Emily Gold: Thickening Agent

Thickening Agent

Cloying beads of sweat gripped Emily's brow, gluing her coppery hair to her goggles as she painstakingly measured and gingerly mixed chemicals in the clear vials she held. If too much air got into the mixture, it would froth for days, and the reactions would take that much more time to finish reacting and degrade. This was supposed to be Temporary, after all.

Her male colleagues in the Alchemist's Guild were focusing on immortality and infinite gold and other such 'high' pursuits, but Emily sought that much rarer element; Adventure! The Adventurer's Guild hadn't been hiring, though. The Alchemist's Guild was, however, and the steady pay and free lab space made her nights spent on rooftops and in tombs scabbing non-contract work for the folks who couldn't afford a proper adventuring party that much easier. It was almost a sort of alchemy in itself, using the crucible of late-night danger to reduce and purify her research funds to... less money, but with more fun.

Tonight was prep-work for the infiltration of a seedy establishment which she had been previously banned from. She was almost proud of the likeness they'd posted by the Bouncer's station, but they knew her face, and so she had to be unrecognizable. And when she finished tonight, no one would be looking at her face.

'Athletic' is often the polite term people use for girls like Emily, who cannot keep fat on their bodies. Be it either through genetics or lifestyle, Emily couldn't gestate the womanly curves that some of the other girls her age had managed, but, in her private moments (or when she was in her cup) she had to admit (often at great volume) she had a great butt. That volume was probably one of the reasons she wasn't allowed back at this particular bar.

Emily, however had an ace up her sleeve, and that was the Elasticity Amplifier she'd been consuming for the last year and a half. She had slowly enhanced the elasticity and ductility of her soft tissues while reducing their plasticity and she was only getting more flexible by the dose. In layman's terms, she was quite bendy and stretchy, but didn't stay bent or stretched. It had gotten her out of several literal and figurative Tight squeezes, and she hoped it would come in handy for this particular disguise.

During one particularly enlightening encounter with an all-you-can-drink special whose volume was definitely the reason she was not allowed back to this bar she had discovered that her skin's elasticity allowed her to deform herself to quite the degree without harm or permanent effects if she had an internal support to maintain the shape. Her stomach and other guts had stretched to fill her torso far beyond any mortal capacity and She'd popped her corset and was sloshing around merrily when they heaved her out and she... also heaved. It was a fair banishment, she would admit … sometimes. But inside was her mark, and she needed his... whatever maguffin was driving tonight's escapade. She'd read the note again before she left.

Her new steel-boned corset would hold up nicely (she hoped) as she was aiming for a different shape tonight. Less wineskin, more hourglass.

She eyed the mixture, raising her goggles to reveal her emerald eyes and see the tiny vial without distortion. It looked the right color, and there weren't that many bubbles in it. It was probably fine.

She upended the contents into her compressed stomach and gave her corset a cinch for good measure. It was amazingly sweet, and she almost considered mixing more, just for the flavor. She counted backwards in her head from thirty for the mixture to saturate before she drank the catalyst.

There was a disappointing pause before she could feel the the faintest tickle in the pit of her tummy. Like fuses being lit, the fizzing spread from her stomach to her extremities and all her most intimate parts. She nearly went cross-eyed as a thousand tiny bubbles tickled and caressed her from the inside of her skin. The agent was supposed to bond to her fatty deposits, what little she had, but it seemed she could feel the reaction almost all over. Had she missed the co-chiral bond with the elastic... annnnnd she lost the math as her thoughts were chased away by pleasant fizzy bubbles and a persistent muzzy pleasantness. (Or perhaps she failed to calculate that the brain is a fatty deposit and she was getting a bit air-headed from the chemicals.)

Either way she was lost in the tickling, bubbling, fizzing onslaught until her corset creaked and she was brought back to the moment as her stomach and it's contents strained against it's confines. The pressure quickly equalized and her feminine features all gained a tiny bit of volume.

“Oh,” She let out a tiny, surprised coo as she felt herself stretch for the first time since the bar. The ale hadn't done that. Her hands, unbidden, began to explore her expanding form, each touch, every squeeze, translated to a pleasing cacophony of sensations that the human mind was not meant to feel or understand. There was pressure, yes, oh what pressure there was, but there was give, too, as if her first breath of the morning could go on forever. Millions of tiny hands pushed her skin outward, meeting her own hands with equal measure at first, and then more, so much more. She could feel her breasts pressing out against her fingers, spreading them and pulling, pinching, tugging her skin everywhere she could touch. Her thighs, and even her proud bottom were shifting under her loose pants, pulling out the slack, ever so sensuously slow. She gasped, greedy for volume, trying to pack her lungs and stretch herself further as her agent did it's work within.

As she grew, the available volume for the reactions to take place within her grew, and so did the pace at which she filled. Her miscalculation began to cascade.

What started as a crawl, slow and torturous became a walk, confident and inevitable.

Her probing hands were busy exploring every amazing inch of her body when her second wave of expansion began. Another creak of her corset, and another burst of pleasure as her skin stretched to contain all of her.

She was indeed starting to develop that hourglass figure that she'd not-so-secretly envied on other girls, her bust was hissing and fizzing along nicely, and she was about to start losing sight of her creaking corset for the first time in ages, as her newly improved breasts began to obscure her view downward with her sensitive, freckled decolletage, and honest-to-gods cleavage between. She let out another low moan as they touched together, and she began fondling herself anew amid the squeaky, sweaty collision between her disparate halves.

Below her corset, her ample thighs and glorious butt were making her adventuring pants far less baggy, as each strap and pocket drew a lover's caress across her rapidly constricting lower quarters. Her expansion was a torturous march of longing, and she began wondering idly if there were more hands available to touch her. Having occupied her two hands with her breasts and their sensitive nipples, she satisfied the crawling tease of her nethers by crossing her legs and working her hips in a sensuous figure eight, the tension of her pants and the stretch of her skin sent shivers throughout her whole body, as if each tug and poke of the expanding gas caused an opposite and equal reaction somewhere else when the pressure sought some release from it's humanoid prison.

Redoubling the reaction, she felt her stomach shift under her corset, her guts rearranging as they churned and burbled before pushing out in a constant creaking stream.

In return, the gas she was filling with, sought out every corner of its vessel to fill; to tease; to touch; and to stretch.

Emily's Slow dance with herself became slower as she began to run out of room in her clothing to move, constricted and pressurized even further. The caresses and touches of before began to become sure, firm grips on taut flesh as her straps and buckles ran out of give. Her thighs and even calves began to bulge and stretch out between each gap, and with a tickling pop-pop-pop, even making new gaps of their own. A dry voice in the back of her head stated plainly that she should have done this naked, and it was immediately shouted down by the feelings of pressure (and pleasure) increasing everywhere else.

By now, the fizz of reaction from before had become an outright bubbling churn that permeated her entire being. She could barely stand among the seeking, tickling hands that distended her from the inside, and the bubbles knew how to find every one of her secret places. She was getting deliciously wet from the feelings she had no way to process, and , her exploring fingers confirmed, she was even beginning to foam a bit from the tips of her sensitive nipples, now crazy with sensation from being stretched across the fronts of her amazing breasts. Her breasts.

Her.

Breasts.

She took several more sinful moments to examine every freckled inch of her new endowments, practically tearing off her shirt to expose more glorious, sweaty, stretchy flesh. She rose like bread through the gaps in her clothing, searching, blooming into each inch of free space she created with her tearing fingers. Her Alchemist's Robe was tossed to the floor, and her shoulders down to her corset laid bare, and everywhere between she bulged and grew, sweaty skin kissing evening air, meeting it, pushing it out of the way and continuing on on the walk onward.

More volume, greater room for reaction, more area for error. The walk became a run.

She churned and fizzed and burbled and bubbled, practically vibrating from the reactions inside her.

She never noticed that she should have stopped seven seconds ago.

Eight.

Nine.

Onward she grew, unrestrained up top and pressurized on the bottom. Her once ample, now outright turgid thighs squeaked together inside her pants, and began seeking other avenues of expansion. Leather belts and bandoliers full of reagents began to constrict with mad purpose all about her legs and buttocks, teasing, touching, squeaking and creaking until she could stand it no more and fell to her knees, hands flying to touch her most private places, to tease, to ply, to re-live any exhausting moment of this boundless pleasure.

Emily lost herself, awash in feeling and spouting fizzy concoction from every bodily orifice like a mad sprinkler in some perverted lord's garden, every jet and bubble that escaped, giving a final, tiny taste of Ecstasy on it's way out. She couldn't hold it anymore. As she kneaded and explored her sticky, swollen self she ran out of reactants and stopped expanding just as she collapsed into paroxysms of decadent pleasure, her skin squeaking and creaking as she finally relaxed and bulged out a few more inches, sending her into further aftershocks.

She lay on the floor, panting and heaving, bobbing in the air with improbably huge breasts and flared hips to match, sweaty and sticky, and altogether spent she cooed and squirmed on the cool floor for who knows how long in pure contented bliss.

As she regained her faculties, she began taking stock of her state. Breasts so large she could scarcely contain them in an embrace, hips so wide she'd more than doubled her standing width, and an ass that would require a survey team and a good week to explore it's vast expanse. And all of it was her, glorious her. She patted her hollow-sounding thigh, and lost focus of her eyes for a moment as the sensation rebounded about inside her. She needed to be careful about that. Distractions like that could compromise her mission.

As she languidly (and squeakily) made her way to her feet she began to remind herself of her own work from memory. The formula was sucrose-based (and very sweet), so it would attenuate poorly with alcohol, which was a shame, as Emily was really feeling thirsty after all that exertion. Maybe one drink wouldn't hurt. As long as she could fit through the door with her prize when she was done, it was fine, wasn't it? It was supposed to last an evening and a half, and she could certainly find ways to spend that time while she laid low. Finally, was her disguise.

She looked down, at her clothes, which were in a sorry state, safe to say, and would not be making the journey with her. She'd bought a dress for this occasion (most of a dress, anyway), and would be wearing it to the pub once she squeezed into it. She had a plan, a mission, and was all set.

She nodded, making a fist and thumping her prodigious chest, Yes, Emily Gold was going to reclaim that thingamabob for whoever, as was just and right and not a thing could stop her.

Well, maybe another few minutes of exploration wouldn't go amiss...