This was originally a custom video but no names were used. To order your own, visit my website or email me (my website and email address are at the top of the front page of this store).
In this video, I wear a nice blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, and black heels. I walk into Miss Wonka’s inventing room and I am awed. I ask her what she’s currently working on, and she tells me about her gum that tastes like a three course dinner (tomato soup, roast beef and baked potatoes, and blueberry pie with ice cream), But regrettably, it’s not quite ready yet. Then I notice my step-daughter...
This was originally a custom video but no names were used. To order your own, visit my website or email me (my website and email address are at the top of the front page of this store).
In this video, I wear a nice blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, and black heels. I walk into Miss Wonka’s inventing room and I am awed. I ask her what she’s currently working on, and she tells me about her gum that tastes like a three course dinner (tomato soup, roast beef and baked potatoes, and blueberry pie with ice cream), But regrettably, it’s not quite ready yet. Then I notice my step-daughter putting it in her mouth. As her posh, fussy step-mother, I’m always embarrassed by her inability to behave herself. “Spit it out, Miss Wonka just said it’s not ready!”, I hiss. But she continues chewing and she says it tastes great. “Perhaps it’s OK then Miss Wonka, nothing bad seems to be happening?”, I ask tentatively. Then it happens. As she gets to the blueberry pie and ice cream, I notice my step-daughter’s cheeks starting to puff up. Soon, her whole face is inflating, followed by her body. I am equal parts terrified and mortified by my prim and proper step-daughter’s sudden inflation, and beg Miss Wonka to do something. “What will people think?!” But when she suggests rolling my step-daughter off to the juicing room, I’m indignant. “How unladylike, being rolled around by Oompa Loompas!" Soon, her belt and her dress pop off as I watch in horror. I’m too proud to get her juiced, and before long, she explodes. As I’m reeling from the shock, I notice that a bit of my step-daughter splashed on to me. “Oh no, Miss Wonka, am I going to inflate too?!” I feel my cheeks starting to puff up, and my arms and legs start stretching too (this is all acted, pantomime-style). After several minutes of terror and humiliation as I inflate like a balloon, I beg Miss Wonka to fix it. "Please Miss Wonka, juice me if you have to, I don't want to explode like my step-daughter!" I slowly twirl away to the juicing room, moaning and shouting as I go.
