Speakeasy

It was getting late, she could tell. She glanced over at the smartphone dangling on the corner of her side table, and checked the time: 10:45 PM, just about right for her new nocturnal schedule, the one that had formed since she had started using her fake ID and bombshell body to get as many drinks as she wanted. She groaned, rolling out of bed, as she reran her evening ritual; she stared at her gorgeous body, from her curly black locks that flowed just past her shoulders, to her large but not slutty breasts. The firm C-cups led immediately to a soft stomach, a result of an all liquid diet and a sleep routine that clashed with the gym, she prided herself on it's lazy flatness, flowing right to her hips: curvy enough to attract attention, yet small enough to remain convenient for her. She perused through the small closet in her apartment, and decided on a simple black dress, a color almost identical to her jet hair. Another night of clubbing in this was sure to find her someone to hold for the night, she was sure of it, and the 3 inch heels certainly wouldn't hurt her chances. As she clicker her way to the elevator, she looked through her purse for the fake ID, and she found her plastic objective. As far as the state of Nevada was concerned, she was Penelope Rosenberg, a 23 year old with a legal driver's licence. That was enough up to this point, and she was convinced tonight would be no different.

She made her way down the Vegas Strip, moving past all of the bright casinos and assorted tourist traps, all places she had found success in before; tonight, she planned on striking it big on a local oddity; The Speakeasy, a bar with a rotating location, was within walking distance of her abode, and she would never let herself skimp out on an opportunity as rich as this one. She walked down an alley off the strip, past the dumpsters and the stray pets scurrying at the sight of the scenery's light reflecting off her tight dress. It wasn't until she stumbled upon a large man, no smaller than six and a half feet, standing in front of a door that she realized that she had found it. The blaring techno music blasting from behind it did little to shield its location, now that she had noticed it.

"Ma'am?"

She was startled at first, but she responded to the gruff sounding gentleman by simply revealing her forged identification. With a slight smirk, he returned the card to her waiting hand.

"Enjoy the Speakeasy."

"Thanks," she replied with an equally devilish smirk. "I think I will."

She brushed past him, making sure to press the more prominent parts of her body against his, and entered her new home until she would inevitably be kicked out. She spent almost an hour on the dance floor, bumping and grinding into man and woman alike, not even flinching when careless hands grabbed fistfuls of her body, feeling her libido rise with every grasp. She made her way over to the bar, starting with simply a scotch, being especially sure to flaunt her figure in the hopes of having a few more suitors by the end of the night.

"You should be careful with those fake IDs, you know," the bartender warned, placing a napkin under her newly served drink. "And even more careful with a body like that. The 'easy can ruin someone like you. All it takes is a night."

She scoffed. "Oh really? A small little place like this? If you really want to throw mud, I can have your liquor licence gone within the hour for serving someon you know is underage," Her face slowly crept into a wide grin. "So how about you keep the booze flowing and I'll make sure you stay in business, hotshot." She leaned over the bar, practically in the young man's ear. "And If you're lucky, you'll look even cuter after I get some more booze in me," She whispered, giving him a little kiss with her full lips before getting comfortable with her scotch.

"I like your style, Carrie," He replied, causing her to choke on her drink. "YOu may be good at keeping the local bouncers, but your face is just one of dozens to the Speakeasy. We've got you and every other brat with a fake in this town on lock. Now if I were you, I'd be happy with your scotch and be glad we're not throwing you out right now."

"Impressive, Hon, I've gotta say," she replied, condescending tones dripping from her every word. "But to tell you the truth, this is the only drink I'm gonna hafta buy tonight. In fact-" she cut herself off, looking down the aisle at a young man who quickly flagged down the bartender. She watched as she saw the same thing play out, just like it had dozens of times. The boy woould buy her a drink, something fruity and girly, and then she'd dance with him, and the cycle would repeat itself over and over and over, until the sun came up form the east. The bartender turned back around, returned to her stool with a pina colada, and chuckled.

"I must say, Carrie, you've got this whole town wrapped around your little finger, don't you? How about you and I make a friendly wager in the spirit of spicing up your night? If you win, You can leave the Speakeasy and you'll be welcomed back whenever you want. No charge for life. If I win, you'll have to take me home tonight rather than one of your numerous gentleman callers. Would you like to hear the rules of our little wager?"

"It sure sounds like I win either way. Let's do it," She was convinced that she could do anything in the club, and if she won, she got free booze forever? And the downside was taking some sandy-haired bar-boy home with her for the morning? "What do you have in mind?"

"If you are going to win, you have to drink anything that is sent to you from anyone at the bar with the exception of myself. If you can hold all of the liquor you very clearly have proven you want, you can have infinite access to my bar. Do we have a deal?" He extended his hand.

"I suppose we do."

The night was still young, and she was immediately met with three more coladas; it was apparently a popular item tonight, a fact that she wasn't upset with; the smooth taste and no more than a light burn let he keep drinking away, as three more margaritas were served to her after the fourth pineapple concoction. After the second Lime drink, she felt like she had just eaten; a feeling that was usually absent during nights like these. She placed a hand on her abdomen; it still kept its normal shape, but provided much less give when she pressed her hand into it. This was going to be a long night, and the grinning bartender was just getting started. Long Island Iced Teas, Vodka shots, and even a few bottles of Budweiser were sent her way, and she was beginning to feel a strange side effect of all of the liquid: he stomach was tight, pressed firmly agaisnt the shiny material of the dress, and a small potbelly was beginning to form on her abdomen. The night bore on, and at 3 AM she had downed another eight cocktails, and her body was certainly showing it; her potbelly was getting cauldron sized, and the fabric around it kept it snug in a tight sphere, leaving it only with room to go up, pushing her breasts up slightly, making them look bigger and more alluring to the patrons who were too drunk to notice the gravid orb she held under the counter in between drinks. She was starting to feel uncomfortably full, when she saw the bartender approach with at funnel and a hose.

"You're in luck! a customer just signed you up for a beer bong! looks like you'll be getting quite tipsy tonight. That is, of course unless you want to stop and we can go to your place for the rest of the night." His glare was significantly less cute and significantly more annoying. She looked down, clutching her full mass with both hands, and considered what might happen if she had to drink that much more booze.

"Y-you know, I was getting a little tired. H-how about we head back to my place?" She replied with a groan. She attempted to stand, and had to hold onto the bar to keep her balance; walking home looking like an overdue octo-mom was going to make for an interesting night by itself, and her new tag along was not going to make it any easier.

"Great, Let's go!" He hopped over the bar counter, sweeping two drinks all over his customers. He quickly grabbed her arm and placed a hand under her new girth, and they proceeded to walk out of the bar an back to her hotel.

"Now, what are you expecting out of this little trip to my room?" she asked outside her door. The walk back had been less than comfortable to say the least, but his support under her belly and his soft caress of her body made it much more comfortable than it would have been without him.

"Why don't we go inside and find out?" He replied, flashing his smile, which was somehow better than she had remembered it. They carefully guided her rotund middle through the doorway, and eased her onto her bed. "Now, I'm going to explain a bit of what just happened. You see, we at the speakeasy have a history of keeping up with the girls who frequent our bars, from Vegas to St. Petersburg to Kyoto, we like to keep tabs on all of the women who think they can cheat the system by using fake IDs. You are no exception to this rule, and have been thusly punished." She heard a groan emanate from her bloated middle, and a light, fizzy feeling form deep in her core. "The going rate of such a violation is one popping, which you will experience shortly. You see, Speakeasy booze has a special quality to it that allows it to double in size once ingested by an individual under the legal drinking age, and after a few hours, the liquor begins to foam up, resulting in a volume increase of roughly three times the amount after ingested. In other words, with the size you're at now and our patented technology, you'll be roughly three times your current size in about ten minutes, provided you skin's elasticity holds for that long." She had stopped listening to him at this point, the fizzing feeling was infesting every fiber of her being, like she was in the middle of a shaken can of soda. The feeling finally mounted when she felt her body swell even more, eliciting a shriek form her. He already gravid sphere quickly grew to the size of a bean bag chair, to a size incomparable to anything she could fathom at the time. she could feel her skin stretching, her dress getting tighter around her disappearing waist, as she could feel the growth spread to her breasts and butt, growing at a much slower rate, but growing nonetheless. She groaned, knowing that there was not much left she could do for the dress as she felt the seams of the dress snap, giving her a momentary sense of relief before the pressure in her body mounted again and she felt herself press against the dress's limits again. With every popped seam, she felt the pressure lower for just a split moment only to have her belly fill in the space once again. She groaned as a small tear formed in between her now growing breasts, as a bit more of her expanding cleavage pushed the fabric to the bring of destruction. Her entire body felt soft and full, and she could feel her dress pulling off of her lower end as her ass continued to expand, pressing it up her back as her pressurized stomach kept it tight around her entire body. She could heel the liquid slosh as it foamed, and she knew there was not much left in her body to undergo the transformation. Unfortunately, the rapid removal of the dress with a loud pop coupled with the eerie groaning coming from her own skin signaled the end of the line for her own body, and she began to panic.

"Oh, God! I'm- I'm too FULL! Y-you have to help me, you have to get some of this out of me! Oh, I don't care what I did, you can't let me p-p-p-" She began whimpering when she realized what his desired outcome was.

"Pop? Oh, yes I can let you pop. like the big, inflated ego you think you have earned by exploiting the industry," She heard her door open past the creaking of her own skin. "I told you you'd get your punishment. I guess some people just can't hold their booze. Have a nice night, Carrie!" She heard the door slam closed, and she was left alone with only the sounds of harsh fizzing and ominous creaks. Tears welled up under her eyes ans her belly reached the ceiling of her apartment, and he breasts covered the view of her body, although she could imagine; Her stomach resembled the ball dropped on New Years; Her breasts and ass the size of bean bag chairs. As she felt her stomach press firmer into the ceiling, she realized that she had stopped growing, and the pressure was only mounting further in her body. With a high squeal, she felt her body hit it's limit, and she heard a deafening sound of thunder.

"Hey, boss, how did it go with that one?" the large man at the bar's door asked.

"About the same as the last three, Jake, but this one did seem to get a little bigger," the barkeeper replied with a sigh. "But I worked a little magic on this one, and we might see her again sometime."

The night was still young, and she snapped awake on her bed, with shreds of black all around her.