Too Many Drinks (comm)

CW: Bloating, belching, alcohol, a bad accent

It had been a long day. It had been a long, hard, full-of dumbasses day. Samara needed a drink. She needed a drink bad.

That’s why, the moment she’d finished her shift as an assistant of magical bureaucratic nightmares, she’d made her way straight to Sally Joe’s - the best tavern in town. It was clean (mostly), the food and drink was good (mostly), and the owner kicked the ass of anyone who picked a fight in the joint (always). It made for a nice place to get wasted without being harassed.

At least, that was the usual. Today, though, the place just happened to be packed. Apparently some mercenary troupe was rolling through town and they’d stopped here to celebrate a job well done. That’s what Sally Joe had said, anyways. Like Samara would spend a single second talking to some brainless mercs after spending all day talking to brainless mages. She wouldn’t even have stayed at all except that she REALLY needed that drink and couldn’t be arsed to haul herself to another pub. Besides, while it was too noisy for Samara’s liking, none of the rowdy gits were harassing her, so… eh. Fuck it.

Samara’s first drink of the night was finally brought to her. A nice, chilled mug of ale. Samara hadn’t liked Ale at first, but years of drinking to forget had given her an appreciation for the stuff. She picked it up and, without hesitation, brought the mug to her lips. She started to drink, and didn’t stop until all that was left on her lips was the wooden mug. She slammed the empty cup down and let out a satisfied sigh. Her gut felt sloshy with all that liquid and nothing else filling it. Gurgly, too. She pushed the mug across the counter and signaled for another one. Then she gave her gut a small push. Yeah, all that gas from chugging so fast was making things a little uncomfortable in there. She pushed in a few more key spots, dislodging those irritating gas bubbles until an all-too familiar pressure began building in her throat. 

One final rumble gave way to a rush of gas up her throat. Samara usually tried to restrain herself when it came to burps, but she was just too worn out to give a rat’s ass today. She just let it rip - a long, low rumbling belch that went on for four seconds easily. She let out another satisfied sigh and rested her chin on her hand, a finger tapping on the bar. When was she going to get her next ale? She just wanted to be drunk already-

“Oy, was that you?”

Samara’s eyes flicked to the side. She felt her lips pull up into a sneer. It was one of those rowdy mercs, from the looks of it. Vibrant red hair with green streaks on either side of her head. Rough and tough clothing, ie a sleeveless shirt to show off her muscles and pants tucked into worn leather boots. Tattoos resembling stitches ran along her forehead, as well around her left elbow and wrist. Another tattoo of a massive centipede coiling around her right arm. And, of course, an eyepatch. Why always the eyepatch? Weren’t scars a badge of honor for barbarous folks like her? Tch. “What?” Samara responded, more than a little irritation plain in her voice.

The woman crossed her arms under her (admittedly hefty) chest. “That belch. Were ya the one that made that sound?”

“So what if it was?” Samara growled. Wisps of magic curled around her fingers on the bar as she prepped for a brawl. “What’s it got to do with you?”

The merc’s eye flickered over to Samara’s hand for a moment. She smirked. “Oh, a feisty one, are ya? I like that.”

“...What?”

Without asking, the woman sat down at the bar next to Samara. She spoke to Sally Joe, who was refilling Samara’s mug. “Oy, Sally! Bring me whatever you’ve brought this gal so far!”

Sally turned to look at the merc. Then she glanced over at Samara. A coy smile came across her face. “The night’s still young and you’re already picking a fight, eh, Entoma? I gotta say, I think you’re biting off more than you can chew this time.”

The merc (who was apparently called Entoma) let out a bark of laughter. “We’ll see about that! The day I let some scrawny bookworm outdrink me is the day I quit being a mercenary!”

Meanwhile, Samara could feel her blood pressure rising. “Hey, what are you doing!? Who said you could sit next to me!? And when exactly did I agree to drink with you!?”

Entoma just gave another laugh. “yer not gonna say no, are ya? I didn’t take someone like ya ‘ta be a coward, Snowie.”

“Wha- SNOWIE- how DARE you!?” Samara seethed. “It’s not about being cowardly! I just don’t want to spend my precious free time drinking with a filthy wandering barbarian!”

Sally set the mug of ale that was supposed to be Samara’s in front of Entoma. The merc grabbed it and gave Samara a smug grin. “Y’gotta stare at my jugs less if ya wanna sound convincin’, y’know.” Then she began to chug.

Samara was lost for words.  “WHY- I- I WASN’T- YOU LITTLE-” yet, no matter how many times she restarted her sentence, she couldn’t manage to retort. So what if she’d taken a few liberties in glancing at this random mercenary’s chest!? They were prodigious! It was only natural to wonder what one must’ve done to become so endowed! Was it working out? It was working out, wasn’t it? This lady was rather muscular. Her shirt was just tight enough to show the ripple of her abs underneath as she drank, and the lack of sleeves gave quite the view - NO, Samara! None of these thoughts! Not for a filthy-mouthed mercenary!

The mage took a second to breathe. Ok… fine. Whatever. Samara could suffer through this dense woman’s presence for a short time. She just needed to get a little tipsy. Yes, just a little. Then she could excuse herself and leave to go home, help herself to a bottle of whiskey, and go to bed.

Entoma slammed her mug down on the table. She pounded her chest a few times, her cheeks puffed out. Then her throat trembled as a raucous belch sounded from her mouth. It was a harsh, guttural noise that filled Samara’s ears. While it was much sharper than Samara’s outburst, it only lasted about half as long. Once the belch had ended, Entoma frowned. “Damn. If I were the ratin’ type, I’d say we’re dead even. I don’t think I’ve ever met a gal who could match me in belches.”

Cobwebs had filled Samara’s mind for a moment upo hearing Entoma burp so brashly. She shook the fog from her brain and looked away. “That’s unfortunate. If you had, maybe you wouldn't be bothering me right now.”

“C’mon now, don’t be like that!” Entoma laughed. She pushed her mug back across and said, “Two more, Sally! I’ll pay for the both’ve us for the night! Just keep ‘em comin’!”

Samara’s head whipped back around to glare at Entoma. “Hey! I never said I’d drink with you! And I can pay for my own drinks!”

The large, well-muscled woman leaned on the bar, partially exposing her neck. She had a stitched tattoo there as well. “For the record, I’m not plannin ’ta drink with ya. I’m drinkin’ against ya. The last one who can still walk at the end a’ the night is the winner!”

“You can’t just decide this on your own!” Samara snarled.

“I’ll make it worth yer while, Snowie,” Entoma said. She gave the smaller woman a playful, toothy smirk. “Ya go against me an’ you can drink all ya want tonight. That’ll be yer reward if ya win.”

Samara opened her mouth to protest, but… well, she’d let random men buy her drinks before just to get free drinks. This was just a better deal than that since she’d get a whole night’s worth of drinks. Besides, Samara was confident that she’d be the one to win, even against a mammoth like this woman was. Still… “What about if you win? You aren’t doing this for nothing, I assume.”

“I’m doin’ this for my pride, but… when ya offer so kindly…” Entoma scratched her chin. Then she glanced at Samara and chuckled, “yer not my usual type, but I wouldn’t mind lettin’ ya spend the night with me if I win.”

“WHAT-” Samara started, but just then, the loud clatter of mugs on the bar made her whip around. That was… a lot more than two mugs. Her eyes darted back to Entoma. “Wh-What’s all of this?”

“Hm?” Entoma picked up a mug and took a hearty gulp. She continued, “Well, you’ve gotta drink at least this much if ya wanna beat me. Unless ya want to end up back in my room, ‘course!”

A red haze started to fill Samara’s vision. She slammed her hands on the counter and jerked to her feet. “HA! As if THIS was enough! I don’t care about you paying for drinks, but I swear on my name, Samara, that I will NOT end this night in your bed!”

Entoma let out a roar of laughter. “Y’better keep true to that, Snowie! I’m lookin’ forward ‘ta a real fight for once!”

With her declaration made, Samara picked up one of the mugs of ale and started to chug. Just looking at the two of them, the matchup seemed one-sided. Entoma had a whole head’s worth of height on the shorter woman, to say nothing of her thicker core. It was obvious that the clear size difference would give Entoma the edge. That would be the case, at least, if not for Samara’s unique constitution.

Some people are more naturally resistant to certain substances. A coworker of Samara’s is virtually immune to caffeine, which Samara couldn’t imagine being cursed with. Samara herself happened to have an absurdly high tolerance for alcohol. It was to the point that, after a night of drinking, it was harder to keep herself upright because of the extra weight she was carrying rather than the world spinning around her. This she-giant might have Samara beat on tank capacity, but that was it! Samara had this in the bag!

That was the mage’s foremost thought as she quickly chugged down her second ale of the night. One mug was just enough to completely fill up her insides, so the second mug started to fill her out instead. Samara didn’t have quite the fine, busty, muscular figure the barbarian next to her did, but she didn’t look half bad if she did say so herself. She had pale, fair skin, unmarred by combat or ink, and piercing yellow eyes. Sure, she had semi-permanent bags from so many late-night drinking binges, but who was looking at her eyes anyways when she had a fine chest and the confidence to flaunt it? Her purple mage’s dress showed off all her best features; an ample amount of said chest, all of her defined shoulders, and every bit of her elegant legs starting from just above her knees. And, of course, there was her snow-white hair. She supposed that was why Entoma had decided to call her Snowie. Hmph. A simplistic pet name for a simplistic oaf. Who was she to give someone she just met a pet name, anyways? Uncouth brute…

With her second mug finished, Samara pivoted straight into her third. She would show this cretin just how much she could put away and drive her off! For her night of peaceful drinking!

At least, that was the plan, but a quick sideward glance revealed how far away that goal was. Entoma was matching Samara’s pace perfectly. If anything, she seemed to be holding back, matching Samara’s pace. Why that little-! HMPH! We’ll just see how long she can hold back!

With three entire mugs of ale in her guts, Samara was feeling rather bloated. This was around the point where, left to her own devices, she’d loosen the strings on her dress’ corset to give herself some room. There was no shot of that tonight, naturally. As if she’d show Entoma any weakness by looking like she needed the extra room! No, even as tight as her clothes were under the constraint of her tight corset, she would not relent!

The mage paused her drinking to let out a much-needed burp. It rumbled low across the bar for well over six seconds, drawing a few curious glances. From beside her, Entoma pounded the bar and roared with laughter. “That’s it, that’s it! That’s the burp that led me over here! You’ve got a real set a’ lungs on ya, Snowie! Ha!”

Despite herself, Samara felt some heat creeping into her cheeks. “Wh-What kind of woman would want to hear that!?”

Entoma didn’t respond. She just laughed a few more times before giving her gut a solid slap. Samara wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure, apparently. As big as Entoma was, she was already sporting a notable bubble gut. Said bubble gut seemed to tremble for a second following Entoma’s slap. Then her face twisted for a second. A loud, piercing belch ricocheted up her throat, once again assaulting Samara’s ears with its sheer volume. It was brief - even shorter than her previous burp - but its volume more than made up for its brevity.

“Right, that’s my response! Let’s keep going!” Entoma cheered. She then picked up another mug of ale and went straight to chugging. Samara cursed under her breath as she picked up her own mug. For whatever reason, she found her eyes wandering down to Entoma’s middle. The smallest sliver of Entoma’s lavender undershirt was visible between the snow-straining straps of Entoma’s worn shirt. She’d thought those straps were already being tested by Entoma’s bust, but her belly was proving to be a much harsher foe against the straps’ efforts.

Samara forced herself to look away, even though she could practically see the straps growing ever more stressed with each heavy gulp Entoma took. Focus, woman! She can outchug you, sure, but you don’t need more liquid! Just gotta stay conscious for longer! Yeah, she just needed to force this overgrown tankard to drink herself into a stupor! THEN she’d be free to finish the night’s drinking on Entoma’s dime!

Mug four and five went down just as easily as the first three. Samara might not be a large woman, but she had her fair share of practice increasing her size, so to speak. Drinking upwards of ten mugs in a single night was commonplace for her. In this way, she didn’t even flinch as she tucked into her sixth mug. The only problem at the moment was her damned corset. It was becoming difficult to breathe due to the increasing pressure her bloated guts were placing on her body. With her outward growth constrained, her overfilled stomach was seeking space inside to occupy. Unfortunately, her lungs just so happened to be in some of that space.

“Hoo-WAAAAH! Just can’t beat a good contest after a job!” Entoma declared after finishing her seventh mug. She’d stopped slowing down for Samara and had begun blazing ahead on her own, much to Samara’s pleasure. She was now almost two entire mugs ahead. Another blasting belch forced itself out of her mouth, making the crude woman laugh again.

Samara wasn’t usually one for conversation, but she had to admit that, despite being a disgusting mercenary, this woman… intrigued her, for whatever reason. “What job did you complete?” She asked nonchalantly.

“Nothin’ special,” Entoma shrugged. She took a hefty swig from mug number eight and gave her gut a few softer pats. The straps on her shirt seemed like they were in pain now from how far apart her belly was forcing them. She continued, “Just a run-o’-the-mill escort job. Took some rich bastard from the capital ta here. Ran into a couple’a monsters on the way, but nothin’ worth mentionin’.”

“Hm. I see," was Samara’s only response. What had she expected? Some grand adventure of mystery, intrigue, and magic? Those only existed for heroes and the characters in her favorite stories. Still, Entoma could have tried to dramatize it a little, couldn’t she have? Samara scowled at the woman, who had already returned to drinking. “You’re awful at story-telling, you know that?”

The larger woman stopped drinking for a second. She blinked at Samara. “...Eh? Where’d that come from? Yer mouth made me think ya didn’t give a rat’s arse about mercs.”

“Shove it. I’m drunk.” Samara buried her tongue in ale, hastily gulping down the contents of her sixth mug. She grimaced as she rubbed her flank. The bulge of her stomach was clearly pronounced under her corset. She felt so damned tight! She couldn’t manage to burp anymore, either. One would think being squeezed like this would force all of the air out of her body, but instead, it seemed to be lodging it all in place. The building gas made Samara feel even tighter, as if she were expanding from the inside-out.

This pressure only continued to mount with each passing mug. It was a miracle that Samara managed to finish her ninth round. She was having to force her body to swallow each mouthful, cramming it into her over-taut middle. She groaned plaintively as she set her mug aside. Her fingers massaged the surface of her belly, urging the contents to release theory airy prisoners, but it wasn’t working. No belches were coming. She grit her teeth and panted as a cramp traversed the course of her stressed middle. Just a little more… surely, in just a little more, Entoma would pass out. Samara was starting to feel a little tipsy herself, so surely it was much worse for the average person. Just a little more…

Or not. Entoma polished off her thirteenth mug and wiped her mouth on her arm. Then she braced her arms at her sides. “Hold on… hold ooon… hhhhAAAAAH!”

With a shout of effort, Entoma thrust her arms back. As she did, the straps that were no more than thin lines stretched across her taut gut snapped one after another in rapid succession. Her middle surged forward out of the now consolidated gap in the front of her shirt. The only thing keeping her shirt from flapping freely at Entoma’s sides was that it was tucked into her pants. Otherwise, they would merely be curtains to the main attraction that was her midriff.

“Whoo, yeah! Much better!” Entoma breathed. She gave her gut a few more solid pats, earning herself another roaring belch. As Entoma had drank, her belches had become louder and more abrasive, but never any longer. They rarely lasted for more than a second each. Still, the power behind every burp was undeniable. The glutted woman glanced over at Samara. She gave the smaller woman a cocky smirk. “Ya feelin’ ok, Snowie? Ya kinda look like yer gonna blow chunks.”

“Do NOT mention -*HRK* chunks…” Samara choked out. Every breath was a struggle as Samara tightly gripped the sides of mug ten. It was true that she felt sick, but it was more from the pain of her corset than from over-drinking. Still, she couldn’t give in! Her pride wouldn’t allow it! Plus, free drinks! “I’m… perfectly fine!”

With that, Samara began to chug. Each swallow brought tears to Samara’s eyes as her belly hurt just a little more. Just a little more! The persistent rosiness in Entoma’s cheeks had to be a sign of encroaching victory! Just a little… mooooore…!

In a monumental rush of both pain and relief, Samara felt her stomach lurch forward alongside the sound of strings snapping. Samara’s mug was just about empty, so she stopped to take stock of herself. Eugh, her corset had snapped. These things weren’t cheap! And now her bulging gut was pushing at the confines of her dress, making it obvious just how bloated she was! Entoma would pay for that!… Though, admittedly, the idea of growing out of her corset was quite the concept. A concept that somewhat tickled Samara’s booze-addled brain. 

Samara’s thoughts on her corset didn’t occupy her for very long. Her stomach gurgled and trembled in her lap, which was now half-filled with her belly. She clasped one hand over her mouth while the other clutched her flank. O-Oh gods, she could feel something coming up! S-Something that she couldn’t stop-!

The noise that escaped from Samara’s mouth could hardly be considered human. To call it a belch was generous. It was a roar, pure and simple. An angry, distraught roar from her poor, abused belly. It rattled onward, forcing Samara’s jaw open for a solid fifteen seconds before finally trailing off into a weak but satisfied gurgle inside her body.

With the belch finished, the bar fell silent. One second passed. Two. Then there was an uproar. Laughing and cheering filled the tavern, with Entoma’s laughter ringing out louder than all the others. “That was bleedin’ legendary, Snowie! I didn’t think a wee woman like you could even make a noise like that!”

“Haaa… yeah, I didn’t… either… haaa…” Samara panted. Gods, the relief was incredible! She didn’t feel sick at all anymore! The tightness had remained though - a tense, gripping tightness that encompassed the entirety of her now-bare midriff. This tightness was normal, though. It was only expected to feel this full after glutting oneself of ten whole pints of ale. This was just a regular Tuesday night for Samara now. With her shirt ruined, her gas expelled, and her sense of shame depleted, there was NO chance that this merc was going to outdrink her now!

With renewed vigor, Samara picked up a fresh pint of ale and started chugging. To her side, Entoma whistled. “Well, color me impressed! Ya still got some fight left in ya! I ain’t gonna let ya catch up to me, though! Sally, I need another pint!”

After another two mugs, the buttons on Entoma’s shirt finally followed the path of Samara’s corset, snapping off and pinging against the bar. With it’s wardens disposed of, Entoma’s gut surged outward, forcing several more buttons to go flying. The sudden occurrence nearly made Samara choke on her drink. A deep heat started to fill her cheeks as her eyes drifted up and down her glutted midsection, particularly lingering on the sliver of skin visible at the bottom where Entoma’s undershirt had ridden up. She must be getting drunk faster than she thought if a little bit of bare belly was making her feel like… that. Or maybe she wasn’t drunk enough. Either way, there was no chance she was stopping yet. She still had a bet to win!

The night progressed in a messy haze. Pint after pint disappeared down each woman’s throat, adding onto their ever-swelling midsections. They’d burp and belch unabashedly between mugs, each burp louder and longer than the last. The bulge in Samara’s dress continued to grow, pulling the purple cloth tighter and tighter over her rumbling gut. Entoma’s clothes didn’t put up nearly as much of a fight; her undershirt gave up ground with each greedy gulp, inching ever-more up the sloped dome of the merc’s stomach. By the sixteenth pint, even her navel was exposed, angled slightly downward by the way her upper stomach was swelling faster than her lower.

While Samara’s capacity had been increased by her need to overdrink to become drunk, it wasn’t infinite. Each gulp, each swallow was pushing her closer and closer to the brink. Her stomach felt taut, and when she rubbed it to ease the tension, she found her middle offering less and less give. It wasn’t like she was immune to alcohol, either. That hazy, warm fog in her brain was becoming more persistent as the minutes danced by. It was giving her all kinds of strange thoughts, too. That wasn’t unusual, as she was often doing absurd things while wasted, but tonight’s intrusive thoughts were… unwanted. She kept getting the urge to reach over to the large, muscular woman next to her. She kept having to stop herself from rubbing her teasing her swollen gut, from gripping her bare biceps, from brushing the auburn hair out of her face, from… from…

The fiery warmth in Samara’s gut rose up into her face. She chugged her latest pint even faster, practically inhaling it, before slamming it down. She HAD to win this, if nothing more than to free herself from this bar before she did something she’d regret!

Another deep, rumbling burp pushed itself out of Samara’s throat. Even without any build-up from holding in gas, Samara’s outbursts were lasting for well over seven seconds now. She didn’t know if it was from the chugging, the ale itself, or from her belly being so full that it was forcing out everything it could, but it didn’t really matter, either. She was long past caring about a few burps. Plus, Entoma seemed to enjoy them, so- NO! No, no, no, no! None of those thoughts! GAH! “S-Sally! Another!”

“Same here!” Entoma called out, though her words shortly turned into a hearty belch that sounded not unlike a beast snarling. She panted and looked sideways at Samara. She gave the smaller woman a tired grin. “Y-You’re really starting to push me, Snowie. Haa… I dunno how much more my tum can take…”

A spark of hope flared up inside of Samara, along with… was that disappointment? Why? None of that, now! “Really? Already? Ha!” Samara crowed, even as her vision blurred. “How embarrassing for a mammoth of a woman like you to be bested by a petite mage like me!”

“Who said I’m gonna lose? Don’t think ah can’t see how red your face is,” Entoma teased. Then, to Samara’s shock (and delight/horror), the merc reached out and brushed a stray strand of Samara’s white hair behind her ear. “Blushin’ suits ya well, by the by. Makes yer hair look even prettier.”

“WHAT- I- YOU-” Samara stammered, but even as she scrambled for the words to express her indignation, she could feel her face positively glowing. DAMNIT! Why did she have to find both muscles and gluttony so attractive!? Curse her damned sapphic brain!

Two more pints were set in front of the women. Without missing a beat, Samara grabbed hers and buried the edge in her mouth. Her stomach churned and rumbled in protest. Truth be told, she was long past her limit. The most she’d ever drunk before in this short a time was twelve pints, yet now she was on her… nineteenth? Twentieth? She’d lost the ability to properly count several mugs ago. The point was, she was more full than she’d ever been before. It would be a miracle if she made it through his latest pint without spewing, or even bursting.

Each swallow sent tingles of pain spiraling across Samara’s skin. Every gulp made Samara’s skin tremble. Each extra mouthful crammed into her gut made her abdominal muscles weep. Yet still she drank, forcing her belly to accept her pride-fueled rampage. She winced as a cramp raced through her middle. Just a little more! Hold it together, belly- just a… little… moore…!

“HIC-UUEEERRGH! I-It huuurts…” Samara groaned immediately after slamming her mug down. She hunched over the bar and hiccuped as pain engulfed her midriff. She’d truly overdone it. She didn’t have a single minutia of space left to fill. At this point, she felt like she might pop just from swallowing the saliva pooling in her mouth. 

Meanwhile, beside her, Entoma seemed to be in a similar stat. She’d stopped halfway through her pint, panting and leaning on the counter. A strong hand massaged her middle, which was now fully bare for the world to see. Samara had no doubt that there should be abs where that hand was touching, but any trace of abs on Entoma’s stomach were fully hidden by the all-encompassing globe of a gut she’d grown. Her upper belly in particular was strained and distended, a true dome that sloped down into her less-bloated lower belly. Her gut was massive, but still… Samara smirked. “Looks like I won! Ha-HA!”

Entoma glanced over at Samara. “Huh? Say’s who? I can still-” Entoma was stopped mid sentence by a brief but powerful belch that ended on a wet note. She swallowed hard and grimaced. “O-Ok, no more drinkin’. Still, I think ah drank more than ya!”

“Fat chance! Do you see this?” Samara slapped her stomach - an action she quickly regretted. Her gut ached in pain and seemed to vibrate. Then a similarly wet belch forced itself past her own lips. She felt a little green as she rubbed her belly. Still, she managed a weak smile at Entoma. “Th-This bad girl has so much booze in it! There’s no way I’ve lost!”

At that moment, Sally walked over with two fresh mugs in hand. She took one look at the two women, both hunched over in pain, and set the mugs aside. “Are you both done?”

The women nodded. 

“Too drunk to know who won?”

Again, both women nodded.

Sally rolled her eyes, though a small grin was on her lips. “Fine, fine. Lemme just count up all your mugs real fast.”

Samara and Entoma waited with bated breath, occasionally letting out some short, conservative burps, while Sally counted. Finally, after what felt like an age, Sally looked up. “Alright, here’s the count. Samara drank twenty pints even, while Entoma drank… twenty-one and a half.”

Samara made a belch of despair while Entoma gave a hearty laugh. “HA! I knew I wouldn’t lose ta some lass half my size!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Samara spoke. Her body was becoming ever-more sluggish as it processed more and more of the ale inside of her. Before long, she’d probably start slurring her speech, and eventually she’d likely pass out. Her tolerance was high enough that she wasn’t worried about getting sick, but tomorrow certainly wasn’t going to be fun. Still, despite losing, and despite tomorrow’s imminent hangover, Samara couldn’t bring herself to be fully disappointed. After all, since she’d lost…

“Guess that means yer spendin’ the night with me, Snowie. Aren’t ya a lucky girl?”

“Tch,” Samara tisked, but the scarlet burning in her cheeks wasn’t just from alcohol. Sure, Entoma might be an uncivilized mercenary with no concept of boundaries, but… she was a confident, tall, and hot mercenary with a large, swollen gut. Samara’s pride might be wounded from losing, but that was manageable. She just needed to get a big, strong woman to nurse her ego back to full health. Still, her pride wouldn’t allow herself to just roll over. She had just a liiiiittle more fight left in her… “Sure. I’m soooo *HIC* lucky…”

Apparently, Samara didn’t sound sarcastic enough since Entoma just laughed and stood up. She then pulled one of Samara’s arms up and over her shoulder. “C’mon then, let’s get goin’. Don’t wanna waste too much time flirtin’, do we?”

Samara’s ego, which was as bloated as her gut, flatlined at the feeling of Entoma’s strong, firm hands on her arm. Yup - pride and ego meant nothing compared to a buff tomboy. Though there was just oooone more issue. “W-W-Wait! Don’t move me so-”

Entoma had pulled Samara to her feet, jostling her swollen middle. A violent rumbling shook her core and Samara’s cheeks puffed out. She tried to fight it as best she could, but she couldn’t stop what was about to happen. She just gripped the counter with her free hand and tried to keep anything except gas from coming up. The belch started low, but quickly rose in volume until it was all Samara could hear. She wasn’t even sure how long it lasted -  time seemed to just melt away as her body forced every last bubble of air out of her aching tum. She could’ve been burping for four seconds, or maybe it was forty. All she knew was that by the time the burp died out and she could breathe again, she was wiped. Her knees were shaking, her lungs were burning, and she was practically hanging off of Entoma’s broad shoulders.

Speaking of which, for the first time, the merc seemed genuinely lost for words. She stared at Samara, jaw slightly agape. Finally, she seemed to realize that time wasn’t frozen. She cleared her throat and glanced away, though it looked like the booze-bourne blush on her cheeks had deepened. “S-Sorry about that. Then, uh… ya ready to go now?”

With all of her energy wiped away by her roiling gut, Samara just nodded tiredly. Her brain was empty of everything apart from how everyone was staring at her and… how Entoma was trying to hide her blushing. Samara’s lips pulled up into a small smile. She’d been planning on getting her revenge on the she-giant with another drinking contest, some later day, but if she could get under her skin like this with just a little gas, maybe she could get her revenge sooner than that. She licked her lips as Entoma started to help her out of the tavern. 

She wasn’t sure how much of tonight she’d remember tomorrow, but she would certainly make this a night Entoma would never forget. Heh. What more fitting vengeance could there be than to completely invade someone’s brain? Though she’d be welcome to future rematches. Any chance to humiliate and bewilder this loud-mouthed merc was a welcome chance to Samara…

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I meant to post this over a week ago, then I didn't but thought I did, so I ended up posting nothing for a while. So sorry about that! Enjoy this fun little contest between two OC's from a very patient commissioner~.