As Peter drank, Joce put her plan into action.
The liquid in Peter's stomach first doubled, then tripled, and continued to multiply a quickening pace.
Peter watched in amazement as his stomach began to distend. Like a balloon filling with air, it grew larger and rounder as he goggled at it. He slowly began to caress it, enjoying the feeling of his own flesh growing.
Joce, too, began to caress it, and the growth picked up speed, spreading a bit to the rest of Peter. Muscles began to rise like dough, becoming harder and almost ridiculously defined. He might have been considered a contender for Mr. Olympus...if not for the gut that was taking on the size and look of a wrecking ball.
The growth finally began to subside, and Peter groaned. It felt like when he had eaten too much times a thousand, but without the nausea of acute pain. It was a dull ache of skin and flesh stretched to the max, with the strange feeling of satisfaction of being full, and being BIG.
Joce marvelled at her own handiwork. Some might have called him 'fat' but that wasn't quite the case. Everywhere else was the definition of a lean, large, muscled bodybuilder, who had not a inclining of fat between skin and muscle. And even his gut, now larger than a wrecking ball, wasn't saggy or soft, but spherical and taut and hard under her hands. She pressed slightly, and Peter groaned happily again.
"You liking being big, don't you?" She cooed, squeezing and teasing. "Muscle, fat, inflating....you just want to be as big as you can..."
Peter nodded, to caught up in the sensations to care....