Sam Beauregarde Turns Into a Blueberry
By: Matt1008 on deviantArt
"Dad, that's my gum!"
"Finders keepers losers weepers, sweetie."
Sam Beauregarde was getting impatient. Sure, he was grateful to his only daughter for finding that elusive golden ticket - but now that they were here at last in the factory, he desperately wanted to use the opportunity to get a private audience with Mr. Wonka himself. Sam was a businessman, too. Even if his used car dealership was small potatoes compared with Wonka's factory, he was sure that he could barter out some kind of "buy a Pinto, get a free box of Wonka bars" deal with the man.
Which brought him to the gum in his hand. In Sam's mind, it was enough pain trying to get through this blasted tour with a rich bitch, mousy blonde kid and that stupid German boy who got sucked through a giant straw. He had to grab the bull by the horns on this one. Which brought him to this piece of experimental gum in his hand. After all, wouldn't Wonka want the opinion of an informed adult rather than some bratty kid?
So he popped it in his mouth and started chewing.
Everybody gathered around in anticipation. The first words he heard blurted from Violet: "All right Dad, so what does it taste like?"
Sam felt an odd sensation filling his mouth. "Tomato soup! I can feel it going down my throat!"
A few murmurings came from the crowd. Sam even might have heard a "jerk" or "asshole" in there, which brought a little smile to his smug face. He didn't get where he was being Mr. Nice Guy, after all.
"Hey, the second course is coming up - roast beef! And a baked potato with sour cream!"
Violet piped up again: "Daddy, if that gum has a delicious dessert, I swear I'm gonna kill you!"
"Not to worry, honey, I'll get you a piece later. Here it comes ... blueberry pie with whipped cream! The best pie I've ever tasted!" It was true. The taste filled his mouth and throat with a fantastic intensity that made the other courses seem wimpy by comparison.
He closed his eyes and kept chewing, lost in the deliciousness of the fresh blueberry pie. More rumblings from the other tourgoers ... more complaints? Get over it, people.
"Dad, you're turning blue!" Violet's shrill voice brought him back to earth. He stared at his hands, which in the space of a few seconds darkened from a pale lilac to ... violet. He really was changing color!
"What the heck? Wonka, what's happening?"
"It always happens at the blueberry pie stage," mused Wonka, staring off into space.
"What? Why am I turning blue? So help me God, I'll sue you, Wonka!" Sam looked back at his hands, which were deepening into an unreal, bright shade of peacock blue. In the midst of his rage, he felt a vague gurgling in his stomach. "You can't get away with this!"
"Mr. Beauregarde, I warned you that this was a prototype. Besides, you already signed any liabilities away a few rooms ago. Remember, when we came in?"
Just then, people in the crowd started noticing that Sam looked a bit strange, bloated even. Sam looked down and noticed that his belly was sticking out, making his midsection feel tight. He heard one of the brats yell out, "Look! He's blowing up like a balloon!"
"What's happening to me? I feel funny," Sam muttered to himself. He could feel liquid seeping into every corner of his body – and quickly, too. His stomach was rounding out, spilling over his tightening waistline like rising bread dough that was left out too long. His chest and arms were plumping up. He could even feel his legs filling up. Quickly, he removed his loud plaid jacket and tossed it to Violet.
The mom of a brat spoke up: "He's filling with air! Somebody deflate him before he pops!"
"That's not air he's filling with, it's blueberry juice," Wonka replied. He then whipped out a tiny pan flute and whistled an odd melody.
By this time the whole room, sans Wonka, was tranfixed with Sam's inflation. Even Sam himself was staring downward at his at his ballooning form as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. At that very moment, three lower buttons rapidly popped off his shirt. His gut was now a huge ball. Sam's first thought was "Jeez, my pants are killing me." Strangely enough, the inflation itself didn't hurt, only his tightening clothes did. Mostly he felt like a giant balloon filling with a steady supply of water.
Finally the button and zipper on his pants let go with a satisfying pop. Sam could hear ripping sounds up and down his thighs, and even down his butt. He dimly cursed himself for buying those pants recently and not getting much use from them. They were on sale, too. The rapid bloating was matched on the top half of his body, too, as his shirt fully popped open and ripped across the back. Pillowy blue flesh ripped out of his arm sleeves. Before long, his outer layer of clothing was in tatters on the floor — leaving Sam standing there wearing overstretched boxers and an undershirt.
Waddling his feet further apart to widen his stance, Sam was looking like a severely obese man. His gut was a massive ball, his pecs resting on top like huge pillows, his arms and legs filling up with blueberry juice like overstuffed sausages. Sam found it weird, but fascinating in a way. He really was turning into a huge blueberry, but there must have been something in the juice that was clouding up his mind. Increasingly, he found it harder to think straight.
He looked around for some sign of help, but all he could see was a roomful of people staring at him silently. Even chatty Violet stood there, mouth agape. "Huh," he thought, "I must be quite an eyeful if I could shut Violet up." He also noticed that Wonka was talking to one of those freaky little orange men, the bastard.
Sam was getting bigger and bigger. The increasing tightness of his body wasn't stopping the flow of juice at all. He wondered when it would ever stop. His body was becoming more spherical, with cone-shaped arms sticking out at 45-degree angles, a humungous butt, and fat, stumpy legs. His shirt and boxers stretched themselves to fit his ballooning form, oddly enough, giving Sam some peace of mind. Turning into a giant blueberry he could (somewhat) handle, but the thought of being stark naked in front of strangers embarrassed him.
His mind in a fog, Sam dimly decided to move around. Where would he go? He wanted to pivot himself around, so he moved each foot, an inch or so at a time. His legs - what was left of them, anyhow - were huge and heavy. He felt the liquid sloshing around in them with each movement, small steps causing giant waves in his body. He only rotated a bit before giving up.
By now, all Sam could see was the expanse of blue flesh that was once his chest, with a wife beater freakishly stretched over an expanse of tightly stretched skin. He could barely move his head. He moved his plumped fingers up and down, just because it was one of the few body parts he still had control over. His body was becoming completely spherical, a six foot diameter ball with head, hands and feet.
He felt the touch of tiny hands over his backside, his mass ponderously rolling forward until he was staring at the floor. What were they doing? He was moving. Floor became ceiling, the floor again. Quickly fading, Sam dimly thought, "somebody's moving me."
"Finders keepers losers weepers, sweetie."
Sam Beauregarde was getting impatient. Sure, he was grateful to his only daughter for finding that elusive golden ticket - but now that they were here at last in the factory, he desperately wanted to use the opportunity to get a private audience with Mr. Wonka himself. Sam was a businessman, too. Even if his used car dealership was small potatoes compared with Wonka's factory, he was sure that he could barter out some kind of "buy a Pinto, get a free box of Wonka bars" deal with the man.
Which brought him to the gum in his hand. In Sam's mind, it was enough pain trying to get through this blasted tour with a rich bitch, mousy blonde kid and that stupid German boy who got sucked through a giant straw. He had to grab the bull by the horns on this one. Which brought him to this piece of experimental gum in his hand. After all, wouldn't Wonka want the opinion of an informed adult rather than some bratty kid?
So he popped it in his mouth and started chewing.
Everybody gathered around in anticipation. The first words he heard blurted from Violet: "All right Dad, so what does it taste like?"
Sam felt an odd sensation filling his mouth. "Tomato soup! I can feel it going down my throat!"
A few murmurings came from the crowd. Sam even might have heard a "jerk" or "asshole" in there, which brought a little smile to his smug face. He didn't get where he was being Mr. Nice Guy, after all.
"Hey, the second course is coming up - roast beef! And a baked potato with sour cream!"
Violet piped up again: "Daddy, if that gum has a delicious dessert, I swear I'm gonna kill you!"
"Not to worry, honey, I'll get you a piece later. Here it comes ... blueberry pie with whipped cream! The best pie I've ever tasted!" It was true. The taste filled his mouth and throat with a fantastic intensity that made the other courses seem wimpy by comparison.
He closed his eyes and kept chewing, lost in the deliciousness of the fresh blueberry pie. More rumblings from the other tourgoers ... more complaints? Get over it, people.
"Dad, you're turning blue!" Violet's shrill voice brought him back to earth. He stared at his hands, which in the space of a few seconds darkened from a pale lilac to ... violet. He really was changing color!
"What the heck? Wonka, what's happening?"
"It always happens at the blueberry pie stage," mused Wonka, staring off into space.
"What? Why am I turning blue? So help me God, I'll sue you, Wonka!" Sam looked back at his hands, which were deepening into an unreal, bright shade of peacock blue. In the midst of his rage, he felt a vague gurgling in his stomach. "You can't get away with this!"
"Mr. Beauregarde, I warned you that this was a prototype. Besides, you already signed any liabilities away a few rooms ago. Remember, when we came in?"
Just then, people in the crowd started noticing that Sam looked a bit strange, bloated even. Sam looked down and noticed that his belly was sticking out, making his midsection feel tight. He heard one of the brats yell out, "Look! He's blowing up like a balloon!"
"What's happening to me? I feel funny," Sam muttered to himself. He could feel liquid seeping into every corner of his body – and quickly, too. His stomach was rounding out, spilling over his tightening waistline like rising bread dough that was left out too long. His chest and arms were plumping up. He could even feel his legs filling up. Quickly, he removed his loud plaid jacket and tossed it to Violet.
The mom of a brat spoke up: "He's filling with air! Somebody deflate him before he pops!"
"That's not air he's filling with, it's blueberry juice," Wonka replied. He then whipped out a tiny pan flute and whistled an odd melody.
By this time the whole room, sans Wonka, was tranfixed with Sam's inflation. Even Sam himself was staring downward at his at his ballooning form as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. At that very moment, three lower buttons rapidly popped off his shirt. His gut was now a huge ball. Sam's first thought was "Jeez, my pants are killing me." Strangely enough, the inflation itself didn't hurt, only his tightening clothes did. Mostly he felt like a giant balloon filling with a steady supply of water.
Finally the button and zipper on his pants let go with a satisfying pop. Sam could hear ripping sounds up and down his thighs, and even down his butt. He dimly cursed himself for buying those pants recently and not getting much use from them. They were on sale, too. The rapid bloating was matched on the top half of his body, too, as his shirt fully popped open and ripped across the back. Pillowy blue flesh ripped out of his arm sleeves. Before long, his outer layer of clothing was in tatters on the floor — leaving Sam standing there wearing overstretched boxers and an undershirt.
Waddling his feet further apart to widen his stance, Sam was looking like a severely obese man. His gut was a massive ball, his pecs resting on top like huge pillows, his arms and legs filling up with blueberry juice like overstuffed sausages. Sam found it weird, but fascinating in a way. He really was turning into a huge blueberry, but there must have been something in the juice that was clouding up his mind. Increasingly, he found it harder to think straight.
He looked around for some sign of help, but all he could see was a roomful of people staring at him silently. Even chatty Violet stood there, mouth agape. "Huh," he thought, "I must be quite an eyeful if I could shut Violet up." He also noticed that Wonka was talking to one of those freaky little orange men, the bastard.
Sam was getting bigger and bigger. The increasing tightness of his body wasn't stopping the flow of juice at all. He wondered when it would ever stop. His body was becoming more spherical, with cone-shaped arms sticking out at 45-degree angles, a humungous butt, and fat, stumpy legs. His shirt and boxers stretched themselves to fit his ballooning form, oddly enough, giving Sam some peace of mind. Turning into a giant blueberry he could (somewhat) handle, but the thought of being stark naked in front of strangers embarrassed him.
His mind in a fog, Sam dimly decided to move around. Where would he go? He wanted to pivot himself around, so he moved each foot, an inch or so at a time. His legs - what was left of them, anyhow - were huge and heavy. He felt the liquid sloshing around in them with each movement, small steps causing giant waves in his body. He only rotated a bit before giving up.
By now, all Sam could see was the expanse of blue flesh that was once his chest, with a wife beater freakishly stretched over an expanse of tightly stretched skin. He could barely move his head. He moved his plumped fingers up and down, just because it was one of the few body parts he still had control over. His body was becoming completely spherical, a six foot diameter ball with head, hands and feet.
He felt the touch of tiny hands over his backside, his mass ponderously rolling forward until he was staring at the floor. What were they doing? He was moving. Floor became ceiling, the floor again. Quickly fading, Sam dimly thought, "somebody's moving me."