness encompassing your juice-filled balloon of a body. Against better judgement you hope to overflow them.

Squinting past bloated, juice-stained cheeks, you feel heat rising over your face as you realise your proximity to theirs. Their eyes speak of a cool, indifferent appraisal. A wry smile is crossed by a shh motion, before an eye mask and earmuffs reduce your perception to pure, sunken, sensory bliss.

It was a kinda odd theme for a party, but whatever, a party's a party. And you sure were a party person, in your silly cowboy outfit, already stumbling around and sloshing weirdly loudly, stifling hiccups, woozy and way too full. "Yeah, maybe we misspelt the sign. And maybe we needed a centerpiece."

"Yeah, we heard what you said; those damn suits up top, always complaining about productivity!" You whimper, your only means of protest already pulling against the sides of your taut blue blimp of a body, seams splitting, shirt buttons pinging. "Well, how about a little change in contract, then?"

"B-but wait, this wasn't in the contract!" You stutter, pawing desperately at your rounding tummy, thickening arms sliding over ballooning sides. "Is that so? Well, we still got a pinup to shoot." The photographer chuckles, readying his camera. You realise that the fruit bowl was just for contrast.

Hedonism, pure hedonism, pie filling dripping from your fat cheeks, blueberry breath heavy, breathing in more, more pie, more weight added to your thick rolls and folds, layers of heavy warmth, soft and sloshing and wonderful, it doesn't matter, nothing matters besides getting bigger, fuller, heavie

You'd built this damn machine to make life a little easier, to automate decanting the brewery's blueberry vintage for the long-term, but it'd turned out to be somewhat...overzealous. The huge, taut, overfilled storage tank of your spherical body creaks, your mind dissolving into sweet, heady warmth.

It's too fast, too much; and still not enough. Juice streams down your front, bursts past your lips down bulbous cheeks, the slickness of your lower hemisphere intensifying as you give in to roundness, enraptured by the erosion of silhouette. Bigger, tighter, overflowing. You're truly torrential.

Desperately, you try to lubricate the cogs that have ground to a halt in your brain, try to come up with something new, novel, different; your next story can't be the same as the others. Still it returns, the vicious circle, gravity pulling you in. You're back in the factory. Back where you belong.

Blue flesh collides with slick, swollen blue flesh, burgeoning vessels growing more distant even as you imbibe eachother's intoxicating nectar, fighting futility. Every surface glistens with your overflowing juices, lines blurred by sweet hedonism. No sun could lay claim to such overflowing bounty.

You admire your muse, linseed's scent dispersed against a syrupy haze. Though the overall figure is plain, you find yourself lost in the easily overlooked, the suggestions of prior form, the plays of light against an azure canvas, warmer hues speaking of mammalian heat. Your brush's essence drips.

Exhaustion whispers for you to let your eyelids fall softly, calling you to the sweet void; suddenly, something in the road. You slam the brakes. Your bumper barely taps the huge object as you screech to a halt, tipping it slightly backwards. You step out the car to gaze wearily at it. "H-hewlp?"

"Omg, have you seen this month's issue? Come check out this feature!" You peek over your friend's shoulder; heat rises in your face at the two page spread showing an extremely curvy, deep blue skinned model, their lacy outfit accenting thick thighs and a full chest. Envy stirs silently within you.