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. <> “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…-” <> <> <> 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?” <> “W-what? Can I at least get some better fitting clothes please?” <> <> <> <> 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. Tmp1 “H-hey now, let’s not do anything too drastic…,” she said meekly, grinning nervously. <> “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. Tmp2 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!” <> 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?” <> 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. <> <> 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 tail; 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, arms 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 shark’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. <> <> 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?” <> <> 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. <> “What?? I’m the Twinmill Pizza mascot! I-I don’t do BurgerBlok stuff!” Twinmill stuttered. <> 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 arms 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. 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 shark 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 shark on her ass and using her arms 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 shark 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 arms, they just fell limply to her side in exhaustion. <> “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 hands 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 hands 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 mascot she was supposed to emulate, Twinmill waved her arms 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. <> “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. 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 shark 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?” <> “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. <> 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!” <> <> <> <> <> <> <> “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 shark churned like a cement mixer as over a thousand pounds of blubber turned over itself. Her arms 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 shark 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 shark 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. Her arms were stretched across several times their initial widths, and Twinmill’s rapidly approaching breaking point necessitated that they take a reduction elsewhere. 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 <> <