>>158708
The most grotesque shift came at her chest. Her breasts, those pert B-cups, swelled grotesquely under the onslaught of the elixir's alchemy. First, they tingled, nipples hardening to painful peaks as milk—thick, creamy, unnatural—flooded the glands. Aiko's head snapped down, eyes bulging in horror as she watched them balloon: from handfuls to cantaloupes in seconds, the skin stretching translucent, blue veins spiderwebbing across the expanding orbs. "Mune... oppai ga... ahhh!" she cried (Breasts... my breasts... ahhh!), her voice a mix of English plea and Japanese anguish. But they didn't stay there. As the shaft elongated to 25 feet, her swelling bosom migrated downward, sliding along the rigid length like weighted pendants on a pole. The nipples elongated into teats, leaking rivulets of milk that trickled down the veined surface, lubricating the transformation. Her ribcage fully integrated now, the last humanoid contour erased; what was once her waist was midway up the 4-foot-diameter trunk, arms dangling limply to the sides, hands twitching like dying spiders—fingers curling inward, thumbs jerking spasmodically as Aiko's mind reeled.
Finally, the apex. Aiko's neck strained as her head—unchanged, that beautiful face framed by sweat-soaked black locks—perched atop the swelling glans. The transformation crested there: her shoulders rounded into the coronal ridge, skin flaring outward into a mushroom cap of flushed, sensitive flesh, 5 feet across at the widest. Her mouth, parted in perpetual shock, became the urethral opening, lips plumping slightly, tongue lolling as involuntary twitches made it quiver like a slit weeping pre-cum tears. At full erection—monumentally so—the structure towered at 50 feet tall, a colossal Japanese penis in every anatomical detail: shaft 45 feet long from base to tip, averaging 4.5 feet (54 inches) in diameter, veined and throbbing with a "hard" rigidity that defied gravity, standing firm and straight up like a candy-striped obelisk amid the meadow. At the base, her feet remained—those petite size 6 soles, now rooted side-by-side in the turf, toes splayed in frozen agony, ankles locked as the pillar rose unyieldingly from between them. Her hands flanked the lower shaft, palms pressed flat against the warm meat, fingers splayed outward in a gesture of eternal supplication or surrender. And the balls—oh, the balls—her breasts had descended fully, engorged to the size of hot air balloons, each a 10-foot-diameter (120 inches circumference) orb of taut, milk-swollen flesh, hanging heavy and pendulous at the base, teats dangling like udders, dribbling white streams into the chocolate soil. They swayed gently with the shaft's subtle throbs, the skin veined and hairless, a grotesque fusion of mammary and scrotal horror.
Aiko's reaction was pure, unfiltered nightmare—exactly as any young woman would shatter under such violation. Her head atop the glans jerked erratically, neck craning side to side as if to deny the reality below. Eyes wild, pupils dilated to black voids engulfing her irises, she blinked in frantic Morse code: stare down at the impossible length of her body, then squeeze shut in denial, tears carving milky paths down her cheeks to drip into the slit of her mouth-urethra. "Iya! 嫌だ！This isn't me! Make it stop, onegai!" she screamed, her voice echoing hollow from the penile tip—raw, ASMR-softness twisted into guttural sobs, each word bubbling with phlegm that oozed out as viscous fluid. Her tongue lashed against her teeth, trying to form coherent pleas, but it only smeared the emerging slickness. Below, her feet stamped futilely—left sole grinding heel-to-toe into the earth, right toes flexing and curling as if to uproot the monolith, but the shaft held unyielding, quivering from the strain. Her hands, those poor unchanged sentinels, pounded against the mid-shaft—fists hammering in rhythm with her cries, nails scraping furrows in the skin that healed instantly, leaving red welts. Then, exhaustion: fingers uncurled, palms sliding down in defeated caresses, as if stroking away the curse. Her head lolled forward, hair draping over the glans like a mournful veil, eyes rolling back to whites in a faint, only to snap open again in fresh waves of revulsion. "Mama... tasukete... help..." she whimpered, the ASMR whisper returning unbidden, now a haunting, breathy dirge from the tip.
The tour erupted in chaos. Mothers clutched daughters close—Mrs. Hargrove shielding Emily's face, muttering "Don't look, darling, it's a trick!"; Violet hyperventilating into her phone, live-streaming the horror; Lady Beaumont fainting into her twins' arms. Ms. Wonka pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing, "Well, that's the Virility Vial for you—meant to invigorate fruit, not... this." The Wonkaettes, unfazed professionals, snapped into a new routine: encircling the base with pom-poms, their voices rising in a bubblegum dirge laced with warnings about gluttony and mislabeled treats. "Oh, what a sticky end, for the girl who couldn't comprehend! Now she's tall and she's proud, but her screams are quite loud—Wonka's factory, where the bold get the shaft!"
Aiko's towering form loomed over them all, a penile colossus in the chocolate glade, her unchanged head weeping atop the summit, hands and feet twitching in futile rebellion. The golden ticket's dream had curdled into eternal, throbbing nightmare—and in her dilated, despairing eyes, there was no whimsy left, only the raw scream of a girl forever altered.