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Description
A promo for myBlankFace's promising slow-growth series, Protein. I asked the author if anything about the image was different than he pictured. This version is much more loyal to the story. Marge was much too classy in the original version; now she looks more like the nouveau riche redneck she is, and has an (awesome!) office to match. Maybe I overdid the tackiness on this one. But you know what? You can never overdo tackiness. (Okay, then again, maybe the Unicorn picture is a bit much.)

From the story:

"Marguerite kept going: “Most of your time during the day will probably get taken up by the meals and the shakes. I get food specially made by a chef downtown that I need you to drive here and bring in, four times a day. And my protein shakes are unique too – you need to drive out every morning to Stoughton, to the factory, and bring them in their containers to me, where I’ll keep them to have throughout the day. As a matter of fact—“ she reached a long arm down to the sides of her desk, chair still loudly slapping her flesh, and slid open a cabinet. When she rose her hand, she was holding a large plastic bottle filled to the brim with a brightly glowing green liquid. Like it was toxic.

She popped open the cap – I realized it too had been made to her proportions, and that single bottle was at least 2 liters – and tilted her head back. Her hands lifted the bottle and poured it down her throat, and her eyes closed. Her body writhed, even more than it was already, like every cell of her body was orgasming. Her lips curled into a smile as she gulped and gulped.

Suddenly, I saw it – the edges of her torso began to brush against the chair. It was not just the vibration, her whole body was expanding. Her head began to rise, and her neck widened. She kept pouring. Her shoulders broadened, just a few inches, and I heard one of the seams in her dress tear. Her body shook and she moaned a little, pouring it down further. Her arms thickened, and her breasts jiggled, pushing against her clothing, nipples visible. She finished it in one final gulp, pulling away the bottle and wiping traces of the glowing fluid from her face."

Here's the story:
Protein, Ch. 1: The New Girlgiantess, growth, mini, hourglass, expansion, lust, insatiability, pure insanity, the depravity of human culture itself...proceed with caution
Chapter 1: The New Girl
The first thing I noticed was that the ceilings were too tall – far too tall. It didn’t make sense for a building in this part of town: everyone knew that office space did not come cheap in the financial district, and particularly in this glass-walled tower that leased office space to so many different companies, why would they have one floor where the ceilings were almost twelve feet high? I started calculating the costs, and the thought made my head hurt: the quote was probably based on price per inch, driven down by the number of competing firms, multiplied by the promised speed of the work…
“She’s the new girl,” I overheard the secretary whisper to a professional-looking woman bent over the desk. The lobby was a grandiose chamber of minimalist leather chairs and puffy rugs,

And here's the original version of the image:

Description
A promo for myBlankFace's promising slow-growth series, Protein. I asked the author if anything about the image was different than he pictured. This version is much more loyal to the story. Marge was much too classy in the original version; now she looks more like the nouveau riche redneck she is, and has an (awesome!) office to match. Maybe I overdid the tackiness on this one. But you know what? You can never overdo tackiness. (Okay, then again, maybe the Unicorn picture is a bit much.)

From the story:

"Marguerite kept going: “Most of your time during the day will probably get taken up by the meals and the shakes. I get food specially made by a chef downtown that I need you to drive here and bring in, four times a day. And my protein shakes are unique too – you need to drive out every morning to Stoughton, to the factory, and bring them in their containers to me, where I’ll keep them to have throughout the day. As a matter of fact—“ she reached a long arm down to the sides of her desk, chair still loudly slapping her flesh, and slid open a cabinet. When she rose her hand, she was holding a large plastic bottle filled to the brim with a brightly glowing green liquid. Like it was toxic.

She popped open the cap – I realized it too had been made to her proportions, and that single bottle was at least 2 liters – and tilted her head back. Her hands lifted the bottle and poured it down her throat, and her eyes closed. Her body writhed, even more than it was already, like every cell of her body was orgasming. Her lips curled into a smile as she gulped and gulped.

Suddenly, I saw it – the edges of her torso began to brush against the chair. It was not just the vibration, her whole body was expanding. Her head began to rise, and her neck widened. She kept pouring. Her shoulders broadened, just a few inches, and I heard one of the seams in her dress tear. Her body shook and she moaned a little, pouring it down further. Her arms thickened, and her breasts jiggled, pushing against her clothing, nipples visible. She finished it in one final gulp, pulling away the bottle and wiping traces of the glowing fluid from her face."

Here's the story:
Protein, Ch. 1: The New Girlgiantess, growth, mini, hourglass, expansion, lust, insatiability, pure insanity, the depravity of human culture itself...proceed with caution
Chapter 1: The New Girl
The first thing I noticed was that the ceilings were too tall – far too tall. It didn’t make sense for a building in this part of town: everyone knew that office space did not come cheap in the financial district, and particularly in this glass-walled tower that leased office space to so many different companies, why would they have one floor where the ceilings were almost twelve feet high? I started calculating the costs, and the thought made my head hurt: the quote was probably based on price per inch, driven down by the number of competing firms, multiplied by the promised speed of the work…
“She’s the new girl,” I overheard the secretary whisper to a professional-looking woman bent over the desk. The lobby was a grandiose chamber of minimalist leather chairs and puffy rugs,

And here's the original version of the image: