Fatten Up Buttercup

You and I head into nature alone to one of the known water sources that the local slimes have formed their clusters around. These are a deep blue with a glittery substance suspended throughout. You murmur to yourself about the coloration being affected by mineral deposits in the lake. I encourage you to take a closer look and pat you on the back. Enthralled by these unique slimes, you crawl down the hill towards them.

You were so captivated, you didn’t notice the herbal mixture I smeared across the back of your cloak. You also didn’t notice the rogue blob schlepping across the ground towards you. At least, you didn’t notice it until it’s sopping mass was oozing up your pant leg. You kick and roll around to try and dissuade the mindless thing from going further. It only serves to catch the attention of more of them.

The herbs were a special blend I shipped in. It’s out of season here, but slimes tend to recognize it as a sign that it’s time to reproduce. You ask me to help. I tell you that I couldn’t possibly interfere with all this data I was collecting. While slimes weren’t the brightest, they were hard to grab and heavier than they looked. If it were only one, you’d have a chance. With three of them already on you, your chances of escape were quickly dwindling.

Your hips are swimming in slime when they finally find a warm, wet place to go. Shock freezes muscle and mind, but the slimes don’t care. To them, you’re the best place to breed right now. By the time you regain your senses, they’re already pressing their bodies into your hole in pulsing bursts. Slime after slime packs into your womb. You had hoped that loosening the belt around your waist would be all the wardrobe malfunction you would suffer. Then your shirt buttons begin to fly off into the bushes one-by-one.

The slimes have filled you such that they press up into your lungs. You’re like a pathetic fish the way you gasp and writhe on the ground. Eventually, I take mercy. Your cloak ties had loosened in all your flailing, so I’m able to toss it off with a stick. Any remaining creatures go after it instead.

Teary-eyed, you can’t help but clutch your straining gut. I’m able to get you standing, albeit barely, with some careful maneuvering. You whinge the whole way back to my shop. So caught up in your discomfort, you don’t think to question why I’m taking you to the basement you didn’t know I had.

You plop onto the lone couch with a grunt. I offer you water. The glass is drained in a heartbeat. You seem perplexed by the sudden, intense thirst welling up. I set a full pitcher by you. You help yourself while I get some things prepared.

Initially, you’re polite and use the glass. The thirst persists though. To avoid wasting time, you grab the whole thing and begin chugging. The sudden deluge of water gurgles in your gut.

I return with some books. Despite the sloshing in your stomach, you quietly squeak out a request for another pitcher. Graciously, I refill the pitcher countless times as I ask you to take notes on your condition. It’s busy work. Your sloshing gut is just pinning you down to the furniture and keeping the slimes complacent as they soak up the water in your body. Exhaustion catches up to you. I offer to let you rest on the couch. We could find a solution to your predicament later. Naive thing you are, you let your eyes slip shut and sleep to cloud your mind.

When you wake, your wrists are bound and a hose apparatus leads into your mouth. You can’t plead or beg with anything more than a desperate look. Water flows into your mouth at a slow, yet unrelenting, pace. You grimace at the unexpected taste, but can only swallow.

“The salinity and mineral content have been made to mimic the lake we found these ones at.” I don’t bother to look at you while I write in my notebook, “my hope is that the similar conditions will keep them happier than the plain well water.”

Your stomach swells as the days go by. With no windows, you can only mark time by when I remove the hose to force actual food into you. You start to get really scared when it’s not just your stomach swelling.

“Water weight, maybe?” I mutter to myself as I measure you like a prize hog. You whine pitifully as I poke and prod your swelling mass with no regard for comfort. You’re like bread proofing in a warm oven.

The swelling only worsens when the slimes decide to get down to business. They swirl and churn in your womb as you’re forced to keep drinking. I keep a close eye on you to try and guess when the newborn slimes would emerge from you. The basement, however, is soundproof. You’re alone in the middle of the night when the contractions start. With each tightening of your muscles, dozens of small slimes pour from you and onto the ground.

When I come downstairs, I find you frazzled and exhausted. The new slimes luckily decided to play in a nearby pitcher of water rather than escape into the walls. Once they’re corralled, I palpate your still hefty gut. I smile.

“Good news! The mature slimes must really like the environment we’ve developed in you. I think they’re going to stay in for another round.”

Months later, you would be unrecognizable. Your waterbed of a belly stretches across the basement floor, teeming with life. Every place where fat could be is packed with retained water. The slimes had somehow altered your body to be the perfect breeding grounds, and I had no reason to dissuade them. Every breath sends a ripple across your whole body. To you, it feels like there’s a lake of your own inside your gravid form.