Chapter 1: The Waterskin's First Stretch
The stone wept. That was Jack’s first thought, a stupid, poetic thought he’d never have entertained before the cage. Cold, slick moisture beaded on the rough-hewn walls of the chamber, catching the light from a single torch guttering in its sconce. The air tasted of old earth and new fear.
“You will become my living waterskin.”
Her voice came from the shadows, smooth as black silk. Then she stepped into the torchlight, and the torch might as well have guttered out for all the warmth she carried. Lady Annelise von Hess. Her gown was the color of a deep bruise, so tightly laced it sculpted her into a weapon. A necklace of obsidian shards lay against her pale throat. A long, black satin executioners mask, split to the nose, covered her face, but allowed her cruel smile to be seen.
Jack strained against the coarse ropes binding his wrists to the iron frame. The frame held the funnel—a wide, rusted mouth that descended into a narrow tube. He knew its purpose. They’d shown him.
“A waterskin holds no pride,” he spat, his voice raspy. “It just… holds.”
“Precisely.” Annelise smiled, a thin curve of her lips that didn’t touch her cold green eyes. She gestured with a slight nod.
Lindaux moved from her post by the door. She was a contrast to her mistress: short, solid, her apron stark against her wide frame. Her face, pale and round, held none of Annelise’s sharp malice, only a quiet, dutiful focus. She approached Jack, her steps soft on the damp stone.
“Don’t,” he warned, pulling back.
“Easy now,” Lindaux murmured, her voice low and surprisingly gentle. Her thick, capable fingers found the laces of his embroidered tunic—fine once, now filthy. She worked them open without hurry, peeling the damp fabric from his chest. The dungeon’s chill kissed his skin, raising gooseflesh. Her palms were warm as she laid them flat against his abdomen, just for a second, feeling the rapid drumbeat of his heart beneath the lean muscle. She lingered, her touch firm, almost assessing. Then she pulled the tunic away completely.
Annelise drifted closer. The torchlight danced in the dark pools of her eyes. From a fold in her gown, she produced a dagger. The blade was slim, polished, catching the firelight like a sliver of ice.
“This is cold,” she said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. She placed the flat of the blade just below his sternum. Jack hissed at the shock of it. Slowly, with unbearable pressure, she drew the icy metal down the centerline of his belly, over his navel, stopping at the waistband of his trousers. “Your skin here is tight. Hungry. It will learn a new kind of fullness.”
She handed the dagger to Lindaux, who took it without a word. Annelise then picked up a copper pitcher from a small table. Water sloshed inside. “We begin with a modest measure. Lindaux, secure his head.”
Lindaux moved behind him. Her hands were gentle but implacable as they cupped his jaw, tilting his head back until he stared at the dripping ceiling. He struggled, but her strength was absolute. “Just look up,” she whispered close to his ear, her breath warm. “Easier if you don’t fight.”
The wide mouth of the funnel blotted out his view. The rust smelled of old blood and metal. Annelise’s figure came into his peripheral vision, the pitcher poised.
“Open,” she commanded.
He clenched his teeth.
Annelise sighed, a sound of profound boredom. “Lindaux.”
A pinch, sharp and precise, on the nerve just below his ear. His jaw spasmed open in a gasp, and in that instant, the cold rim of the funnel was shoved past his teeth, pressing down on his tongue. He gagged, the iron taste flooding his mouth.
“Good.” The water came.
It wasn’t a violent deluge, but a steady, relentless pour. Cold. So cold it burned his throat on the way down. He had to swallow or drown. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. The sound was obscene in the quiet chamber. His throat worked convulsively. His eyes watered.
Annelise watched, her head tilted. She emptied the pitcher, set it down with a soft clink, and picked up another. “Your capacity will grow,” she said, as if tutoring a slow student. “The body adapts. It has no choice.”
The second pitcher followed the first. The cold weight began to anchor itself deep in his gut.
"Males do, anyway. Men make the best balloons. Their skin is thick and streches, not nearly a fragile as women's skin." Annelise purred, running her hand over the very germ of a swelling belly Jack had.
Annelise purred, running her hand over the very germ of a swelling belly Jack had.
It was just a tightness. A new, unfamiliar firmness beneath her palm where before there had been only the hard plane of muscle. The prince gasped as the third pitcher emptied into him. A tremor ran through his frame, rattling the iron funnel. The ropes creaked.
“Now the hard part,” Annelise said, stepping back. “Waiting. Your body is deciding: surrender or rupture. It’s a fascinating little war.”
Jack squeezed his eyes shut. The cold in his core was spreading, becoming a dull, insistent ache. A pressure. It wasn’t the sharp bite of a blade—this was something deeper, a wrongness blooming from the inside out. He tried to breathe, but his diaphragm bumped against the expanding mass. Each inhale was a shallow sip of air.
“Lindaux,” Annelise said, settling onto a lone wooden stool. “Observe.”
Lindaux moved closer, her eyes fixed on Jack’s torso. She wrung her hands in her apron, a nervous gesture. “The umbilicus is beginning to distend, my lady.”
“Let me see.”
Annelise rose and stood before him, clinical, appraising. Jack felt exposed, more vulnerable than when he was merely unclothed. His very form was betraying him. She prodded the skin below his navel with a single finger. He flinched.
“Good. The skin is accepting the strain. It will stretch further than you think. See how it’s already growing paler? Like parchment under tension.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. “You feel it, don’t you? That point where pride stops and simple biology begins.”
He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer. He focused on the feeling instead.
The initial cramping was subsiding, morphing into a heavy, liquid fullness. It was… strange. Not entirely pain.
Not entirely pain. There was a grotesque fullness, a strained satisfaction that made him feel oddly… impressive. He watched, breath hitching, as the smooth concavity of his stomach began to push outward, a firm, rounded dome distorting the familiar landscape of his body.
“You are not the first vessel I’ve filled,” Annelise said, her voice cutting through the thick sound of his own labored breathing. She traced the burgeoning curve of his belly with a cold nail. “Two of my father’s councilors thought they could betray me, whisper their poison in his ear.” She leaned close, her lips nearly brushing his ear. “They hang in the oubliette now, big, helpless water balloons, their skin so taut you can see the shadow of their own spines through their bellies. They slosh when the guards poke them.” She straightened, her green eyes gleaming. “One already weeps constantly; the salt just makes him thirstier. He’ll burst before summer.”
"And yet, they aren't nearly as big as my usurper brother is." Annelise purred.
Her hand slid down the length of Jack's newly swollen torso. Her fingers trailed down the sides of his belly, tracing the soft, rounded curve of his distended stomach. She squeezed, feeling the firmness beneath the skin, the way his body resisted her grip before yielding with a soft, fleshy give. "You're already so much fuller than you were," she murmured, her voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "And we've only just begun."
Jack's breath hitched as her fingers dug into his flesh, kneading the swollen mound with deliberate pressure. The sensation was strange—a mix of discomfort and something darker, something that made his cock twitch against his restraints.
Her hand slid down the length of Jack's newly swollen torso. Her fingers trailed down the sides of his belly, tracing the soft, rounded curve of his distended stomach. She squeezed, feeling the firmness beneath the skin, the way his body resisted her grip before yielding with a soft, fleshy give. "You're already so much fuller than you were," she murmured, her voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "And we've only just begun."
Jack's breath hitched as her fingers dug into his flesh, kneading the swollen mound with deliberate pressure. The sensation was strange—a mix of discomfort and something darker, something that made his cock twitch against his restraints.
"Let me tell you about my pathetic little brother. Littler in age, he's a big helpless sphere now." Annelise purred.
"My brother, the usurper. He thought he could take what was mine. He thought he could rule this land, this *dungeon*, with his weak little hands. But he couldn’t even hold his own piss when I was done with him."
She stepped back, her eyes raking over Jack’s swollen form. The prince’s belly was already a taut, rounded dome, the skin stretched and glistening under the torchlight. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his chest heaving as he struggled to accommodate the weight pressing down on his lungs.
"Fat and pampered, he was. Always stuffing his fat, gluttonous maw." Annelise's voice dripped with venom as she circled Jack, her heels clicking against the stone. "I had him bound just like this—spread and helpless. Only he was already a bloated pig, a spoiled little prince who thought his title made him untouchable. I showed him otherwise."
Her fingers trailed down Jack's distended belly, pressing into the taut flesh. The prince gasped, his cock twitching despite himself. The sensation was overwhelming—the way his skin stretched, the way his body fought to contain the pressure, the way his mind warred between humiliation and something far more shameful.
"So I had him filled with water, his big round belly made bigger and bigger." She purred as she massaged Jack's swollen belly . " His fat belly was so full, it was almost as big as his head. He could barely move, barely breathe. And he begged. Oh, how he begged. But I didn't stop. I kept filling him, kept watching his belly swell until it was so tight, so round, that I could see the veins bulging beneath the skin. And then, when he was at his limit, when he was nothing more than a bloated, helpless sack of water-" She paused, remembering her helpless sphere of a brother, watching him helplessly flap his hands and feet on his massive spherical body.
"I had his harem fuck him." Annelise purred, her fingers trailing down the length of Jack's distended belly. "They took turns, one after another, fucking his fat, helpless body until he was nothing more than a bloated, dripping mess. And when they were done with him, I had him displayed in the courtyard for all to see—a grotesque, swollen thing, a warning to any who dared defy me." She leaned in close, her breath hot against Jack's ear. "And now, they pamper his bloated balloon body, rubbing and massaging him with oils and salves."
"They worship him now, their big, helpless sphere. They beg to be allowed to touch him, to stroke his fat, round body. They beg to be allowed to fuck him, to fill him with their cocks and their cum. And he just lies there, a big, helpless, bloated thing, his body stretched and swollen and full, his mind broken and submissive. He is nothing more than a fat, fuckable waterskin now, a living vessel for their pleasure."
Jack's breath hitched as Annelise's fingers dug into his flesh, kneading the swollen mound with deliberate pressure.
"The perfect life for a man. An over inflated sphere, pampered by sexy women, forever." She purred.
Jack imagined himself in his place.
A big, helpless, bloated sphere, forever. Forever. He imagined himself in the courtyard, his body stretched and swollen and full, his mind broken and submissive. He imagined himself as a fat, fuckable waterskin, a living vessel for their pleasure. He imagined himself as a big, helpless, bloated thing, his body stretched and swollen and full, his mind broken and submissive. He imagined himself as a fat, fuckable waterskin, a living vessel for their pleasure.
Jack’s cock twitched against his restraints, betraying him. He salavated at the idea. His harem of gorgeous women, running their hands over his overinflated body.
His mind was broken and submissive, his body stretched and swollen and full. He imagined his own cock, hard and throbbing, as he pictured himself as a fat, fuckable waterskin, a living vessel for their pleasure. they'd pamper him.
They'd rub his fat, round body with oils and salves, their hands gliding over his swollen flesh, their fingers pressing into the soft, yielding curves of his belly. They'd worship him, their lips brushing against his skin, their tongues tracing the lines of his veins as they pulsed beneath the taut surface of his distended stomach. They'd beg to be allowed to fuck him, to fill themselves with his cock and his cum, to use him as a living vessel for their pleasure.
And he'd just lie there, a big, helpless, bloated thing, his body stretched and swollen and full, his mind broken and submissive. He'd be nothing more than a fat, fuckable waterskin, a living toy for their amusement. Jack's cock throbbed at the thought, his mind reeling with the filthy images of his own degradation.
---
Annelise’s fingers trailed down the taut curve of Jack’s belly, pressing into the swollen flesh with deliberate, cruel pressure. The prince gasped, his breath hitching as the sensation sent a jolt of shameful pleasure through him. His cock, already half-hard from the humiliation of his bloating, twitched against his restraints.