You hear the front door swing open with its usual thunderous THUNK and the sound of someone stomping inside like they own the place. You don’t even need to look—you already know it’s your boyfriend, Blake "The Brickhouse" Carter.

"Back from the gym, babe," he calls out, voice deep, smug, cocky. You peek around the corner just in time to catch him tossing his gym bag down with a WHUMP, cracking his neck with a satisfying POP-POP, and then flexing both arms up into a showy double biceps pose.

"Still got it," he smirks to himself, his white cap tilted just right, his blue tank top clinging to those steel-hard pecs and rippling abs. The red belt with its shiny gold buckle digs into his sweaty, rock-solid core. His light tan skin glistens in the low light, framed by the shadow of the door.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something odd—a small, foil-wrapped square.

"Some weirdo at the gym said this stuff was packed with rare extracts. Gave it to me like it was some secret pre-workout. Ha." He peels the wrapper open with a crinkle and pops the strange, glittering indigo square into his mouth. CHOMP.

At first, he just chews lazily, looking down at his arms and tightening one of his biceps with a grin. "See? Nothing messes with this body. I’m a freakin’ machine."

But then his chewing slows. He hiccups. HUURRP.

A low gurgle rolls from his belly, and he pauses, brow furrowing. "Huh... What the—?"

BRRRRMMMP.

A deep, bubbling fart escapes him suddenly, and he freezes. "What the hell was that?"

Then his skin begins to shift. The light tan fades into a smooth, glossy blue. He grabs his arms in confusion, watching helplessly as his defined veins and shredded muscle blur beneath a shiny, expanding layer of blueberry-colored flesh. Sllllrrrp...

BLORP.

His belly balloons outward in an instant, rounding tight beneath his tank top. "No, no, no—what the hell is this?!"

CRRREEEAK. The red belt strains as his stomach puffs out like an overinflated ball. He grips it with both hands, trying to hold it in, but the pressure builds, gurgling, sloshing, and churning loudly inside him.

POP!

His belt buckle snaps off, flying across the room and clattering against the wall. His tank top rises up, no longer able to contain the swelling curve of his stomach. "Nnghh—UUUURRRRP—I can’t stop it!"

His arms, once thick and powerful, begin to round and puff, sinking slowly into his sides. His legs wobble, thighs swelling with juice before fattening and merging into the growing, jiggling orb of his body.

"Stop it, STOP IT!" he groans, cheeks puffing outward as splurts of blueberry juice begin to drip down his sides. His backside expands with a wet SPLORCH, stretching his shorts until—RIPPPP!—they shred apart, seams bursting and leaving him wobbling in scraps of fabric.

BRRRRAAAAAPPP!

He lets out a huge, blueberry-scented fart, his face now flushed blue and dripping with juice from every pore. "I-I can’t be like this! I was shredded! I was... UNNGHH... hot..."

He quivers, groaning as his body becomes more sphere than man, arms and legs vanishing completely as his round cheeks press against the sides of his head. His belly sloshes and jiggles with every weak movement.

"Help... I don’t wanna be... PFFFFFRRT... this... round..."

And then—CRREEEEAAAAK—his whole body groans like rubber pulled to its limit. His eyes go wide, lips puffed and trembling.

BLOOOOOOOOORRRSSHHHHT!!!

He bursts in a massive splash of thick, sticky blueberry juice, flooding the room in sweet-smelling gunk. Juice coats the walls, the ceiling, and your feet. In the center of the puddle, there he is—naked, soaked, panting, and still very blue.

He blinks up at you, helpless and humiliated...

And then gurgle... His belly begins to rise again.