Fine, call me insane.
For years, I wanted it more than anything else in the world. I wanted to have blue skin. I wanted to be plump and juicy. I wanted to be cute and round. I wanted to be a blueberry girl.
It all started with those investigative stories about the famous Golden Ticket tour, and the winners attempting to sue the factory for the various “accidents” that had occurred. Of course, due to Wonka’s fancy legal footwork, he couldn't be sued. But that didn't stop the other things that came out of it: articles, books, TV, and movies. When I read that one of the winners had been transformed into a giant blueberry, I was immediately transfixed. It forever changed me.
At the time, I had just entered college and I was discovering my sexuality. The thought of losing my humanity, losing my trim figure, becoming fat and blue, being humiliated, being played with, and being objectified soon became engrained in my deepest and darkest desires.
I then thought, how fantastic would it have been if I had won a Golden Ticket? I wanted to be whisked away to another world where everything was sweet and dreamy. I wanted to live in that place where anything was possible. I wanted to go to that factory, knowing that within moments, my world could change so wonderfully and my imagination could run wild and free. Then, in a sudden turn of events and under the spell of the factory, I could be transformed almost beyond recognition.
I can’t explain why I wanted this transformation so badly. Maybe I had found my kink. Maybe turning into a blueberry meant a flight from the problems the world presented to me. It was almost as if I wanted to erase the humanity from myself.
I envied those Golden Ticket winners and I hated them. Sure, there was a miniscule chance of winning in the first place. It was just like winning the lottery—the chances were astronomical, maybe one in hundreds of millions. But why oh why couldn’t it be me?
Because of my blueberry dream, I became hopelessly infatuated with the candy world. At times, I would binge on Wonka bars and candy until I became sick, but I would savor that sugar high. I would even eat until my belly pushed out my clothes, and I’d massage myself and imagine what it would be like to freely gorge myself at the factory. When mixed with self-gratification, my consumption of sweets became irrevocably entwined with extreme pleasure.
My obsession only intensified as the years passed. Throughout my college years, I had a Friday ritual of eating a ton of candy, painting myself blue, and stuffing a blue (custom made)spandex dress until I was round and fat. I loved my big, blue body. I made my brown hair look nice and I used makeup to make myself a pretty berry. I would waddle over to a big mirror and look at my transformed self, thinking that I looked very cute and wanting any gorgeous guy to play with me and have his way with me. It always felt right for me, yet I knew that actually being a blueberry must have been a completely different experience. Soon, I made a decision: I had to get the gum by any means necessary. Well, short of murdering someone, of course.
For the remainder of my college years and into my mid-twenties, I watched the company like a hawk. I perused the company website everyday looking for any job postings that might have been added. I needed a better opportunity to get this gum and I figured that any position within the company could get me close enough to fulfilling my destiny.
One day, my chance finally came. The website indicated that there were a few job openings. They were menial--waste disposal, taste-testing, and janitorial openings--but any one would be a dream job for me. At once, my heart fluttering and aching for acceptance, I applied. I didn't care which one I got--I just needed to be in that world.
When my interview was scheduled, I immediately bought a nice blouse and skirt for the interview. My hair, makeup, and nails were immaculate, yet conservative. My perfume was applied slightly, and I gave off a sweet scent. For the interview, I decided to wear my glasses (even though my visual acuity is only slightly less than perfect) to make myself appear more studious. I hoped that I'd get a male interviewer, and if I did, I'd take those glasses off at just the right time.
The interview went well. Sure, I was nervous, but my desire and drive pushed me through. I was closer to realizing my dream and I couldn't live with myself if I had blown it. The interviewer was surprisingly younger than me, maybe in his early twenties, and he reminded me of a Roman statue. He was built, blond haired, blue eyed, and incredibly handsome. He told me that he would be my immediate supervisor. My eyes widened and I could only smile. After the interview, that man would drive my desires and become my master and owner in my fantasies. His name was Charlie, and I hoped he would like blueberry girls.
After an excruciating wait, I got a call a couple of days later. When he had said, "You are overqualified for the position you're seeking," my heart sank and ached. "However," he continued, "I do need an executive assistant. Would you be interested in the job?"
I got off from that call on a major high, trembling with adrenaline and wet with desire. I had taken a gigantic leap forward!
I will always remember my first day of work. I had dreamed of being in the factory every day for years, and I was finally living in my fantasies. Everything either met my dreams or exceeded them. The chocolate room was indeed a magical forest I could eat, the individual preparation rooms were gargantuan and magnificent, and even the hallways were plush and ornate.
I loved my job. I sat right outside the owner’s office, and I was always in the know in terms of events, new candies, and VIP visits. My crush on my boss intensified, and after a while, we had a playful back-and-forth. I was his right-hand woman, and he trusted me with many secrets and documents. As his executive assistant, I had access to almost the entire factory. Most importantly, I had access to the inventing room.
After a month on the job, I started my investigative work. As an executive assistant, I had access to the factory's inventory of knowledge. It was like a wiki site that I could log on to and read anything that pertained to the factory. Through my research, I found that the Three-Course Chewing Gum Meal was never moved out of the experimental stage. As a result of the bad publicity, the gum never went on the market, but the machine was still operational and maintained with the hopes of someday mass-producing the gum. When I read this, I sat back at my desk, my heart pounding and my panties feeling wet. It was true. It was possible! I had to make it happen! I WOULD make it happen!
I made preparations for my Transformation Day. As long as I could get the gum in my hands, everything else would fall into place. I made a plan to get to the inventing room without much notice. I would transform inside the inventing room, and whatever else happened to the naughty blueberry afterwards would be her punishment. I also considered how I wanted to look as a blueberry, and I brainstormed different hairstyles and different applications for makeup. My gum research found that every person that turned into a blueberry had their clothes inexplicably stretch across their blimped bodies, so I shopped for blue, stretchy clothes. On most days, I would sit at my desk and think of my plan, burning with arousal at the fantasies playing on repeat in my mind.
“T-Day” finally arrived. I chose Friday at lunch for my transformation, as it was “casual Friday,” and people’s minds would be on the weekend. Additionally, the inventing room would probably be empty at lunch time, and I could use the machine without anyone noticing.
Just in case by clothes burst off, I wore my favorite pink panties and bra. I wore a blue tracksuit (a zippered jacket and bottoms) that would stretch as I expanded. As far as I could tell, the color of the tracksuit was close to the hue my skin would take. At worst, it might be slightly off. I used an eyelash curler and applied a little shadow. For my lips, after much thought, I settled on a slightly pink gloss. I had been growing out my wavy hair, and it was long enough to cover my breasts. I didn't do much to it, but I wore a pink clip that would keep my hair out of my face as I was being rolled. I wore brand new, blue running shoes that matched my tracksuit. When I was done, I looked at myself in the mirror. The sight of myself dressed up for my transformation turned me on. I looked myself over, feeling my prominent breasts and butt. I then ran my hands over my flat belly, imagining how it would look as I filled out. I figured that I would be too fat to fully notice, and taking this into mind, I put my video camera in my purse.
The morning went as any normal morning could. I came into work with my usual latte, sat down at my desk, and started on some work. Charlie was already there, as he lived in the factory, and when he saw me, he greeted me warmly as he normally did.
He then did a double take on me, eyeing my outfit. I froze in panic—did he know about my plan? He then smiled and went about his day.
During the lunch break, I went to the inventing room. Since it was lunch time, the room was empty and my absence from my desk wouldn’t be completely conspicuous. I smiled after I took a look around—it was only me. I quickly set up my camera so it would capture my transformation (of course, I didn’t consider HOW I’d stop it) and I walked over to the gum machine.
The gum machine sat there, silent and enormous, and I was in awe at the power it had over me. It was the machine that turned people into giant blueberries. It was the machine that would transform me and take me into another realm of existence. I reached my hand out and ran my fingers over the metal and components sensually. At the console, and the chute where the gum would come out, I embraced the cold, hard metal and pressed my breasts and belly against the machine. I whispered, stroking him, “hey there big boy…you don’t know me, but I’m your biggest fan.” I kissed and licked the console and said to him, “You can do anything to me. You have my permission to ravage me. In fact, I want you to do something to me.” He remained still, and I pleaded quietly to him, “Please, make me the happiest girl in the world. Make me a blueberry.”
I pressed the button and the machine fired to life. It spluttered, wheezed, clanked, and whirred for a few minutes. Finally, a piece of chewing gum fell down the chute and into the chamber. I cut the power, and with a trembling hand, reached inside and retrieved it.
It was a small square of gum and looked plain. I examined the tiny yellow brick in my hand. Years of work and effort would finally pay off in the next few minutes.
I was just about to pop it in my mouth when a voice said. "I wouldn't do that."
I turned and gasped. It was Charlie! My mind scrambled as it tried to register my current reality. Charlie caught me and I felt embarrassed, but he was always part of my fantasies, so why wouldn't I want him there?
I faltered for only a second before I stuck the gum in my mouth and started chewing like mad. Hot, creamy, delicious tomato soup exploded from under my teeth with each chew.
"I know what you're doing," he said. "I closely monitor which resources my employees access, just to ensure I don't hire any spies. It is curious to me that of all the things I have in this factory, you were only interested in one thing: this gum. I thought you were going to steal it, so I was planning on catching you red-handed, but I wasn't expecting that you'd actually want it." He paused and looked at me as if wanting an answer, but I only continued to chew. He then asked, "Why?"
I shrugged my shoulders and kept chewing. Between bites, I got an idea and I let out, "Do you ask a fish how it swims? Or a bird, how it flies?"
He laughed. "So you're suggesting you were born to be a blueberry?"
I didn't say anything. The gum had changed. The roast beef I was now chewing was tender and juicy, and the baked potato was loaded and savory. I started to feel irritated as I chomped. I couldn't enjoy the gum if the gorgeous idiot was standing there talking to me!
After a prolonged silence, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Very well." He blew a tune on his little fife.
Within a few seconds, a small crowd of my coworkers gathered around me. Charlie ordered, "She is nearing the third course! Collect as much data as you can!"
A few people started writing on clipboards and a couple of them nervously held out stop watches. Two had cameras, and were taking pictures of me every few seconds from every angle. The last two people had video cameras, and they started capturing footage from in front and behind me. I was slightly aroused as I was now an experiment, a willing guinea pig, and my transformation would undoubtedly go down in history.
I moaned slightly. I was feeling full already from all the food I had swallowed. I looked down and saw my belly pooching out a little bit in my tracksuit, as if it was trying to compete with my breasts. I rubbed my hands over my tight middle as the gum started to fade again. I tried to pinch parts of my belly, but it was no use--I was as tight as a drum. Habitually, my fingers slid past my large, domed middle and reached over my lower abdomen...
"Now now," Charlie said. "We don't want to have to edit anything out."
My reeling, stupid, horny brain could barely process what he had said. I had just bit down on the gum and felt a tiny cooked ball pop between my teeth. My mouth instantly filled with tangy blueberry flavor, and I started to taste the cooked, buttery crust of the blueberry pie and cream. My heart raced and my excitement mounted. I looked down at my hands, and saw a blue hue travelling from my wrists to the tips of my fingers. I turned over my hands and looked at my palms, all completely blue, matching my tracksuit exactly.
The small crowd around me buzzed excitedly and note-taking increased. "She's turning blue! She'll start expanding in seconds!" someone exclaimed.
I put my arms back down at my sides and felt them brush against my bloated middle. I looked down and saw my breasts and belly slowly grow and stretch my jacket. Overall, my body was bigger, and my tracksuit, which initially had plenty of room to spare, was now filled out snugly by my fattening figure.
My heart continued to hammer excitedly and my adrenaline was pumping. I felt tingles over my entire body and I felt a torrent of butterflies in my stomach, which gurgled and churned. My belly suddenly surged out and I moaned involuntarily and sensually. I spread my feet slightly and felt my wet panties between my legs.
I rubbed my belly once more and found that it had outpaced and surpassed my plumping breasts, sticking out as if I was in a third trimester. I smiled slightly, and thought kinkily, a third trimester with the gum machine.
I strained to look at my thighs and butt, but my midsection was too big to see around! Charlie said, "Don't worry, you can watch the footage when you're done." I smiled sheepishly and blushed purple, and went back to rubbing my belly. My breasts were now basketball-sized balloons and they pushed against my arms as I tried to rub myself.
I surpassed any fathomable pregnancy size as my sides grew out, and I guessed that I probably looked like an obese, blue girl who was squeezed into a track suit. Soon, my hands could only rub my sides and enormous breasts.
My growing thighs forced my feet apart a little more. I took a few steps outwards, and my heavy body swayed from side to side and rippled as each foot impacted the floor. I felt like a fat, blue, sumo girl. I looked over to the gum machine. He was silent and lifeless and almost seemed to be watching as his magic took a hold of me and ravaged me.
I wanted to rub myself some more, but my arms hardly moved. I looked at them both, and they had mostly sunk into my spherical form. They were now extremely fat cones whose hands waved only slightly. I was almost complete.
In my final stages, the butterflies in my belly calmed down (although, by belly WAS my body at this point). I could feel the internal pressure of my juice pressing outwards against my skin. Because of this, I had the slight sensation of being pressed. Soon, when I looked for my arms, all I saw was my hands. I shuffled from side to side, and my eyes scanned my spherical body. My transformation was now complete. I was a big, giant blueberry.
Charlie approached me, looking over me objectively with his hands behind his back. I wondered what was going on in his mind. Did he like blueberry girls? Did he think I was cute? I felt helpless as he examined me, his head cocked, looking over my big body from every angle. I helplessly thought that he was looking over his latest acquisition, and that I, and the juice inside me, was now owned by him.
His hands came around and revealed the video camera I placed earlier. "You won't be needing this. I have everything you need." He motioned to a few of my coworkers, and a big mirror was placed in front of me.
My eyes widened and I blushed. It was everything I could have dreamed for. I was big and perfectly round, with the exception of my head, hands, feet, and breasts. My face was blue, and my makeup was perfect for my new skin color. My brown hair, which usually hung to my middle back and breasts, cascaded down my round backside. My breasts protruded from my round figure, straining my jacket and showing my deep cleavage and pink bra underneath. My tracksuit had ridden up with my breasts, exposing my midriff and belly button. The bottom part of my tracksuit stretched out around my underside. My pink panties poked out slightly, right above the waistband. My blue sneakers were still on and neatly tied.
"Well, how does it feel?" he asked, as I gazed into the mirror. I couldn't look away, never mind turn away. I blushed and said timidly, "Good."
"We need to take you to the juicing room. You need to be squeezed."
"I won't explode, right?" I asked fearfully, remembering my research.
"No. That's a myth."
I flapped my hands in protest, "Then please don't juice me."
He paused with a look of surprise. "…you want to stay a blueberry?"
I nodded. I tried to take a few steps to show how I was able to handle my new body. I pressed hard into the ground with my feet and shuffled a few steps.
"I can't have a blueberry for an executive assistant!"
I wanted to cry. "You can fire me, but please don't juice me. I'm a blueberry, please don't change me!" I pleaded.
He stared at me with a bewildered look. After a pause, he said, "I suppose we could keep you like this a little longer. We have yet to fully study the long term effects of the gum because everyone else has been immediately juiced at this point." He looked me up and down. "You can't go home like this. I have a few guest rooms that should be able to fit you. We’ll have to modify them, of course.
“You're demoted to taste-tester. Now that we have a willing subject, we may as well continue development of the gum. If you’re willing to stay a blueberry, I don’t suppose you’d object to trying the gum again once you’ve been juiced. The gum hasn’t been perfected for decades, so you’re almost guaranteed to turn into a blueberry again. We can always tweak the recipe as well, should we finally get it right, so you can always return to this state. That is my payment to you as a taste-tester. Deal?"
I immediately dreaded being juiced. But at least the process of turning back into the blueberry was comforting. I nodded as much as I could, and said, “deal!”
He then walked up to me with curiosity and placed a palm on my belly. I whimpered slightly and watched as he looked downward, undoubtedly toward my crotch. "You're leaking a lot of juice. You've left a trail where you waddled."
I felt my cheeks get hot. "I'm sorry. I can't help it."
"I guess you can't." He motioned for my coworkers. They surrounded me. "Roll her to my guest quarters. We'll have to make some adjustments, but I think she'll be comfortable enough."
I flapped my hands and said, "thank you." I wanted to kiss him for being so understanding and accommodating, but as a blueberry, that was not an option for me to take. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked towards the double doors nearest to the gum machine. He opened them both and said, "Roll her through here."
I tried to take a few steps toward the doors myself, but my coworkers closed in and put their hands around me. Someone behind me said, "Tip her towards me. Ready? One, two three!" I felt the many hands, around what would be my midriff and back, push me over. My feet left the ground, and soon, I was on my back lying face up. I flapped my hands and moved my feet--they found nothing and only touched the sides of my round body.
They began rolling me, the giant blueberry, past the doors and into the hallway. I felt the many hands walk over my sides as I tumbled down the red-carpeted corridor. My world spun around and around, and it was peculiar feeling having the ground encircle my body as we went along.
I had finally done it. It had taken years, but I was finally a blueberry. I couldn’t help but smile as I was being rolled. I was happy.
Yes, I traded in my humanity for becoming a blueberry. Yes, I traded in my full, sexy, healthy body for a blue, fat one. But in the end, my obsession was gone, and my journey was complete. I didn’t doubt that I was happier than most people would ever be in their entire lives.
So fine, call me insane.