#xsherryx

"Aw, you're probably just hungry," she assured him. "A good breakfast will help."

"I don't know…"

"Trust me," she said, giving him a pat on the back as she set down a big plate of eggs before him. He looked down at the plate uncertainly. His stomach already felt uncomfortably taut, and three eggs seemed like a lot when he hardly felt up to eating at all.

"It'll make you feel better," she insisted, noticing his hesitation. "You need some good protein to get you moving. It'll help."

The protein would help, but it wouldn't help Ben. Rather, it would make a fine breakfast for the tiny larvae she'd snuck into his food last night, which should have been growing steadily and feeling pretty ravenous right about now.

Reluctantly, Ben broke off a bite with his fork and stuck it in his mouth. Odd as she was, Sherry was a pretty good cook; the eggs were perfectly fried, crispy around the edges, the white solid but not rubbery, the yolk still golden and gooey. The taste of it perked up his appetite just enough to keep going. As he was chewing the second bite, though, he felt an odd sensation in his stomach, almost sort of a squirmy feeling. Despite it, with Sherry sitting beside him with an expectant look on her face, he tried to ignore it and kept eating.

The eggs filled him up surprisingly quickly, which he attributed to the bloated feeling he'd started with. What it actually was, of course, was the not-quite-so-tiny larvae gobbling up the fresh nutrients in his stomach and growing bigger all the while. By the time he managed to finish, belly feeling uncomfortably stuffed, each of the half dozen creatures was about the size of a banana.

"I feel like I'm gonna explode," he moaned, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting on his swollen tummy. It had only been a little bloated before; now it looked strained and distended, the tightness showing with each shallow breath. And he just couldn't shake that odd squirmy feeling. It was even stronger now, as though something were moving inside him. When he'd first gotten up, he'd assumed it was just spasms or gas moving around, but now it was really beginning to feel strange.

"Something's wrong," he said, voice unsteady. He looked at Sherry, but her eyes were fixed on his stomach. Looking down, he saw with horror that the movement he was feeling wasn't just a feeling--it was visible. He pulled up his shirt with trembling hands. It was slow and it was subtle, but there were odd protrusions ever-so-slightly distorting the shape of his belly, moving under the taut skin as though he were packed with sleepy eels.

Ben wanted to scream, but he couldn't find his voice. He looked back at Sherry, but she didn't look horrified. She didn't even look particularly worried. She simply watched his bulging belly with great interest, almost looking pleased. Before he could start thinking about that, though, Ben realized something else. His stomach--or whatever was inside it--was still swelling.

He clutched his belly with a moan, then pulled his hands back quickly, disgusted by the solid masses moving around under his palms. He didn't know what to do. His belly pushed forward, the creatures inside him steadily growing larger and fatter, and as they did, their movement became both more restrained and more forceful. They were pressed together, unable to move freely and fighting for space, and his stomach bulged oddly as they pushed and stretched.

Ben tried to stand, but the ache of his overstretched stomach hit him sharply, and he fell to his knees with a cry, holding his belly. Helpless and hopeless, he toppled back onto the floor. Sherry knelt down beside him and carefully pressed a hand to his belly. It felt incredibly hard, and she could feel one of the creatures just under his drum-tight skin resist against her. Ben seemed to have finally found his voice, but he was only using it to whimper and moan now, squirming in pain almost as much as the giant grubs inside him. Suddenly he grabbed her hand, his grip shaky but firm, and she looked at him.

"What is it?" he choked, struggling to speak through shallow gasps. His belly trembled precariously with each breath. "Sherry, for Christ's sake, what is it?!"

Sherry smiled at him. She looked down at his belly, the size of a beach ball now, rumbling ominously as it swayed and stretched, the bulges against his skin growing increasingly alarming. His straining skin began to creak.

"An experiment."

EPILOGUE:

"Shut up and swallow these," she snapped, holding his mouth open and shoving a handful of colorful pills in. He swallowed without question, followed by the big glass of water she pushed into his hands. She wrinkled her nose at the loud gulping sounds as he drank. The glass was quickly emptied, and he politely handed it back to her.

"What were those?"

"Dinosaur pills."

"Oh, how fun," he said, swinging his legs idly back and forth. He was perched high up on the examination table, and his hooves dangled freely over the edge. "Will I turn into a dinosaur?"

"No! They're going to swell up in your stomach!"

"Well, I suppose that's good enough," he mused. The scientist rolled her eyes and started a stopwatch. Scritch leaned to peer over her shoulder at it, and she shooed him away in annoyance.

"You're a few seconds late," he said.

"Shut up and tell me what you feel."

"Mm, full," said Scritch, tapping his chin in thought. "That was a lot of water."

"A lot of water," mocked the scientist. "Soon that water will feel like nothing; those pills are going to swell up inside you and you'll explode!"

"Oh, how exciting," he said, and she scowled exasperatedly at him. "Hm, I feel it now. See." He lifted his sweater, and she leaned in to look closely. Indeed, his normally flat belly was beginning to puff out, almost too slowly to detect by visual alone. The scientist glanced at her stopwatch, then back at his belly. The distension was becoming gradually more noticeable, a distinct curve pushing out under his ribs, and she held a hand against his stomach. It felt tight, and it only grew tighter as the seconds ticked by, but it wasn't long before the swelling slowed and finally stopped. She frowned. His belly was definitely bloated, but the pills hadn't had nearly as big an effect as she'd hoped.

"Filling," Scritch remarked, rubbing his belly contentedly.

"Shut up! We're trying plan B," she snapped.

"Birth control?"

"No! Open your mouth," she growled, shoving a funnel into his mouth before he could respond. She tipped his head back roughly, and he simply sat with his hands folded politely in his lap as she began pouring things in. His belly swelled out a little further with the volume of the liquid.

"That's vinegar," she said, setting the bottle down and picking up another, "and this is dish soap." Scritch hummed in approval. She gave him a good few squirts of soap before setting it aside, then dumped in a couple hefty shakes of baking soda before yanking the funnel back out and shutting his mouth.

This time, the expansion was immediately visible. Scritch's belly rumbled as it swelled out even further, trembling slightly as the reaction inside it fizzed and bubbled violently. His stomach inflated like a balloon, bulging hard against his tightening skin, and he found himself having to lean back on his hands, back arched, as his belly bloated up before him.

"This time you'll explode," the scientist grinned, poking at his belly. It was tight as a drum. It rumbled loudly, and Scritch let out a big burp. A flurry of bubbles floated up from his mouth, and the scientist grimaced in disgust.

"It's sort of refreshing," he remarked, his second set of hands resting atop the alarming curve of his distended tummy.

"It's not refreshing! You're going to burst!" Scritch burped again, this time blowing the bubbles in her direction. She swatted them away angrily.

Scritch's belly grew tighter and tighter, gurgling and groaning worryingly as the pressure in his stomach forced the foam dinosaurs further along. The fizzing of the reaction was audible under his taut skin, a soft, steady sound underneath the continuous but far more uneasy rumbles. A few more burps eased the pressure as it built, and while he certainly looked like he might burst, the reaction finally settled, and the little demon remained happily intact. Irritated, the scientist prodded his tummy further, unintentionally drawing another bubbly burp out of him. She was dismayed to feel his stomach deflate a little as the gas escaped.

"You're pissing me off," grumbled the scientist.

"Oh, don't be a bad sport," said Scritch, patting her shoulder. "The important thing is to have fun."

"It's not supposed to be fun! You're not supposed to be having fun! You're kidnapped and I'm going to pop you like a balloon!"

"Why not like a bubble?" He burped again, releasing another cloud of iridescent bubbles into her face, and she let out a cry of frustration.

"Whatever! I've still got one more trick up my sleeve," she growled, turning away in a huff.

Scritch sat rubbing his belly, the immense pressure inside him forcing out periodic bubbly burps, and by the time the scientist returned to the table with her next experiment, she was annoyed to see that he'd deflated considerably. His belly was still markedly swollen, but it didn't look half as strained as it had immediately after the reaction.

"Stop letting it out!"

"I'm full," he said simply.

"Oh, you'll be full alright," she grumbled, cracking open the big bottle of soda. "Open up."

She forcefully jammed the bottle into Scritch's mouth, holding it in place as he gulped down the soda. His belly began to swell up again as it filled with liquid and carbonation, and it rumbled and gurgled with each swallow. Finally, she yanked the bottle from his mouth, shoved in a handful of Mentos, and duct taped his mouth shut. He gave her a thumbs up as he swallowed the mints.

With the dinosaurs pushed along and much of the gas from the last reaction released, there was more room in his stomach than she would have liked, but this time, she wouldn't let anything escape. He began to bloat slowly but steadily, and they both watched as his already distended belly began to stretch even further. There was a sharp curve where it jutted out beneath his ribs, and his sides bulged out impressively. Just as with the last reaction, it rumbled and gurgled concerningly, but this time, he couldn't let out the rapidly expanding gas, and the pressure built continuously inside him as he filled up with fizz.

Scritch lay back on the table with a sigh, rubbing his belly as it grew increasingly strained. It was beginning to ache, having stretched so harshly in such a short amount of time, but he still didn't seem bothered. The scientist pressed her hand against his tummy with a wicked grin. It felt almost impossibly tight, as though a basketball had been forced into it, and she could feel it vibrate under her palm as his stomach bubbled frantically. His belly button was visibly strained, flush with the skin and threatening to pop out. He let out a soft sigh of discomfort--music to her ears--but he still looked calm. She glared at him. How could he look so calm? Surely his stomach was on the verge of bursting. It was rock hard, so tight he could hardly inhale, surely in danger of giving out under that unbearable pressure building up inside it. And yet, sure enough, it wasn't long before the reaction began to settle, and Scritch was once again unharmed.

"Why won't you explode?!" the scientist shouted, throwing her hands up in frustration. Scritch simply shrugged, looking innocently up at her. He pulled the tape off his mouth and folded it neatly, then pulled his sweater back down with a shiver and rested his arms behind his head, the smaller pair of hands rubbing his bulging tummy.

"Can I go home now? This is nice," he said, patting the table, "but I'd rather sleep all this off in bed."