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Cassandra cut the engine to her beat-up sedan and stared at the mansion towering above her. She had never felt more out of place in her life, but she had arrived at her destination. A concierge, dressed in a fine button-down coat and trim white gloves despite the afternoon heat, approached, a placid smile on his pug face. He dipped his head and tipped his cap. “Good day. Ms. Mullins, I presume?” he asked before placing his cap back on his head where it sat askew due to his floppy dog ears. He bore a faint British accent, like that of a butler out of the period pieces Cassandra was fond of watching, but at odds with the Southern US locale. “Y-yes,” Cassandra replied after manually cranking her window down, her car older than the advent of power windows. She wore an old pair of blue jean shorts and a ratty t-shirt bought at a concert during her high school days. She blushed, thankful her tan fur covered her cheeks at the least, though her flattened lynx ears betrayed her embarrassment. Her contact had said to dress casually, that her clothing for the evening would be provided onsite, but she felt profoundly underdressed for the occasion regardless. The pug grinned, holding out a hand for her keys. If he had any thoughts on the state of her dress, or her car for that matter, he was too professional to let it show. “Splendid! Mr. Haywood is eager to finally make your acquaintance. It’s hardly my place to speak on such matters, but you are considered a centerpiece for the evening’s festivities. Mrs. Richmond is waiting just inside.” Cassandra exited the car and handed the pug her keys. She winced looking back at her car’s interior. Receipts and empty snack bags dotted the passenger seat and back seat, an accumulation going back months. To her, a car was a utilitarian means of transporting her to and from her apartment and the university; money was too tight to take her much further than that. She hadn’t dated since starting her Master’s degree and never had anyone else in her car, so its clutter had become a form of background noise. The pug entered, turned on the ignition, and closed the door. With a nod, he said, “Come see me when the festivities are complete and myself or one of my men will return your vehicle right back here.” He drove off, down the driveway and out of sight, leaving Cassandra alone on the best-looking sidewalk she had ever seen. Not that she had a habit of appreciating sidewalks, mind you, but this one was so even, so clean and clear, that every other would be a disappointment after this. Flowerbeds bookended the walkway leading up to the mansion’s front entrance, a sea of flowers every color of the rainbow. The rich scent of mulch hung in the air. The walk to the front doors was at least fifty feet, giving her ample opportunity to take in the approaching wraparound porch. A score of rocking chairs, each painted a bright white, dotted the exterior, while vibrant green plants hung from the peaks of arches, highlighting the advent of summer. Cassandra felt utterly out of her depth, and her work for the night hadn’t even started yet. Weeks ago, rumors started spreading around campus of a job opportunity of the… eccentric variety. That was certainly nothing new. Bulletin boards were covered in postings seeking extras for student films, help with moving apartments, jobs on campus, and such. However, in rushed tones throughout sororities, women’s student organizations, and in hallways in between classes, female students gossiped about a particular job opening that was not explicitly advertised. [i]One woman needed for a night of entertainment and drink service for a private engagement. As payment, all tuition, past and present, to be paid in full. Intimate setting, no sexual connotation. Text the following phone number for more information.[/i] It was without a doubt strange but, if true, who could resist such an offer? Cassandra already had a mountain of student loan debt from undergrad even before starting on her Master’s degree, and continuing on for a PhD would start her professional life underwater for years to come. She texted the phone number one night while procrastinating her dissertation, overheard from a classmate before class started that day, and got a link to a website in return. It was plain, unassuming, featuring a basic form in which to enter her contact information, as well as an assortment of physical details: height, weight, and a list of any prescribed medications and allergies. It felt like filling out a form for a doctor’s visit, but she did it anyway, thinking only a little that it might be a bad idea to send her personal information to a total stranger. The next day, she got a text back. Her information was in the acceptable range. [i]Kindly fill out the attached form to schedule blood work to be completed at one of the following nearby medical centers, all expenses covered.[/i] She did so the next day after class, paying a visit to the campus medical center. Sitting in the waiting room, surrounded by sun-faded posters giving medical advice on safe sex and drug use, she eyed the other female students waiting, wondering how many might be there for the same reason. Three days later, Cassandra got a call from Mrs. Richmond, her voice bright and bubbly, letting her know that her body was the best suited for the job of any candidate, if she wanted the position. Mrs. Richmond explained the specifics of what the job would entail in exacting detail, answering all of Cassandra’s questions along the way. Cassandra blushed through nearly the entire conversation. For how much money was involved, it certainly wasn’t a sex thing, but close enough that the whole situation gave her pause. [i]A night of entertainment and drink service for a private engagement[/i] was not a lie, but it hadn’t been the whole picture either. Cassandra was a boring, straight-A student, content to spend her weekends reading or watching movies from the comfort of her apartment, or maybe checking out a local café if she was feeling adventurous. Partying, drinking, and clubbing were as foreign to her as a trip to the moon. She agreed to the job. Despite her reluctance, how could she say no to that much money? Cassandra mounted the marble steps and approached the front door, a behemoth of rich wood covered in intricate carvings depicting scenes out of some ancient mythology she could not identify. Before she could knock, the door swung inward, revealing a woman dressed in a vibrant green business suit holding a clipboard. The fox’s red fur was rich and luxurious, looking softer and lusher than any Cassandra had ever seen. She extended a well-manicured paw, which Cassandra hesitantly took. “Pleased to finally make your acquaintance in person,” Mrs. Richmond said. “L-likewise,” Cassandra replied. “Come, we have much to do,” Mrs. Richmond said, turning and gesturing for Cassandra to follow. Her heels clacked on the rich hardwood floors, the sound echoing throughout the atrium’s high ceiling. The room looked like the wing of a museum. Gigantic paintings covered nearly every surface, each frame golden. Cassandra’s knowledge of art was limited to whatever she could remember from her freshman year gen-ed art history course, but even she recognized some of the paintings present. Monet, Goya, Pollack, and was that a Van Gogh? How rich was this guy? Mrs. Richmond led Cassandra down a series of hallways, passing by dozens of wait staff hustling to and fro. The mansion was a veritable maze, and Cassandra wasn’t sure if she could make it back to the front entrance if left by herself. The pair passed through an open doorway, entering a grand kitchen rivaling any from a five-star restaurant. Gleaming stainless steel appliances, a banquet of food being prepared, and a sea of chefs dressed in blindingly white outfits. “This way,” Mrs. Richmond said, raising her voice to be heard over the cacophony of chefs giving orders like drill sergeants. They moved away from the noise, descending a staircase to a cellar containing more bottles than a liquor store. Plush chairs were situated in the corner next to a window overlooking the rear of the mansion’s estate. “Have a seat, dear,” Mrs. Richmond instructed, walking to the wall of bottles. She ran a finger over a row before tapping on a black bottle with a bright blue label. Cassandra sat down, sinking into the soft material, while Mrs. Richmond set the bottle down on an adjoining side table, retrieved a shot glass, and poured the amber liquid. “You mentioned on the phone that you aren’t one for much drinking, but this has a smooth taste that shouldn’t sting too much. This combination yields the best results, or so I’ve heard.” Cassandra lifted the glass to her lips and gave it a tentative sip. She grimaced at the biting, sour taste, but knocked back the rest just the same. The liquid burned going down her throat, forcing her into a coughing fit. Mrs. Richmond couldn’t help but smirk. “You really [i]are[/i] inexperienced.” “I can’t complain too much, but [i]that[/i] was smooth?” Cassandra asked. “I guess that’s part of why I don’t really drink.” “In that case I’ll skip the spiel about how long it was aged, the list of ingredients used, and how pricy the privilege would be for anyone else. You’re profoundly lucky on that front, Ms. Mullins. Another sip, please,” she said, pouring more. Cassandra downed another shot, this one going down slightly easier than the first. Mrs. Richmond pulled a stopwatch out of her jacket pocket and started a timer. “I’ll tell you when to drink again.” “And where is the lady of honor?” a booming voice asked from the other end of the room. Mrs. Richmond shot to attention, dipping her head slightly. “Right this way, sir.” A tall, stocky bear with gray hair dotting his temples entered the room, arms held out wide. He was dressed in a striking tuxedo, with numerous diamond rings dotting his fingers. A host of similarly clad men accompanied him, some armed, some scanning the room, others communicating via earpieces. He strode across the room, beaming. “So lovely to meet you, Ms. Mullins! How are you doing? Can I get you anything?” Cassandra rose to her feet, feeling more underdressed than ever. The man towered above her, built like a linebacker, the fabric of his suit bulging from his taut muscles. The heady scent of his cologne was overpowering. “I-I’m fine, thank you,” she replied. “Ms. Mullins, I’d like to introduce your benefactor for the evening, industrialist and philanthropist Mr. Walter Haywood,” Mrs. Richmond declared, a touch of pride in her voice. Haywood extended a meaty paw, which Cassandra accepted with her own dainty hand. Her hand was overwhelmed within his own, but his grip was light, the pads of his paw smooth. “I understand the specifics of this evening are a touch… unconventional,” he said, releasing her hand, “but I trust the compensation is sufficient?” “Yes, of course, I-I… I don’t know what to say. It will change my life,” Cassandra replied. Haywood nodded, his face bright. “That’s what I like to hear. This party wouldn’t be the same without you, and you deserve to be rewarded accordingly. I apologize for the intrusiveness of the personal questions and medical work involved, but your body composition and medical status are a rare combination as a receptacle. It wouldn’t work as well for anyone lesser than you. And I won’t have less than the best! There is much to attend to before the evening begins, so I will leave you ladies to it. Au revoir!” Haywood spun on his heels and exited the room, accompanied by his assortment of attendants. Mrs. Richmond hit a button on her stopwatch then poured another shot. Cassandra drank it down. “Who is he, exactly?” she asked, still grimacing from the taste. “As I said, an industrialist and philanthropist. You’ve no doubt used any number of the products his family has created. Plastics, paper products, pharmaceuticals, the list goes on. He is a fourth generation Haywood, the latest to run the company created more than a century ago. Well, not anymore. That falls on his son now. Which brings us to this evening. This is the tenth anniversary of Mr. Haywood’s early retirement. He is fond of throwing parties for just about any reason, and this occasion is no different.” “Which explains the job opening,” Cassandra said, staring out the window. A grassy field stretched for nearly a mile before it met a lush forest. The grounds closest to the mansion contained a patio featuring an outdoor pool, a tennis court, fire pits surrounded by lawn furniture, and a pickleball court. The field was dotted with an expanse of foldable dining tables and chairs, surrounded by a hive of activity. A nearby pavilion loomed tall, containing food and drink stations, and an elevated stage had been constructed for live music. Cassandra eyed a full bar located in the pavilion, a broad red curtain hanging behind it. “That’s where I’m going to be, right?” she asked. The shots were already taking effect, making her feel relaxed, her head clear. She supposed it would help with what would follow. “Indeed. We spoke of the matter over the phone but, now that you are here, how do you feel?” “A little nervous, to be honest. I’ve never done anything quite so… [i]public[/i] before. Never even seen a berry in real life before, not one of [i]those[/i]. Anything like that is way outside my world like, I don’t know, spending a summer abroad or eating caviar or whatever else it is that rich people do. Mr. Haywood seems nice, though.” “You’re not the first to experience this and I doubt you’ll be the last. Every young lady before you has been well taken care of, their comfort paramount.” Cassandra nodded, feeling better than before. Time passed, Mrs. Richmond poured another shot, and she felt warmer and warmer. As the sun dipped low, Mrs. Richmond withdrew a breathalyzer test and handed it to Cassandra. She blew hard, waited for the beep, and handed the device back to Mrs. Richmond, the numbers meaningless to her. Mrs. Richmond grinned. “You’re right on the mark, dear. Your BAC is exactly where it needs to be. Come along, let’s get you situated. Cassandra rose to her feet and followed Mrs. Richmond, surprised at her mobility with her current inebriation. She hadn’t consumed too much, all told, but her general tolerance was low due to her size and lack of experience. The pair returned up the stairs, through the kitchen, and out a set of side doors exiting onto the patio. The stonework was immaculate, the surrounding amenities a far cry from that of the rec center on campus. Stepping onto grass, they made their way around the assortment of tables, easily enough to seat over three hundred people. They neared the pavilion, entering a side entrance with a garage-style door opened. The interior of the pavilion had a storage room, stocked with stacks of cardboard boxes and shipping crates in various stages of unboxing. A set of swinging double doors stood at the end of the room, opening onto a hallway bustling with activity. Cassandra followed Mrs. Richmond into a side door containing a cathedral-style ceiling, otherwise bare. A humongous red curtain hung against the far wall, a susurrus of muted conversation on the other side. “The bar and dessert area is on the other side, which works out well,” Mrs. Richmond said, pacing the stone floor. “We have a forklift available, if necessary, but you should be close enough here. This also grants you privacy while we get you changed.” Mrs. Richmond gestured to a swath of fabric lying strewn across the floor that Cassandra could have mistaken for a parachute it was so large. It was a rich, purple velvet, with inlaid white gemstones that sent shimmering reflections wherever the light touched. Cassandra tentatively approached, knelt, and ran a finger over the dress. It was big enough to roughly cover the entire square footage of her apartment. “I’m going to be wearing [i]this[/i]?” Cassandra asked, barely above a whisper. At the moment, she would have been enveloped within its massive folds, lost in a sea of fabric. She understood conceptually and had agreed to what was about to happen, but seeing it in person, feeling what would soon cover her body, was a revelation. “We can mend it if it doesn’t fit, but the team has these things down to a science,” Mrs. Richmond explained. “It should fit like a glove. Now, if you’d like to keep your clothes intact for later, I would suggest disrobing before we begin.” “R-right,” Cassandra breathed, removing her shoes and socks. She unbuttoned and dropped her shorts to the ground, then lifted and threw off her oversized concert t-shirt. Down to her bra and panties, she cast a side-eye at Mrs. Richmond, who was busy tap-tapping into a cell phone. Cassandra wasn’t in the habit of being nude in front of near strangers, but the woman seemed so unfazed about the present circumstances that the prospect of nudity seemed to lose its stigma. She slid her panties to the floor, reached behind her back, and unclasped her bra, letting it fall. Crouching, she folded and collected her clothing, then rose and held the assortment against her chest. “I’ll keep that safe for afterward,” Mrs. Richmond said, pocketing her phone and holding out her hands. Accepting the clothing, she walked to an adjoining storage closet, where she deposited it into a clear tote bag. She returned with a container the size of a jewelry box, a heavy metal lock affixed to its front. Withdrawing a key from her jacket pocket, she unfastened and removed the lock. Resting the box in one hand, she slowly opened the lid with the other. Inside the box was an assortment of clear baggies, each containing one vibrant jumbo-sized purple blueberry. “Specially grown exclusively in a subtropical climate over generations of cultivation. The merest trace of pestilence, the slightest temperature fluctuation, introducing a fertilizer the plant doesn’t like, any of these will kill the effectiveness of the King’s Berry, rendering useless months of work. What you see here is a flawless specimen, from a crop of only fifty grown this year. I cannot express how lucky you are to even see this with your own eyes, let alone eat it. Go on, take one.” Cassandra reached in and removed a baggie with all the careful precision of defusing a bomb, then opened the package, depositing the contents onto her palm. It looked like any typical blueberry one might find at a grocery store, and part of her thought Mrs. Richmond might be playing some elaborate joke, but the woman didn’t seem the sort to do such a thing. She swallowed hard, lips suddenly dry. Could such a tiny thing really affect her body like that, mold her into something else? To think that the key to her future was small enough to fit in her palm. Cassandra raised her palm to her mouth and rolled the blueberry inside. Just a few bites reduced it to a fine, sweet paste, hardly any juice within, then she swallowed. “Onto the dress now, please,” Mrs. Richmond said, gesturing towards the expanse of fabric. Cassandra hopped into a bare spot of floor in the middle of the gigantic dress, a veritable eye within the storm, wondering how many Xs were contained in its sizing. She rested a palm against her flat stomach, feeling nothing. How long would it take to grow to such a size? Would she balloon up in moments in a visceral blast of juice? Slowly bloat as though by an air pump? The experience was brand new for her, and hardly something she could have searched online ahead of time. Mrs. Richmond stood on the other side of the dress and eyed Cassandra, nodding. “A nice, vibrant blue color to those cheeks. Excellent start.” Cassandra could only take her word for it, unable to see her reflection. Touching her face yielded no reaction. A brief glance down was just in time to see a wave of blue creeping down her chest and shoulders as though a can of paint had been spilled over her head. The rich color crept down her arms to her hands, to her fingers, her nails shifting to a deep purple. Despite the rapid change in color, she felt nothing; keeping her eyes closed would have given her no indication of what was happening to her. Her torso shifted blue, then her abdomen and waist, a creeping azure line descending down her legs to the balls of her feet. A brief look over her shoulder showed the same results on her back. In, moments, she was entirely blue. A warm sensation started to emanate from her abdomen, like a cup of hot tea had been teleported inside of her, drawing her hands to her gut. Her stomach distended, plush flesh spilling out between her fingers. Eyes wide, she poked her expanding gut, watching as her fur undulated, liquid sloshing within. Her belly took on the appearance of a period bloat, buffet binge, and beyond in mere moments, looking as though she was bearing sextuplets. The changes weren’t confined to her midsection, however, as her thighs thickened, hips widened, and rear plumped to support the mounting growth above. Her body weight had easily doubled, with no signs of slowing down. Bubbling juices churned inside of her, expanding outward and tickling her from the inside. She grunted, straining to remain standing as her belly reached her thighs, her knees, her bellybutton popping outward to a protrusion the size of her fist. She continued to grow wider, far beyond what she thought possible, as though her bone structure had been reduced to pliable taffy. She tore her gaze away from her expanding assets for a moment to eye Mrs. Richmond for, what? Support? Sympathy? Shared incredulity? But the woman was typing on her phone, head down, as though nothing out of the ordinary was occurring. Unable to support the weight any longer, Cassandra sat down hard with a grunt, resulting in waves of liquids sloshing within her core. She realized with a start that her height had not changed; the ingested blueberry was making her taller as it made her wider and rounder. Cassandra’s midsection was starting to overtake all other aspects of her being, her legs disappearing under her encroaching belly. As she swelled upward and outward, her upper arms were being slowly engulfed within her broadening mass, soon followed by her forearms. She waved her arms weakly, able to spy fingers the width of sausages before they too were consumed. A geyser of juice was erupting within her body, propelling her toward the ceiling, her ability to move her neck growing more limited by the second. From her limited viewpoint, her body was being molded into the shape of a blueberry, round and taut. She resembled a beach ball being inflated, growing bigger and more spherical by the moment. The stark change in height and untold gallons being pumped inside of her body should have resulted in tearing flesh and agonizing pain, her body not meant for that kind of rapid transformation, but there was no discomfort, only increasing pressure as her swollen form contained what must have been at least a swimming pool of roiling, churning liquid. She gasped as the juice shifted, part of it changing course to begin filling her breasts. She had never been pregnant and wasn’t ever planning on it, but the sensation wasn’t dissimilar to what she imagined milk to feel like. Her breasts, reduced to mosquito bite-sized lumps of flesh at the upper end of her rounded berry body, swelled outward, nipples changing to a deep purple. Pressure mounted as she grew multiple cup sizes in seconds, her breasts sagging against her rounded body with the growing weight. She wished she could still use her hands, use [i]something[/i] to soothe the grating pressure, as it felt like they were being inflated to an impossible degree, that they might pop if the growth continued for much longer. An additional fear sprang up; with her growing so top-heavy, what would happen if she fell forward? Her body was taut, bulging to the brim with juice. Would the force make her burst? A wet, squelching sound rang out as her breasts dribbled juice, which collected in her fur and dripped down her front. A steady stream spilled out, making her sigh with relief, pressure slightly reduced, head falling forward against the bulk of her body. The juice had seemed to stop its churning. As though someone had turned a valve, her growth had stopped. “Wonderful, dear,” Mrs. Richmond said, voice muffled, her form obscured by Cassandra’s massive berry body. “And a record too, I think. Finished in forty-three seconds. How are you feeling?” “Like I just drank an ocean. But not a bad feeling?” she replied, furrowing her brows at the sound of her voice. Her vocal cords, lost somewhere within her bloated bulk, caused the juice within her body to vibrate, the sound reverberating throughout her core. It resulted in a fizzy sensation, as though she had downed a bottle of soda in one go, a not uncomfortable feeling. Staring ahead, seemingly the only angle her body could afford, she realized she was nearly as tall as the red curtain separating the room from the rest of the pavilion, and nearly as wide. She wiggled her fingers within the confines of her plush flesh at least a dozen feet from her head now, preferring not to think of the implications of her new proportions. “Excellent.” Mrs. Richmond clapped her hands together. “Ladies,” she called out, “time to make Ms. Mullins presentable.” Doors clattered open and, within moments, cold metal was pressed against the front, back, and sides of Cassandra’s body. Footsteps sounded on metallic steps and soft fabric was pressed against her body, lifting upward. A head appeared beyond the swell of her breasts, grinning sheepishly. “You’re doing great, dear,” a middle-aged female raccoon exclaimed. “Names Sheila. Sorry for this next part, but we’ll need to climb on you to get your dress all the way up. You’ll feel some pressure and some juice will most likely come out, but it will only be temporary until we get you fitted. I’ll get you cleaned up when we’re finished.” Cassandra nodded, grateful for the communication in advance. She tried to brace herself, certainly not used to being a walkable surface, but couldn’t help but let out a moan as four bodies climbed onto her own, the added pressure causing a propulsion of juice to shoot from her breasts as though they were water guns. Sheila, one hand holding the top of the dress and the other balancing on Cassandra’s mass, was doused in the liquid, and she paused to wipe away the sticky, purple substance. “I’m so sorry!” Cassandra said, wincing. “I didn’t mean to.” “Don’t you worry, dear,” Sheila said with a thin grin. “Purely an involuntary reaction. Besides, I should honestly thank you. Do you know how much a bottle of this stuff costs? Closest I’ll ever get to one.” Sheila and the other unseen women proceeded to lift the massive dress over Cassandra’s frame, straining at the effort. It fit perfectly as though it had been made for someone of her exact proportions, post berry transformation. Sheila removed a cloth from her pocket and wiped down the spilled juice. When Cassandra’s front was dry, Sheila lifted a sparkling bodice over her breasts, fitting it into place. Satisfied with the placement, she leaned over Cassandra’s front and called down, “Bring up the hoses!” She disappeared from view, grunting as plastic of some sort was pressed against Cassandra’s front. Sheila returned with two massive tubes, which snaked down Cassandra’s front out of sight. She lifted the fabric fitting Cassandra’s breasts, which she realized with a start were not too different from dresses for nursing or pumping, and attached the tubing to her nipples, clamping them into place. Sheila gave a brief tug then, satisfied the fit was secure, climbed across Cassandra’s front and down the ladder. The ladders pressed against her body were pulled away, footsteps leading out of the room. She felt like a cow, breasts still under pressure. “I’m still here, dear, and I’ll be with you for the extent of the evening,” Mrs. Richmond called out from below. “Celestina will be here with you as well, handling the bartending.” “Hello, love!” a high-pitched, breathy voice called from below. It was a vibrant, cultured accent, one Cassandra couldn’t place. “It is so nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you, too?” Cassandra said. “I can’t see you, but you sound nice.” Celestina giggled. “Lovely humor, dear. It will make for a good evening. Now, I’m sure Mrs. Richmond has explained everything to you, but I want to reiterate all the special elements that went into creating what you have inside of you right now. The specific alcohol you were given before coming here is needed to bring your BAC to an exact level. That, paired with the King’s Berry and your unique physical composition, creates a chemical concoction within your body that turns blueberry juice into blueberry wine, a type said to be the sweetest, most flavorful kind there is!” The phone interview with Mrs. Richmond had included that detail, but actually being the receptacle, bloated, full of juice, full of [i]wine[/i], made it seem all the more real. Cassandra gasped as the tubes all of a sudden produced a powerful suction and a stream of purple liquid was propelled out of her breasts. “The wine goes into a brief cooling chamber so it is no longer at body temperature, then it is ready to enjoy!” Celestina exclaimed. “Sir, the first taste is yours, of course.” A hand, no larger than a pinprick, touched Cassandra’s side. “Excellent work from all involved, as always,” Haywood said, having quietly entered the room at some point. “And my biggest thanks to Ms. Mullins! A good party needs a good wine, so the greatest party needs the greatest wine! And by my estimation-” Haywood sipped, then smacked his lips. “Heavens above, that is phenomenal! The very nectar of the gods. Now the party can truly begin!” The red curtain was pulled aside to a chorus of cheers. The sliver of space between Cassandra’s body and the top of the pavilion revealed a grand crowd, lifting glasses as one as live music began playing, lights flashing. She blushed at the attention, but was consoled by the fact that her face was obscured by her massive body, her head just a tiny dot atop a mountainous blueberry. And it wasn’t like she rubbed shoulders with folks who attended parties at mansions anyway, so it was a moot point regardless. At regular intervals, blueberry wine was extracted from her breasts, the sensation making her gasp each time as the pressure within her body was reduced, bit by bit. A sea of conversation and music and laughter washed over her, and she was struck by how strange it felt to be at a party as almost a non-entity, a receptacle rather than a person. As the dinner portion of the party ended and dessert was served, Cassandra experienced what felt like a non-stop wine extraction. She slowly grew smaller, inch by inch, as the contents of her body were removed, and became aware of the crowd gathered before her. Party attendees dressed in fine suits and evening gowns had formed a line that snaked between tables and out of sight, Celestina serving guests with precision and grace. Glass after glass made their way into the greedy hands of those gathered, some attendees appearing in line multiple times looking more tipsy on each occasion. Cassandra received shouts of approval from nearly all gathered, but she was relieved that none stuck around to speak at length or even wait for a response from her before downing a glass and moving on. Looking out upon a sea of intoxicated partiers, having barely touched a drink in her life, it felt strange knowing that all gathered had partaken of wine from her body and that none seemed all that weirded out by it. As Cassandra’s body shrank from the extracted juice, Sheila periodically returned to alter her dress, ensuring it remained modest and fitted. Evening turned to night turned to the early light of dawn. Party guests had wandered away in ones and twos until only a few remained, sound asleep in chairs or lying on the dance floor. Cassandra sat within the enveloping folds of her dress, down to a potbelly. She felt totally spent of energy, despite sitting in one spot for hours on end. A rapid inflation and slow deflation took it out of her. Celestina leaned against the nearby bar top, hair frazzled, exhausted. She leaned over and smirked. “How about one glass of you, on the house?” “Not sure I can afford that,” Cassandra replied, readjusting her seat. “Every berry gets a taste, Haywood’s orders. Besides, you did most of the work, yes?” Cassandra shrugged. “Sure, why not? I can make an exception for tonight.” Celestina ran the pump again, Cassandra barely registering the sensation. She was just about dry, her body back to its previous shape. Mrs. Richmond returned with her clothes, Celestina removing the massive clamps from Cassandra’s minute breasts then pouring a glass. After Cassandra redressed, she took a glass from the bar top, turning it to the side and eyeing the rich blue wine within that had resided in her body for the entirely of the night. “It feels kind of weird to drink something that was inside of me, but what the hell.” She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, aerating the wine as she had seen scores of partygoers do. After swallowing, she arched her brows, humming with approval. “Damn, I taste good!” she exclaimed, earning laughter from those gathered. Cassandra stood up on shaky legs, staring down at her body, relieved it was back to its proper color. It was a night she would never forget and, most likely, never experience again. As strange as it was, it had afforded her a future she never could have anticipated, and the key to starting her post-college life debt-free, slate wiped clean.