Suddenly your mother's toned stomach made a loud grumble, interrupting Belle's menacing thought process. "Sorry," Michelle chuckled, rubbing her fit stomach, "I really need my breakfast workout shake. But I just realized I ran out of tomatoes. They're essential, you know. The shake doesn't taste right without it."
Your mother continued massaging her toned stomach, seemingly trying to appease the growling beast within. Belle's eyes lit up, an idea forming in her mind. She grinned mischievously, “Actually, I think I've come up with a better idea. You know, Mom, since you said you ran out of tomatoes for your shake, how about we turn Liam into one? How's that for a punishment?"
Your jaw dropped, "You want me to become a tomato?! Are you both out of your minds?"
Belle laughed, "I think it's only fair since you didn't want to 'lose' your fingers."
Your mom considered the idea, her expression revealing her thoughts. “You know, we’ve never used the medallion to transform someone living into something inanimate. This could be an interesting experiment. Besides, turning you into a tomato for my shake might make you appreciate the simpler things in life." She smirked, “Plus, it might be a good lesson on how to respect the powers of the medallion. It would be a fitting punishment for you.” She then continued, “Before you become a tomato, you need to understand. We don’t know the effects of transforming into something inanimate. You could very well lose all your senses and awareness. If you can’t bear that risk, we need to find another punishment."
Your heart raced, but before you could respond, Belle interjected, “72 hours. If you survive and transform back, then great. If not, well, it was your choice."
You swallowed hard, understanding the weight of the situation. Arguing would only make it worse. The idea of being an inanimate object was terrifying, but you also didn’t want to risk any other punishment your mother and sister could devise. “Fine,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I’ll become a tomato for 72 hours.”
Your mother playfully teased, "Can't wait to see how you'll taste in my shake. And if you can survive the process," she winked, "maybe we'll see you at the other end too."
Your sister took the medallion and whispered the words, setting the timer for 72 hours. You felt a strange sensation of weightlessness envelop you, a swirling and compressing sensation. The room, your sister, and your mother began to grow larger and larger, or rather you were shrinking and changing shape. Your vision blurred and then refocused. As the transformation finalized, you found yourself as a ripe tomato on the floor. You could feel the fuzzy, carpet beneath you. Though you couldn't move or speak, you realized you could still see, hear, feel and taste.
From your vantage point, everything looked enormous. The perspective was jarring, making you realize just how small and insignificant you had become. The looming figures of Belle and Michelle seemed like giantesses from this perspective. They were huge and you could even see under your mom’s skirt from where you were. Revealing her athletic legs and a faint camel toe through her panties, making the situation even more embarrassing. You were reminded of your current state: vulnerable, immobile, and completely at their mercy.
Belle knelt down, picking you up between her fingers, "Wow, it worked! He's a perfect tomato!" She laughed, rolling you between her fingers, and you could feel the sensation of her touch even in this form. The sensation was odd, like being surrounded by a warmth, but also having a slight pressure against your skin. Every time she shifted her grip, you could feel the minute changes in temperature and touch.
Handing you to Michelle, she commented, "Here you go, Mom, your special tomato for the shake."
Michelle, with a smile on her face, playfully tossed you up in the air and caught you, "Thanks, sweetie." Holding you in her hand, the sensation of her touch was different. It was more assertive, more purposeful. It felt like being in a gentle but firm grasp.
You felt every contour of her palm and fingers, every ridge and every bit of warmth. You never imagined you'd experience the world from the perspective of a tomato. You wished more than ever that you could respond, but alas, you were stuck in your silent, inanimate form.
As both walked to the kitchen, you could hear the footsteps and feel the slight motion with each step your mother took. You could hear the various kitchen sounds, the opening of the refrigerator, the pouring of liquids, and other ingredients being prepped.
Finally, she placed you on the cold, hard kitchen counter. The sensation of the coolness seeping into you was stark against the warmth of her hand. You could hear her preparing her shake, and the realization that you might very soon be part of that concoction made your 'heart' race.
As you lay on the kitchen counter, a tomato without the ability to speak or move, you listened intently to your mother and sister’s conversation, though you wished you couldn’t. The notion that you could possibly be aware of your surroundings was the furthest thing from their minds.
“He looks so ripe, doesn't he?” Belle giggled, poking at your tomato form.
Michelle smiled while in the middle of preparing things. “You know, I never thought I'd see the day where I'd be holding my son as a tomato.”
As Michelle set up her blender and began gathering ingredients, Belle leaned on the counter, smirking at your tomato form. “You know, Mom,” she began, “if he did have any senses right now, he’d probably be mortified at the thought of becoming… well, part of your poop. I mean, he’d get to witness firsthand that women do poop. And not just that, but he'd literally get a direct view of the process, by seeing your private areas and backdoor. Imagine being pushed out from there after fully realizing the age-old mystery."
Michelle blushed deeply at Belle’s comment. “Belle! Don't say such things. It’s inappropriate and besides, who’s to say he won’t just become a part of me? After digesting, he could just as well end up as a part of my thighs, or even my breasts. Not gonna lie, it would be nice to have an enhancement.” She said while massaging her breasts while thinking about, “Not everything ends up as waste you know.” She chuckled lightly at the thought.
As a tomato, your inner thoughts raced. The idea of becoming part of your mother’s body was, in its own way, just as bizarre and uncomfortable as the alternative but strangely intimate. Yet, there was nothing you could do but hope for the 72 hours to pass quickly and without any lasting consequences.