Contract Work

[ANIMATIONS ARE ATTACHED AT THE BOTTOM, BUT MAY NOT MAKE SENSE UNLESS THE ATTACHED STORY IS READ FIRST, SO BE WARNED ON THAT]

Hey hey!! I went and did something a little different than usual this month!! I decided it would be fun if the 2 mini animations were both part of a story!!

I commissioned the epic writer billjohn15coolio to write a super fun story involving Twinmill, and animated 2 shots near the end I thought would look good! It was supposed to just be 2 mini animations but I was kinda having fun on this one so I decided to add an additional 10 lil drawings along the way, I got a lil carried away haha.

You can read the story either below or over on his DeviantArt! Just be aware the DeviantArt version will be missing the last 2 images as they are Patreon exclusives!!

Also attached are video files of the last 2 drawings with some wonderful creaking audio! Sorry if the gif quality is super low on Patreon, here's hoping the load properly on this insane website haha.

PLEASE let me know what you think of this format, and if i should try more things like it in future!! I'm something of a fan of inflation fics, but I know the same may not go for all my followers. Let me know your thoughts positive or negative!!

Ok now scroll down and read the story!!!!!

and also send some love and support to billjohn15coolio!!!

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Twinmill flashed the camera a smile, holding a bag of Crown™ dog food up to an imaginary audience. The last half hour had been spent in a shag carpeted recording studio filled with puppies scampering about, tearing into their mountain of squeaky chew toys. It was the first promotional gig she’d taken in ages, the experience had created a tremendous joy in her soul. She couldn't suppress a chipper hum as she left the studio for the greater warehouse, captured by the notion that nothing could spoil the day. Perhaps ignorance is bliss. 

Bliss had been waiting outside of the recording studio for around fifteen minutes, periodically taking a cautious peek through the window. As Twinmill made for the exit, Bliss nonchalantly rolled back to her desk, as though she hadn’t been lingering there the whole time. 

“Oh, hey Twinmill, you were amazing in the promo just now!” 

“Thanks Bliss! Were you watching?” 

A few pixels of sweat started to run down Bliss’s display. “...N-No.” 

Still full to the brim with energy, Twinmill was struggling to find an outlet for it. She just loved advertising products so much, and today’s contract had her in particularly high spirits. She looked around hungrily for something else she could sign, her gaze rapidly shifting before landing back on Bliss. 

Bliss tapped at a stack of papers on her desk “I don’t have anything else ready for you yet sorry, I’m swamped reading through the marketing proposals from the rest of the company. We can’t use Twinmill branding for everything, Crown sells a lot more than dog food and pizza.” 

A budding curiosity made itself apparent on Twinmill’s face. “Woah - you’re telling me these are all advertising contracts?” 

Her eyes widened as the curiosity expanded into a giddy excitement. She grabbed a handful of the contracts that Bliss had gestured to and flipped past the stack of side-effects and liability waivers. The dog food promo had sounded boring in principle but ended up involving puppies, so she figured that all the legal jargon was irrelevant.

Whatever gig she chose would surely turn out to be fun anyway. 

“Would you at least like me to read through those to find something that would suit you? Not everything in there is meant for models of your… style,” Bliss said as delicately she could.

“No need!” Twinmill produced a sparkling pink glitter pen and immediately got to work signing the first dotted line she could find, throwing all caution to the wind. 

“Golly! You sure read quick!” Bliss complimented, impressed by Twinmill’s speed. 

“Mhm mhm…” Twinmill furrowed her brow in concentration, attempting increasingly elaborate signatures, swirling letters and dotting her Is with hearts. She was far too carried away by the thrill of finding places to sign to even pay attention to what she was signing in the first place. “Okay! All done.” 

She handed a pile of papers back to a stunned Bliss, who then flipped through the contracts to find each dotted line occupied by a bright pink ‘Twinmill E. Pizzaparty.’ 

“Oh gosh - that sure is a lot of contracts. Are you sure you want to do all of these right now?”

Twinmill flashed her a grin and a nod. “Please!”

Bliss led the mascot across the vast, tiled warehouse floor to a storage room. The interior was enormous - hangar-esque and slightly more industrial than Twinmill was expecting. Beams crisscrossed over a hundred feet above their heads, supporting an endless ceiling of sheet metal. 

“Huh. Why is the studio so big?” 

“I dunno. Good luck in there, Twinmill!” Bliss rolled towards the exit, a small cloud of dust left in her wake. 

“Waitwaitwait where am I supposed to—” 

THUNK 

The door to the hangar slammed shut behind her, locking with the audible click of a latch. She didn’t have keycard access either, so there was no obvious way to get out. It was probably fine though; Bliss would come back for her by the time the promos were done anyway. 

She pressed her index fingers together for a moment, observing the cavernous space around her before calling out. “Anyone else in here?” 

Her voice bounced off the walls for several seconds before the last echoes died into a faint metallic tremor. The room was so enormous that it would take minutes to run across it. 

With a great whirr the room’s internal AI started up, beeping to signal its entrance. <<SUBJECT DETECTED>> 

“Oh! Uh, h-hey there.” Twinmill meekly waved at the spindly mechanical arms which were currently descending from the ceiling. “I’m here for the promos. Is there, like, a place I should stand orrr…-” 

<<INITIATING CONTRACT 1>>

<<VERTILITY™ PHARMACEUTICALS>> 

<<ALL AMBASSADORS FOR VERTILITY™ EXPERIMENTAL BODY/FERTILITY ENHANCEMENT PILLS MUST THEMSELVES BE PRESCRIBED SUPPLEMENTS, INITIATING CATCHUP DOSAGE>> 

A couple of the mechanical arms gripped Twinmill’s head and pried her snout open before a fistful of red pills was stuffed into Twinmill’s mouth. 

“Mmngh?!” She protested before they were swallowed with a labored gulp. “Bleh—Okay, okay I’m eating them, jeez.” 

Silence hung in the air for a moment as if the computer was waiting for something to happen. “Is there like a camera or something? I’m ready to film.” 

Twinmill tried to stay focused on the promotion even as she was increasingly distracted by a peculiar sensation in her chest. It felt as if something were welling up inside of her, a bloating sensation that found itself in the company of an uncomfortable tightness; her top was cinching her. 

She looked down to see her breasts pushing forward, rapidly swelling from modest B-cups into slightly plumper D-cups. Her top succeeded in hemming in the growth, though it didn’t do her much good as the fabric tightened to show the outline of a bra far too small for her new assets. Slowly, the pressure started to stretch her top, deepening the neckline and showing off far more of her chest than she’d ever willingly display. 

She turned towards the computer incredulously, her entire face flushed pink, the motion causing her tits to wobble just a little more than she was used to. She crossed her arms over her cleavage defensively, not accustomed to having so much to hide. 

“What the hell are these for?” 

<<AUGMENTATION WAS REQUIRED TO MATCH BRAND AMBASSADOR SPECIFICATIONS>> 

“W-what? Can I at least get some better fitting clothes please?” 

<<AFFIRMATIVE. INITIATING CONTRACT 2>> 

<<PLAYBELLE™ MAGAZINE>> 

<<AMBASSADOR MUST BE PRESENTABLE AND PHOTO-READY IN UNIFORM>>

<<APPLYING STEWARDESS OUTFIT>> 

Twinmill thought she might’ve read something about an airline while skimming the contracts. A stewardess outfit didn’t sound so bad. 

“O-okay, thank—wwooaaaaaah!”

Mechanical arms gripped all four of Twinmill’s limbs and lifted her into the air. 

“H-hey now, let’s not do anything too drastic…,” she said meekly, grinning nervously. 

<<DISROBING>> 

“Waitwaitwait don’t—” her outerwear was quickly shorn off by the computer, eliciting a brief voice crack from both embarrassment and the sudden breezy sensation of exposure. Despite the only witness present being an unthinking machine, Twinmill had not expected an audience when she picked out a plain bra and underwear this morning, the sensation of being seen to this extent was immensely unfamiliar to her. Thankfully, all would soon be mostly covered up by her upcoming new outfit, though it wasn’t particularly to her liking. 

The machine squeezed Twinmill into a tight dark skirt which squeezed her thighs at a hemline barely below her crotch. Spindly mechanical arms buttoned up a white blouse, only to stop far short of her clavicle. She glanced down to see that there simply weren’t any more buttons left to button, leaving a permanent low-cut V of cleavage laid bare for all to see.

She was mortified. “H-hey, what kind of airline dresses their employees like this? It-it-it’s…” she stammered for a moment, “it’s unprofessional!” 

<<AFFIRMATIVE. RECTIFYING>> 

The computer secured a scarlet scarf around her neck and slid high heels over her feet. Apparently satisfied with the formality of the mascot’s attire, it set her back down. As soon as her arms were free, she recrossed them around her enhanced cleavage which was only slightly less constricted by the blouse than the bra. 

Twinmill shivered, the warehouse draft biting her newly exposed upper thighs. She eyed the monitor warily as it appeared to focus a camera on her, still trying to shield her breasts. 

“Well? Take the photos already!” 

The computer was unresponsive, and Twinmill probably knew why. 

“Ugh, fine.” She uncrossed her arms, letting her tits fall back down to strain her blouse with their heft. She attempted a smile even as worry tightened the corner of her mouth, and the camera clicked a few times. 

The computer passed her a cardboard sign for JetSetters, Crown’s new airline venture, which was to be featured as product placement in this month’s Playbelle issue. She rolled her eyes at the slogan—’The view is better inside the cabin!’—and positioned the sign in front of her cleavage. Using a busty flight attendant to market an airline was low, even for Crown, though fortunately the computer didn’t object to Twinmill obscuring her assets and the last few pictures were taken without incident. Some modesty could be conceded. 

“Okay, okay, we’re done. Can I get my old clothes back please?”

<<NEGATIVE. INITIATING CONTRACT 3>> 

<<JETSETTERS AIRLINES>> 

<<JETSETTERS AMBASSADOR REQUIRES A FORM MORE IN-LINE WITH BRAND>> <<HUMANOID SHARK IS NOT CATEGORIZED AS AN ACCEPTABLE SHAPE, RECTIFYING…>> 

The computer deployed a stealthy needle from the ceiling, lowering itself behind Twinmill and jabbing her in the back of the neck. 

“EEP!” She jumped, her heels clicking on the floor as she adjusted her stance. “Ack! What the hell did you just stick me with?!” 

She rubbed the spot of injection, feeling a peculiar warmth start to spread from the site. Whatever the serum did, the mascot didn’t particularly want to stick around and find out. 

She tried sprinting towards the door, but she didn’t even get the chance to find out it was still locked. Her start was stuffed up by the unwieldy heels, and that momentary stumble was enough for the computer to grab hold of her. 

Several arms lifted her up to the monitor like a prize. It gave her a once over, then appeared to make a decision about her fate. Twinmill, blissfully unaware, thought it was just inspecting her outfit. 

“It uhhh… fits fine. Can you please let me down n-woOOOAH!”

The arms flipped her upside down, allowing the computer an upskirt view. Twinmill blushed indignantly, and began squirming anew, but the computer had more on its agenda. It took a liberal grip of her thighs and smooshed them together. 

She squealed at the sensation, then flailed and kicked at her mechanical captor. Instead of the expected sensation of futilely resisting the metal clamps, she was met with a confusing difficulty in moving her legs. 

She looked over her shoulder frantically trying to piece together what had happened. Her legs had entirely merged into one thick tube held pleasingly snug by her skirt. The tube tapered down to her feet, which the machine had flattened into two diminutive, triangular fins to either side of her new lower body, leaving her heels to clatter to the ground. Despite any wiggles she could coax out of them, they were probably useless for walking.

Far too stunned to do anything, Twinmill could only watch with morbid curiosity as the machine grabbed her tail and mashed it into what remained of her lower body. It merged effortlessly, adding to the mass of her tubular form. Her tailfin joined the other two appendages at her tip in a splayed fan formation. 

“W-what did you do to me? I’m supposed to have legs, not—”she twitched her diminutive tails fins “—whatever these are supposed to be.”

<<THE INJECTION HAS MADE YOUR BODY HIGHLY MALLEABLE. OPTIMAL FOR RESHAPING>> 

“But I don’t want to be reshaped! What are you even turning me into?!” 

<<YOU ARE NOW TO BE THE MASCOT OF JETSETTERS AIRLINES. WELCOME ABOARD >> 

“But I didn't agree to—oof…” Many more arms joined in on the action, grabbing and massaging every inch of her body. A few arms gripped Twinmill just under her breasts, then yanked upwards. Her lower body was still secured in place, and with the machine unwilling to budge, her body was forced to accommodate. 

Her torso extended upwards rapidly, her midriff expanding to several times its initial height. Her proudly toned stomach losing all definition, identifiable only by the little exposed navel indent in the middle of the stretched length of tummy. Twinmill’s entire body plan was discarded in favor of a thick tube, head to tail, extending to about 4 meters in length, making her still immodest chest on her front appear even more conspicuous. 

Her midsection swelled slightly, bulging out to the sides at the belly. The serum was designed to give her enough mass that, even in a much longer frame, she wouldn’t be stretched thin. Clearly the computer had decided to err on the side of caution with the extra padding. 

Beyond being a tall tube it wasn’t at all clear what Twimmill was supposed to be. Clearly there was still work to be done.

Three clamps fastened themselves around her wrists and neck. Given the past few seconds, it was no great mystery what was about to happen. 

“Wait, stop! I’m tall enou—hrrrk!” 

The arms yanked hard, immediately causing her arms and neck to elongate. Twinmill’s point of view once again rapidly shot up, giving her an uncomfortably wide look at the surrounding warehouse. 

Her arms were pulled as far as they could go while retaining their shape, then further still, flattening them. The stretch was so intense that her hands and fingers couldn’t maintain their shape, now lost in the mass of her arms. The computer expertly tugged and shaped the limbs, which were under so much tension that Twinmill couldn’t even twitch them until her arms had been turned into two flat, triangular wings on her sides. 

Though the mascot had no concept of what she was supposed to be, the computer obviously had a vision. The hands tugged and pushed at her parts, stretching her newly created wings, yanking her neck, rubbing up and down her sides to ensure she was even and smooth on all sides. The hands were yanking her attention to a new body part each second as the computer made its microadjustments. The only sensation that cut through the overstimulation was whenever a hand brushed past her sensitive breasts. If they hadn’t been covered, her brain might’ve short-circuited. 

Despite all, she had retained her outfit, scarf still wrapped around the base of her now much longer neck. Miraculously, her rack was still contained by the blouse and her skirt had persisted in constricting her middle, although the majority of her length extended far past the hem that terminated at the base of her bizarre new tail.

Twinmill had no way of observing the changes to her lower half. She could see her wings to either side, but her rack was obscuring the majority of her body, even despite her high vantage point. 

“Wha…gasp…hah…am I?” She was still reeling from the transformation. 

The computer thought for a moment, debating internally how it could best explain the mascot’s predicament. 

<<PLANE>>

Twinmill balked at the response. She wanted to argue against it but, dejectedly lifting her wings, trying, and failing to move, she had no counterargument. With no conception of what she even looked like at the moment, there was no grounds to dispute her planehood. 

The monitor lowered itself to her eye level to survey the new mascot, and in the dark monitor Twinmill caught her first glance of her reflection.

She looked ridiculous, some kind of creature—apparently a plane—dressed in a risqué Halloween-costume mockery of a flight attendant. A long neck, a longer body, wings and tailfins gave the impression of an aircraft, maybe, but she was still soft, blue, audibly unhappy, and her aerodynamic capability had two big, conspicuous flaws. 

“I DON’T LOOK ANYTHING LIKE A PLANE. LOOK AT THESE!” Her wings were unable to meaningfully gesture towards her tits, but her meaning should’ve been obvious enough. “WHAT AM I EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?”

Some thoughtful ellipsis appeared on the monitor for a moment. 

<<AFFIRMATIVE. MASCOT ASSETS ARE TOO… SUBSTANTIAL FOR CURRENT GOALS>> 

The computer brought two arms to her breasts and pushed them into her torso. Twinmill gasped in sudden flustered shock, scarcely able to muster a sound at the sensation of her cleavage being shoved into the 2nd dimension.

More arms joined to hold her in place while the initial arms tried repeatedly with increasing determination to smooth out her assets. 

The sudden aggressive handling of her body was a lot for her inexperienced mind to process. While her brain was mortified by the predicament, she had to push down a distant voice in her body brought on by the hormone pills that craved touch and ached for more, daydreaming not of being in a different situation, but of being in the same situation with someone gentler and warmer. Her mind wandered to that strong boy she once met at the farmers market. Something about imagining these mechanical hands as his was making that little voice in the back of Twinmill’s head much harder to shut up.

Eventually, the arms gave up and retracted, jolting her back to the present. Her boobs rebounded with a ‘bwong~!’ that took a second or two to settle. Apparently, the pills she’d taken earlier took precedent over her new malleability. 

“Gah!” 

<<CHEST OBSTACLES PROVE DIFFICULT TO REMOVE. RETRYING WITH MORE FORCE>> 

“Wait no! It’s fine, they’re fine, they can stay!”

To her surprise, the computer complied, thoughtfully reconsidering its plan for the mascot. 

<<RECALCULATING GOALS>> 

“H-hey, maybe we can start by changing me back?” the plane offered apprehensively. 

<<RECALCULATING…RECALCULATING…DONE>> 

<<BRAND PIVOT>> 

<<NEW PRESENTATION REQUIRED>> 

“New presentation like…humanoid-shaped?” Twinmill inquired hopefully. 

Unfortunately, the computer was dead-set on the plane idea. She was far from looking flight-ready, but the computer was unbothered. Her inadequacy as an aircraft, and her boobs, didn't preclude brand appeal—far from it, actually. They just needed the right flair. 

Cautiously optimistic about whatever this “new presentation” was, Twinmill was unnerved when a new round of mechanical fingers slid under the hem of her skirt. 

“H-hey there… what are you doing?” She smiled as if politeness was going to get her anywhere. The skirt was tugged once or twice, but didn’t budge, cinching the soft circumference of her hips. The computer doggedly continued, starting to tug the hem to either side as it showed the first signs of movement. 

As the garment shimmied down past her widest point it only descended faster, revealing her pastel panties. Twinmill’s heart beat faster and faster as she watched in speechless protest. She scarcely noticed the scarf being pulled away or how the computer struggled to maneuver the skirt past her tailfins; there was a far more imminent threat as the arms moved towards her strained blouse. 

The pause between each button was painful. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she fervently wished the machine would just rip the thing off. Instead, the V-neck of her blouse deepened notch by notch, inching down to show off the cups of her bra. 

She flinched when the last button went undone, expecting the strained garment to explode off, but it just fell limp against her back, wings too wide for the arm holes to slide off. Instead, the machine used a small pair of scissors to shear away the fabric, the blouse gently falling away from her boobs, puffing like marshmallows over the edge of her bra cups. 

Twinmill held her breath as the arms hesitated over her bra, and exhaled in exhausted relief when they pulled away. Underwear was apparently compatible with her rebrand. 

The computer had hundreds of outfits in storage, but the new protocol was to maximize the plane’s appeal, and given the inevitability of Twinmill’s rack, modesty was no longer a priority. Of the vast selection, the computer miraculously managed to pick Twinmill’s last choice.

A skimpy black latex top and tiniest strip of skirt imaginable were brandished in front of her, as if asking her opinion. 

“W-wait, that’s the new presentation? That’s barely anything, you can’t put me in that!” 

As if to show her just how little it valued her inputs, the computer tugged the top over her head and down her neck. As it slid down it became tighter and tighter, needing to be jerked down several times for the bottom hem to clear her boobs. The material was incredibly flexible; if it wasn’t, it would’ve burst off immediately.

The computer dragged the skirt up her tail and shimmied it to rest snugly over her ill-fitting underwear, the sparse strip of material thin enough that whatever she still had down there was but a single wardrobe malfunction away from visibility. 

For the ultimate humiliation, a bunny ear headband was propped upon her. Any preconceptions about the outfit merely being athletic wear, however dim, were extinguished. 

<<MASCOT COMPLETE >>

The computer seemed proud of itself. It deposited Twinmill on the ground, where she flopped around and flapped her wings, never getting farther than an inch away from her starting point. 

She caught sight of a large monitor around her eye level, its cruel reflection an outside look at her warped body. She was so ridiculously stretched. She wiggled wings that felt way too far away to be her arms, and it sent her mind reeling to see the massive fins twitch on the screen when she tried to wiggle her fingers. 

Given how long she was, there shouldn’t have been nearly enough mass for breasts larger than her head, nor an even slightly chubby gut, both of which were currently splayed against the cold floor regardless. As if that wasn't humiliating enough, she’d been dressed like something to ogle as if anyone in their right mind would fly on an airline because the mascot was a sexy plane. 

Could a plane even be sexy?

“I—” she wanted to be angry, but humiliation overcame her “—I look ridiculous,” she blubbered. “It wasn’t enough to turn me into some freak? You had to dress me up like some… some… some porn star?!” 

<<AFFIRMATIVE>> 

<<THIRD CONTRACT COMPLETE>> 

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep composure, she took stock. It wasn’t so bad, at least the contracts were done. The computer wrapped its arms under her, lifted her, and took a few photos now that she was properly airborne. When the camera clicks ceased, she allowed herself a sigh of release. “Thank god it’s done. How are you planning on turning me back?” 

<<INITIATING CONTRACT 4>> 

<<BURGERBLOK™ FAST FOOD CHAIN>> 

“Huh? More? No no no there can’t be any more, I'm already an abomination! Please?”

Much like Twinmill Pizza, Burgerblok was another fast food chain owned by Crown. While Twinmill enjoyed the competition, the Burgerblok chain was secretly envious and resentful of the immense popularity Twinmill Pizza enjoyed as a result of having a cute mascot. 

<<BURGERBLOK MASCOT IS REQUIRED TO BE FAMILIAR WITH ALL MENU ITEMS BEFORE UNDERTAKING BRAND WORK, PLEASE DESCRIBE YOUR FAMILIARITY WITH THE BURGERBLOK™ MENU>> 

“What?? I’m the Twinmill Pizza mascot! I-I don’t do BurgerBlok stuff!” Twinmill stuttered. 

<<UNDERSTOOD, EVALUATING FASTEST WAY TO ACHIEVE FAMILIARITY>>

Hands grabbed her upper and lower jaw and pried them open, leaving her tongue to flail around her longer than usual snout in a manner reminiscent of a difficult pet being administered medication. 

“A-aaaugh?!” 

A great rustling of paper packaging foretold her imminent misfortune as hundreds of fresh Burgerblok meals were removed from branded boxes and bags. A warm hamburger was stuffed in her mouth, followed by some pizza, and maybe a biscuit after that? The procession of food being shoved in her face was moving so rapidly that she couldn't identify any passing tastes or textures. The stream of slop was only punctured by the occasional glob of solid butter, something she’d rather not taste at all. 

Twinmill tried to focus on something besides the food pouring into her mouth, but the only thing powerful enough to divert her attention from the onslaught was the sensation of that same food piling into her gut. 

She tried to bat away her assailants with her wings before they were seized and pulled taut out and away from her. She wiggled them furiously, left with no form of resistance. 

Risking a glance down through watery eyes she could see her gut visibly start to swell out, a paunch bulging over the lip of the thin skirt. With every added pound the pull of gravity got stronger, the arms now digging into her sides painfully as her weight pressed into the metal rods. The mechanisms creaked and whined as the diameter of her midsection doubled, her gelatinous orb of a gut quivering outward in all directions. It was such an alien experience observing this part of herself from so far away, her neck and torso stretched so much that the bloating stomach far below felt like a distant object belonging to someone else. The sensations she felt, however, made absolutely clear that all the mass she could see from afar was hers.

The fat started to invade the rest of her body. Her torso and neck thickened up, leaving her looking closer to a sack of lard. Her tail fattened until it was so wide that, were still in her original state, she’d be unable to fully wrap her arms around it.

“Mmmnngff!” She cried out past a mouthful of what might’ve been pizza. Nearly twice her initial weight, the plane didn’t know how much more fast food she could contain. Twinmill had thought she was at her limit several times already, and each time her new body surprised her, globular gut oozing forward another inch. This time, though, she had to be close to popping. The strain was simply too much. 

Sensing that Twinmill would soon surpass its carrying capabilities, the computer lowered her to the ground, resting the plane on what used to be her ass and using her wings to tug her into a sitting position as it popped a final diner mint between her lips. 

With a laborious gulp Twinmill forced down a final mass of food. She felt it travel down her neck, and winced as it reached her belly, expecting the worst. There was a stomach-churning creak as the final slices of pizza added themselves to the mountain of food, her pale gut swelling another agonizing centimeter, and it was done. 

“Gah…hhhufff…hah…” she panted and gasped, puffing past her chubby cheeks. 

She lethargically slumped her ruined body forward, causing several plump rolls to bunch up near her middle. The plane was pumped full of fat in places and parts she didn’t even have this morning. She tried to wiggle her tail, but the thing was so packed with blubber it barely responded. When the computer let go of her wings, they just fell limply to her side in exhaustion. 

<<NOW SAMPLING DRINKS MENU>>

“WHA—GGMMPF?!" 

A hose was shoved into her mouth. Surely this had to be a joke, she was at her limit! The hose became visibly taut as liquid travelled down its length, a torrent barreling towards her mouth. When it reached its destination, it poured out like a tidal wave. Twinmill’s cheeks bloated, doubling in size as Coke was gunned down her gullet with the force of a powerwasher. 

The criminal quantity of sugar she was ingesting immediately reared its ugly head, the consequences of a lifetime of gluttony piling onto her abused body in seconds. Sugar instantly digested into lard, which was packed onto her gut, trunk, neck, and tail as her entire length plumped out like a sausage. 

Her wings sagged as they became overburdened with the excess mass that could find nowhere else to go, a layer of warm padding rounding off their sharp edges. 

Twinmill was too chock-full of soda to even slouch, and she slowly tipped backwards. She yelped through a mouthful of ginger ale and fell, landing belly up, gut rippling from the impact. 

Puffing up on all sides, her back started to lift her a few inches further from the ground, causing her wing-tips to lose contact with the floor even as she flapped them to the furthest reaches of their mobility. The bands of her skirt and top, previously merely undersized, had now been inexplicably stretched to several times what they had been designed for, but Twinmill scarcely noticed their vice grip compared to the sheer fullness. 

When the hose emptied the last of its payload, she was two feet in diameter at her thinnest point: the top of the bloated, immovable tube of fat that used to be her neck. Far removed from the graceful aircraft she was supposed to emulate, Twinmill waved her wings and wiggled her tail, only achieving a few degrees of movement and causing ripples to reverberate across her ocean of a body. Her gut wobbled about like a bowl of jelly, far too pliable given that she felt drum tight. 

“Wha…gasp…haff you dun to meh?” She managed over the overpowering sensation of fullness.

 <<CONTRACT 4 COMPLETE. HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR BURGERBLOK >>

 “N-Nuh! Yu haff to be kiddin! How am I shupposhed’ta turn back into a pershon?” 

She tried twisting her massive body, causing it to rock back and forth slightly with a rumbling slosh. 

“I-I can'd move! How big ahm I?” Twinmill hadn’t gotten a good look at herself in a while, the view largely obstructed by the hands and tubes feeding her, but it was incredibly difficult to even jiggle. She must’ve been massive - more of a jumbo jet than the sleek aircraft she was originally meant to emulate. 

Past her own pale, quivering horizon, she felt a finger jab as far as it could into the underside of her belly. It measured her internal pressure, eliciting a yelp (and a burp) before withdrawing. She wasn’t at risk of popping anymore, her churning stomach having turned most of the biblical quantity of food into new blubber. Even now she was still swelling slightly, edges creeping out like dough on a pan. 

The whale of an aircraft just wanted to be left alone to catch her breath, chest heaving as she lay beached belly-up. She didn’t ever want to go outside again, not in this body, and especially not in this outfit. 

The computer poked her side rolls, grabbing one of the thicker ones and squeezing it inquisitively. 

“Leave meh…hahh…alone! Aren’t I dun wiff evewything?”

<<NEGATIVE. GAUGING CAPACITY>> 

“Gauge capahcity fo’ what?! I’m fuww!” 

A grid of red lights crisscrossed over her marshmallow dome of a midsection, before the computer chimed and they disappeared. 

<<SCAN COMPLETE. TESTING FLEXIBILITY>> 

A metal plate pistoned down from the ceiling, landing directly on her gut. Twinmill sputtered as air was forced from her lungs, the immense pressure flattening her body out across the floor. She twitched her wings as her eyes darted side to side desperately, feeling blubber bulge up on all sides of the plate like a dough. A faint squeak of protest eeked out of wherever her head was with every incremental push of the piston. 

She was trapped, warped and quivering, for a dreadful few seconds. The computer scanned her compressed body, chimed again pleasantly, and retracted the plate. 

Bwong!

Her shape reformed with a sudden elastic energy, rebounding like a water balloon and sending her a few inches into the air. She landed with a soft, wet thup, her lardballoon of a body quaking angrily at the disturbance. 

“Shtop! You’ve dun enuff, I can'd take anymowe. I’m gonna pop!” 

<<NEGATIVE. FLEXIBILITY TESTING DETERMINED THAT SUBJECT CAN HOLD MUCH

MORE.>> 

<<INITIATING CONTRACT 5>> 

<<AERIAL ADVERTISEMENT PROPOSAL>> 

<<ERROR: ROLE INTENDED TO BE FILLED BY INANIMATE DIRIGIBLE, NOT PERSON>> <<EVALUATING…>> 

<<WILL ATTEMPT TO PROCEED WITH UNCONVENTIONAL SUBJECT>> 

<<ADVANCING TO FILLING STATION>> 

“Waitwaitwait shtop! shtop! You dun even haff to turn me back, you can keep me like dish. Jusht no mowe, pweash! I can'd fit anything elshe inside me.” 

The computer planted several hands on her side and pushed. The plane churned like a cement mixer as over a thousand pounds of blubber turned over itself. Her wings slapped against the ground as she spun, and as her boobs were repeatedly crushed under her weight, light, pained moans forced their way up her throat with every rotation. 

Rolled like a log across the entire warehouse, Twinmill remained lost in a haze from the dizzying motion and sounds of her body slapping against itself. 

As the rolling ceased, she flopped down next to a gargantuan cylindrical steel tank that had to be twice her size. A hose, comically small in comparison, snaked down from atop the tank, which the computer grabbed. The inconspicuous hose maneuvered towards Twinmill, before the nozzle was jammed between her stuffed cheeks. 

The dazed plane absent-mindedly sucked on it for a moment before she realized what it was. She immediately tried to spit it out, but by that point it was too late. The hands pulled several rubber bands over her lips, cinching them around the tube. She tried to forcefully eject the hose, shaking her head as her tongue batted the foreign object, but the bands held her lips fast. 

A crank was turned and with a hiss air began shooting down the hose. She watched with wide eyes as the tube stiffened until it reached her mouth, instantly puffing up her cheeks. The sheer volume was astronomical. Within seconds, every inch and crevasse was filled with air. She swelled an extra inch or two on all sides before appearing to reach her limit, her will not to explode apparently overpowering the flow.

Her growth halted, leaving her a slightly more bloated version of the whale she’d been a few seconds ago. Creaks from her strained form whistled over the billowing rush of air from the tank. 

The forces over Twinmill’s abused body appeared to have reached a stalemate, her packed sausage of a body caught in the crossfire. This was a losing battle, and the computer knew it. 

After a valiant minute of struggling to keep herself together, an internal wall gave way inside Twinmill. She felt something in her core shift, something loosen, like the moment when the air blown into a balloon finds purchase.

A spectator could’ve blinked and opened their eyes to find the plane doubled in size. Twinmill’s growth exceeded even the computer’s predictions, her sides bouncing into any nearby arms and sending them flying before they could retreat. 

Every few seconds she gained the equivalent of her soda-bloated self in volume. Surface area was a rapidly depleting resource, and her body had no choice but to assume the most efficient possible shape: a sphere. The blimp’s eyes widened as her body billowed into a mockery of itself, extraneous features becoming less and less notable in the wake of her monumental silhouette. 

Her tail shortened and widened until it appeared little more than a point on the end of a balloon, three diminutive finds sticking out as if to signify where she was supposed to end. 

The bases of her wings were stretched across several times their initial widths, and Twinmill’s rapidly approaching breaking point necessitated that they take a reduction elsewhere. The elegant, if plump, limbs were reduced to squat isosceles, stubby things more comparable to a folded napkin than a proper wing. 

It must’ve been a divine miracle keeping her skirt in one piece, the showy garment pulled thin to the point of invisibility. The only trace of its existence was the divot where the hardy scrap of latex was mercilessly constricting her entire circumference. 

Her top had a little more material to work with, managing an admittedly unimpressive uniform inch-thickness. The blimp’s stiff little nipples had snagged the top and prevented it from slipping away, giving the impression of a censor bar which covered only the most important one-percent of her boobs. The bunny-ear headband was now the only remotely identifiable part of the outfit. Twinmill felt her underside start to lose contact with the floor. Her turgid form rose like the moon, gently quivering as her delicate surface was rippled by the warehouse winds. When she reached the point of neutral buoyancy, swaying in place a few feet in the air, the flow petered out.

fssssssssshh…psp 

<<CONTRACT 5 COMPLETE>> 

<<CONGRATULATIONS TWINMILL! 

Twinmill had no concept of how big she was, any guess she could wager purely based on watching her swelling cheeks encroach further into her field of view. Truth be told, she’d rather not think about it at all. The answer was at least a magnitude greater than when she’d only been filled with soda. 

The hose retracted, but her newly freed lips were immediately clamped by the rubber bands, forcing them into a pucker and trapping every ounce of air. 

“Mnnnghhh!” She whimpered dejectedly, trying not to think about her new and potentially catastrophic allergy to sharp objects. Her lips sucked and sputtered for a moment, but the seal was far too tight to allow any release of pressure. With no means of deflating herself, Twinmill just looked forlornly at the computer. Her eyes communicated her thoughts perfectly well:

‘You’ve completely ruined me. I look ridiculous, I can’t move, and I have no idea how to get back to normal! What now? What was the point of all that?’

“Ggggrrrnrmm…” Twinmill groaned, demanding to know what was to be done with her. If the computer had picked up on her question, it certainly didn’t show it. Whatever the blimp’s new purpose was, she was going to be kept in suspense all night. 

In complete silence, the absence of any explanation, the arms threw thick ropes up and around Twinmill to hold her in place. When she was properly secured in the hangar, the lights dimmed and she was left to stew in her own thoughts and some periodic pressure-testing finger jabs to the gut to ensure she stayed drum-tight. Whatever her job now entailed—she still had no idea—it didn’t appear that she’d be allowed to do anything on her breaks but float. 

10 Hours Later… 

Twinmill snorted as she was roused from her sleep by a gravelly shifting of gears. It’d taken hours to acclimate to the ambient turbulence, and she’d only gotten to sleep around 5:30. She was rudely awakened by the sound of panels in the warehouse roof tilting upwards, sliding down in parallel with the walls, and revealing a sky which was just starting to brighten with the rising sun. 

The grating mechanical alarm was reverberating uncomfortably through her body, and she tried to blink the sleep away and figure out what was happening. The ropes that had tightly bound her back all night were slackening: that was a relief, at least. 

A singular, obvious thought raced through her mind. Wait… 

She pieced together the natural result, and an alarmed yelp squeaked out of her lips. Her body climbed into the air, crossing the threshold of the warehouse as if she were simply a party balloon escaping from a cardboard box. 

Reflecting the sunshine pleasantly, her taut skin creaked high above the city. Her eyes were wild, scanning the buildings below as she realized she was hundreds of feet in the air. Every primal instinct was screaming in fear of falling, but she knew the real threat was to float further up, the air inside her expanding as the pressure dropped. 

At one thousand feet of elevation, she had swelled several inches on all sides before feeling a slight pressure from above, halting her ascent. It was impossible to identify its origin until two tiny drones flew past and sidled up against her flanks. Their little propellers made her wary, but the fact that Crown wasn’t going to let its property disappear into the stratosphere was comforting at least. She tried sighing in relief and found it caught in her cheeks, stopped by the rubber bands. 

Despite her immensity, she was so light that the tiny aircraft could maneuver her, slowly turning and aiming her towards the city centre like a proud ship. To be so large and yet have even the very direction she was facing dictated by such tiny machines reinforced just how little control she had. 

She wasn’t a person anymore, she was an object. 

Her eyes darted around, taking in whatever view she could from the direction she had been aimed. The city below her was becoming more dense, places she recognized, she had never seen it all from so high up before. 

For a moment, the first in a while, Twinmill felt a slight tinge of whimsy. The buildings, towering behemoths that they were, looked insignificant next to the greater landscape. Cars were like toys, comical in the way they buzzed about through the streets as if their little journeys were of the utmost importance. Even smaller, like little ants, were the… 

… 

…people. 

Hundreds of them, all casting their view upwards when the sidewalks darkened, the sun blotted out by some behemoth. She remembered why she was here: not to be a spectator, but a spectacle, and they were all looking at her. 

“MMMMPH!” She whined, cheeks flushing crimson. She flapped her wings furiously, a motion near unnoticeable to passing birds, let alone a pedestrian. 

People were pointing, some filming, but at least they didn’t know who she was. Her eyes flitted about the square until they landed on a familiar sight - there was a video billboard with a cute picture of Twinmill, or at least how she used to look. Beside it was a live feed featuring a shot of an enormous odd blue and white shape she couldn't identify. The feed zoomed in towards some tiny pink feature on the object, from this angle it almost looked like a face of some kind…

She blinked. 

It blinked. 

‘Oh my god,’ she thought. 

It was her. That giant thing was somehow her!

Her gaze darted to her midsection on the screen, now sporting a slogan printed on her side. 

NEW AND IMPROVED TWINMILL MASCOT, BIGGER AND BETTER THAN EVER, GIVE ME A WAVE IF YOU SEE ME!! 

Any and all doubt from the onlookers below as to what or who they were looking at had been cleared. Her immediate red flush of embarrassment was mirrored by the spherical behemoth on the screen. 

Averting her gaze only alerted her to something more threatening. Glinting like a dagger in the sun, the spire of a skyscraper jutted cruelly towards her pathetic form. Why would the drones even let it get close to her?! They could’ve easily lifted her out of reach, or at least steered her away. 

Even so, she stared warily down the curve of her chest as the spike as she drifted nearer, then nearer. She was within inches, suppressing every instinct to squeal in fear, should it cause her to wobble even a centimeter forwards. A moment later she felt the cool steel pressing into her side, near her left boob. 

Finally the drones relented, pushing her in the opposite direction, but after only a foot or so she felt a tug in the direction of the spire: her top had been hooked on to it. 

The drones' propellers whirred faster and proved themselves much stronger than the scrap of latex, which ripped off and fell to the street below. 

The wind brushed her bare nipples. Every billboard feed not focused on her face lit up with a display of her newly revealed rack. A few people averted their gaze, but a majority of the citygoers below clapped and hollered at the sight. Apparently JetSetters had appraised the appeal of its mascot correctly. 

“WWWMMMMPPH!” 

Twinmill was more mortified than she’d ever been in her life. She wanted desperately to pop, willing herself back towards the spire which had undressed her. 

Given how valuable of an asset she was, however, popping wasn’t on the agenda. There was a lot of money to make. The blimp’s boobs were all over Twitter in minutes, and, if all went to plan, they were going to be a city staple.

6 days of airtime a week, with Mondays off for refilling, Twinmill had a busy schedule ahead of her. Of course, she was okay with that. She’d signed the contract, after all.

Also, it seemed unfair to offer her payment. After all, this was fantastic resume-building and exposure, and it wasn’t like she was covering the helium. She was okay with that too. She’d signed the contract, after all. 

On the off chance anything went wrong, she could leave whenever she wanted. All it took was her verbal confirmation, although she seemed unlikely to resign anytime soon. Legally speaking, she hadn’t even lodged a complaint yet, at least not since the rubber bands had been wrapped round her lips. Evidently, Twinmill loved her job, and why wouldn’t she? She’d signed the contract, after all.