Birthday Presents

Author:
Inflation Types:
Popping:
Date Written: 
09/07/2011

Birthday Presents

 

I finally decided I'd had enough when I opened the wardrobe and found it empty. Martin was already sailing pretty close to the wind. Then one of the mates he'd brought back from the pub said something like, “'Ere Jo, I 'ear you wanna be Martin's blowup dolly but 'e's no' into it,” followed by loud male laughter. I felt so stupid for trusting Martin with my secrets. The rest of the evening I spent locked in the bathroom, where there was at least a steady supply of tissues. Someone pounded on the door at one point but it turned out to be a prelude to him going out the front and using the drain. I hope he got arrested.

 

It had been so hard to tell him too. We were lying in bed one night after he'd relieved himself on me – it's not accurate to call it making love – and I thought, “well Josephine, it's now or never,” screwed my courage up into a tight ball and blurted it out:

“Martinigetoffonbeinginflated!”

His only response was “Yew wot? Well thass jus' STEWPID!”. With that sentence, he'd taken that ball of courage and kicked it into the wheelybin. Looking back, I don't know why I didn't just throw him out then and there, but like the idiot I was back then, all I did was turn over and try to fall asleep. I didn't even kick him out of bed.

 

He'd never liked my taste in clothes. He always wanted me to look either really girly in flowery dresses and lacy things or ridiculously smart with suit jackets, shoulderpads and pinstripes. Not too much though, because one thing he didn't like was for me to wear the trousers. Neither image was me at all, but I suppose I thought I'd never get another boyfriend so I put up with it. I started looking forward to times when he wasn't around so I could slouch around the place in my favourites, jogging bottoms and sweatshirts. I've always liked that sort of stuff because it's neither formal nor feminine. I'd even become a Pilates instructor partly so I could spend my days in tracksuits.

 

Anyway, one Friday I got up to go to work, opened the wardrobe and all my sweats, tracksuits and hoodies, all the comfy and, for my work, practical, were gone. It didn't take me long to work out what he'd done. There was no scene because he wasn't there at the time. I just had the locks changed and returned his favour by throwing out his side of the wardrobe too. I put it in binliners outside and it happened to be the day they collected the rubbish. Oh dear.

 

Having spent the day in a pencil skirt and blouse trying to demonstrate exercises to people, I snook back home. Martin tried to text me all day, rang me incessantly and posted notes through the door, but pretty soon he seemed to take the hint and stayed out of my life.

 

The next few days were a bit odd. It was a week until payday so I spent a lot of time wearing the old dresses he'd bought me, though I did manage to borrow a couple of things from friends. To be honest, it was at least interesting to see how people treated me with a different image but to pull that off you have to feel comfortable in what you're wearing and that I couldn't do. How was I supposed to teach in a suit jacket and a narrow skirt?

 

I'm not one for avoiding rebound decisions. I prefer just to jump straight back in and honestly, I've never found I paid for it later (what do you mean Martin was a bad decision? Sh.) Well, this time was no different. What happened was, I went out to buy a couple of cheap tracksuits for work and noticed the bloke behind the counter almost immediately. The way he folded my items and placed them in the back was a bit strange. Clearly he was trying to be a good till clerk but there was something almost loving about it. Creepy in anyone else, I'm sure, but somehow in him it wasn't. Also, the way he looked was really something else. In a good way. A really good way.

When I finally got paid, I wasted no time in going straight back down to the shop, this time going to the more expensive racks, and buying five really quite nice new tracksuits, one for every day of the week. Retail therapy, but with more than one ulterior motive. I spent ages in the changing rooms mixing and matching, checking myself out in the mirror, then gathered up all five from the hangers, marched up to the counter and presented – yes! The same guy! - with my card. It wasn't cheap but luckily he used it as an excuse to start chatting.

 

“You really like tracksuits don't you?”

Try to be cool. “Yeah, well my EX-boyfriend chucked all my old ones out and I need them for work. I'm a Pilates teacher.”

“Oh yes? I'm quite into yoga myself. But not champagne!”

I laughed for rather too long.

“Oh, that's a shame, 'cause I like pina colada”.

“My favourite!”

I decided to go for it.

“Maybe you could join me for one after you knock off?”

He seemed briefly tongue-tied, then:

“Tell you what. Meet me at the Blue Bull at 7 this evening.”

“OK! Look forward to it! I'm Jo by the way.”

“My name's Paul. See you later!”

 

So there I sat, obsessively checking the time at 6:57 pm that evening, alone at the bar at the Blue Bull. He turned up on the dot at 7 and it went on from there.

 

Whereas the past few days had been a bit odd, the next few weeks were a blissful blur. He was so amazingly different from Martin that it was hard to believe they were even the same species. Paul was so much more considerate, generous and he was a good listener, everything I wanted in a man. He also turned out to have a pretty serious sportswear fetish, to the extent that he'd specifically chosen to work in that shop because – get this – he liked the exact kind of tracksuits I had bought. In a way he was underachieving because it turned out he had a doctorate in exercise physiology and he'd lied about his qualifications, or at least not mentioned the degree-level stuff, so he wouldn't be promoted out of reach of his beloved sportswear.

 

He'd been a bit shy about telling me all this and despite being rather drunk for courage's sake, he was still shaking a bit when he told me, and I missed an opportunity there, overcome as I was by his cuteness in that state, to tell him mine like he'd told me his.

 

How I did it in the end was that one night before he arrived, I wrote it all down on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope, then when I went out in the morning before he got up, I left it on the kitchen table with his name on it. It was the day before my birthday. The working day was difficult to get through because I kept wondering how he'd react but managed to escape into my students' needs and the sheer physical activity involved. By the time I came back, I was the one who was shaking. I could hardly get my key in the lock. I swung the door to the flat open – and all my fears evaporated with the scene in front of me. There he was, smiling at the table with a bucket of champagne and two glasses. I left my worries behind me in the corridor and slammed the door on them.

 

“I've got you two birthday presents, but first, why don't we have a little celebration?” He popped the champagne and poured it into the glasses. Given his pay, this was more than a little expense for him. I'm not a big one for alcohol, so I have to admit I got somewhat sozzled somewhat speedily, as, it seemed, did he. Then there was wine, all on an empty stomach. I asked him about food but he was all mysterious and smiley about it, so I left it. A few hours later, we made our way into the bedroom.

 

There on the bed was a painstakingly wrapped parcel, labelled “OPEN ME NOW”.

“That's just the first of two”, Paul said, giving that enigmatic smile. I picked it up. It was a bit floppy. Tearing at the corner rewarded me with a smooth, black, finely woven stretch of fabric. Could it be? I ripped off the rest of the paper and, yes! The nicest tracksuit I had ever seen lay inside. Everything about it was right. On impulse, I kissed and hugged Paul.

 

“You've got it one hundred percent right, darling! You must be telepathic!”

“Well, go on then, try it on.”

“Let me look at it first.”

I lifted up the bundle. The bottoms unfolded themselves down as I did so. They were tapered towards the ankles and a fairly snug fit when I pulled them on, though not skintight. I didn't bother with the drawstring. Paul stroked my thigh enticingly, feeling my smoothly, cosily, tightly cotton-lycra encased legs. Then I picked the jacket up. Black like the trousers, it had a broad white stripe on each sleeve like them too. I pushed my arms through and Paul turned to me, pulling the sides of the white plastic coil zip together before gently and doggedly zipping me up to my chin. The slider made its inexorable journey over the slight curve of my belly, then between my breasts. It pulled them together, sealing me into the tracksuit, finally coming to a rest just below my mouth. I playfully licked it and jangled it with my lips, and smiled at Paul, who hugged me. We felt the fabric press into me between our bodies as he glided against the soft constriction of the top and trousers. The sensation between our legs indicated that we were both enjoying my present. After a short while, I stood up from the bed.

 

“Let me see myself.”

 

Walking over to the wardrobe mirror, I saw my slim, muscular form outlined sexily in figure-hugging black, the white zip and stripes emphasising my curves. I unzipped the jacket to breast level, leaving the zip pull to dangle beckoningly mid-cleavage. Paul reached round me from behind and took the slider in his hand, zipping and unzipping me slightly. It would be thrillingly easy for him just to unzip me and access any part of me, or to zip me up and compress me sensually in this tight, sexy, smooth outfit. The bedroom lights glinted off the lycra, highlighting my breasts and stomach. The fastener was pulled up to the top of my breastbone and the zip collar folded down. Then he stroked the whole length of my body with both hands.

 

“Just stand there and admire yourself while I get your other present.”

“Ooh, what is it?”

“Putting on that tracksuit for me means a lot and I owe you for it. I've got a surprise for you and I think you might like it. Don't turn round yet though.”

“OK.”

 

Paul had a lot of balls taking the risk of buying me clothes, and even more for taking a chance on whatever it was he had in mind. I loved the way I looked in the sportswear. It really showed off my body's best features. I jogged on the spot, watching my muscles flex and extend as my breasts lifted and fell gently, the zip dangling and jangling between.

 

“Time to lie on the bed now, Jo. On your front and close your eyes.”

 

I got down onto the bed and propped myself up on my elbows, glancing briefly down at my zip-bisected bust before I shut my eyes. There was a clunk as Paul dragged something out of the wardrobe. I moved my head.

 

“Now, now! No peeking. Actually, could you maybe draw your knees up a bit under yourself?”

Once I did that, Paul caressed my lower back, buttocks and legs, rubbing them through the tight trousers before slowly rolling them down slightly to expose my other cleavage. I felt a tug at my right ankle as he started to feed something up my leg before pulling it out from the lowered waistband. In a single movement he splayed my buttocks and inserted something cold and small between them. I let out an involuntary squeak.

 

“You can pull up the bottoms now and turn onto your back.”

I shifted round. What had he stuck into me? I could feel something heavy pulling on whatever it was from the other end, but it stayed in place. Paul climbed on to the double bed, resting his hand on mine. I felt his breath on my face but not the weight of his body.

 

“Open your eyes”.

 

I did so to be rewarded with a close up of his to-die-for face looking me straight in the eyes.

 

“Question for you Jo. What's your wildest sexual fantasy? What would you like to have done to you more than anything else in the world?”

I blushed.

“Um, er, well, you know”, I muttered sheepishly.

He smiled broadly, showing his perfect teeth.

“Ah, but I want you to tell me. Come on, don't be shy.”

I giggled.

“Trust me Jo, it'll be fine.”

“OK”. I took a deep breath and blurted it all out in one go.

“I want to be blown up like a balloon with air until I'm really inflated and ready to burst! I want to be so bloated and big and round with gas that I'm straining at the seams and feel like I'm gonna pop any second!”

“Sounds good to me. Can you guess what I'm going to do to you now?”

“Um, yes?” I managed to get out.

“Guess what's at the other end of that tube.”

“Er, a – pump?”

“Right you are. And do you want to guess what I'm going to do now?”

“Um...use it?”

“Better than that. Let me show you.”

He raised his other hand. It had a T-shaped handle in it and I glanced over the side of the bed. There was a rather large, manually-operated pump with a barrel about the size and shape of a scuba cylinder. A hose led from its base, round the foot of the bed and up my trouser leg. Paul slid off me sideways.

 

“Hold your breath”, he exclaimed, which I did. He pinched my nose shut and took a deep breath, clamped his lips to mine, kissed me and started blowing steadily into me, emptying his lungs and simultaneously pushing down on the pump handle. He was blowing me up and pumping me up at the same time. I felt the air filling my belly from both ends, gurgling its way in, cold at the bottom, warm at the top, and it just kept coming, surging into me relentlessly, pushing me out excitingly and scarily, making me bigger, rounder and more bloated at every moment. When would it end? This was just mindblowing. I felt the skin of my stomach pushing out against the tightening zip and waistband like some thick, fleshy bladder, and it was pushing up and down too. Just as I started to wonder how much more air I'd be able to take, he stopped and took away his mouth, clamping his hand over my lips. He was panting a little.

 

“Don't burp. There's more to come, just need to get my breath back. How do you feel?”

“Like you've – wow! - blown me up like a balloon!”

I was struggling to stop the gurgles inside me turning into belches and it was quite difficult to breathe, as I had to push down against the pressure within. When he'd said “there's more to come”, it was quite possibly the most exciting statement I had ever heard.

 

“When?” I asked.

“When what?”

“When are you going to blow me up more?”

“Hold on. You need to wait a few minutes for all that air to go down properly and make more space I can fill. For now, let's just take some time to appreciate how nice and round I've made you.” With that, he ran a finger down the zip curving over my belly. The box at the end of the fastener was facing my feet. Then he stroked splayed hands across my ample midriff as it twitched tautly to the touch. My stomach emitted another bubbling noise.

 

I looked down at myself. My feet were hidden beyond the smooth bulge of my pumped up belly. My knees were invisible unless I bent them, something I was loath to do in case I farted. I wanted to retain as much of his precious air as I could. A metallic tang filled my mouth, as Paul made an appropriate clang by patting my front, reminding me of a spacehopper. The thrill of being like one of those big, roundly-filled toys made me wet. And this was just the beginning. Paul spoke again.

 

“I'll do it twice more. You're only a third of the way through. All the gas in this piston” - he pulled up the plunger - “will be inside you in a few moments. As will all the air I can hold in my lungs. Ready?”

 

“You bet!”

“OK”

He took another deep breath, hand poised on the pump handle. I could hardly wait for the next huge gulp of air to bloat me even bigger. For a second time, he placed his lips on mine and blew while slowly sliding the plunger downwards. Even more air crammed into me as the pitch of the gurgling rose like fizz filling a glass. A prickling, stretching feeling ensued as my ever-gassier insides elbowed apart my flanks and arched my back by pushing up, down and out all at once.

 

The urge to fart and burp grew with me, quickly becoming irresistable. Just as Paul's lungs emptied, both took over and I belched long and loudly back into him, just as a blowback pushed the pump handle back up. He simply let the air refill his lungs as I felt my belly slacken, then blew it straight back in while pressing down the handle again and wedging it under the bed. I went back to my former tautness. I took a breath before Paul clamped a hand over my mouth and nose.

 

“Steady now,” he reminded me before lifting it again.

 

I felt huge now. The pressures were similarly enormous. A strong but unsatisfiable urge to break wind was accompanied by a need to burp, but I wouldn't let myself. The air burbled up but, against all my instincts, I kept gulping it back down into my tense, tightly rounded abdomen beneath the straining teeth of the zip. I'd broken out in a sweat.

 

“It's really hard to keep it all in, Paul.”

He smiled.

“Ah, but if any of that comes out, I'm going to have to punish you, am I not?”, he replied playfully.

 

I took another glance down at myself. It was getting hard to move now. If anyone else could see me, they'd definitely think I was pregnant. My breasts, though slightly lifted by my arched back, were resting against my dome of a belly. I rubbed it with my hands. The skin felt paper thin even with the extra layer of the track top. I was dizzy with what had happened. Paul was actually inflating me with air just as I had always wanted someone to do.

 

The only thing was, I had to fight to keep it all down. I was getting flushed and my eyes were watering with the effort. Nor could I risk trying to sit up, but then in my current state that would in any case have been a major undertaking.

 

“Are you going to have another go now?” I asked tentatively, wondering how much more I'd be able to take.

“Yes, I think you could cope with just one more Jo, don't you?”

 

Wow again. I already felt full to bursting, but considering what a strain it was to hold it in, it would surely only take a moment to deflate myself. I nodded gratefully.

 

“Oh yes! Yes please!”

 

“OK, but we're still going to have to wait a little while for your body to make room, you know?”

 

I listened for a moment to the delicate tinkles my stomach rumbles had become. This was so weird and so hot. I loved the smooth curve outlined by the lower half of my zip, my bulges outwards and most of all, the feeling that I was ready to pop.

 

“You're my big balloon now. I'm going to blow you up even bigger in a minute. I just want to appreciate how vast and distended you are, you human space hopper. That's all air inside you.”

 

“I know Paul, I can feel it.” I could feel every teaspoonful of wind blowing me out. This was taking me onto another plane. He unzipped me to where my breasts pressed against that hemisphere, reached inside my jacket and started stroking my nipples. It was almost too much. Things slid against each other for the first time as I panted shallowly, the best I could do, so stuffed with gas as I was. My sides ached and a slight twinge accompanied my every movement. I wondered how much more I could safely take. It was thrillingly scary.

 

Pretty soon, I was ready again. He pulled up the zip. My mouth was dry and steel-flavoured. Now he was going to finish me off, and I was still constantly having to push down my wind. How would I be able to contain it when he was done?

 

He grabbed the pump from under the bed and lifted the handle. This time, despite my explosively flatulent condition, nothing came out. He took the final deep breath. This was it! Could I really hold any more? Was it safe? A dull throbbing emanated from my insides and the sportswear and my skin were powerfully stretched now. Only one way to find out, and I could always burp and fart my way out of it as soon as I wanted, I thought.

 

Our lips met and he started to blow and plunge for the last time. The air gushed in at both ends and as I blew up, I couldn't stop my eyes from bulging and my limbs from flailing as I swelled...swelled...swelled...

 

My torso was rising still higher before my eyes. Then it started to tingle, then went numb. The last few seconds of inflating was quite frightening but I could do nothing to warn Paul because he just kept blowing. Would I really be able to take all this? Would something inside me tear?

 

Then he stopped. This time, the urges to fart and belch had completely gone. There was simply a sharp stabbing feeling near the nozzle and another right in my middle. I looked down at myself again.

 

I was now, in my own eyes, a huge roly-poly woman, bulging out like I was about to give birth to air triplets. But it was odd, somehow different. More than ever, my skin was pulled tight and my jacket and trousers pressed into me, the zip grooving my front and digging into my flesh at the bottom, the waist elastic of my trousers about to snap like an overextended rubber band, but I wasn't getting anything much from the globe my digestive system had become – no sounds, movement or griping, just an uncanny numbness and silence. Outside that region, there was a lot going on, such as an ache in my chest, a flutter in my throat and a great difficulty in breathing. It was actually welcome to feel this way. I felt light and airy, but it was also rather strange.

 

“What does it feel like?”

“I feel – sort of – floaty and – high.” My voice sounded weird too, oddly resonant and strangled sounding, and my hearing was odd, like I was in an aircraft or had a cold with all the bass missing.

 

“I feel – really – big and round – but airy – and light – too.” It was exhausting to talk.

“Does it hurt?”

I shook my head to save my breath.

“Can't feel much. Numb – inside.”

 

Then I realised something.

“Paul?”

“Yes darling?”

“Can't burp.”

I'd just realised I was making no effort at all to keep the air in. Then I had another thought.

“Pull tube – out?”

“OK”. He reached round and gently slid out the nozzle from between my buttocks. A tiny “pfut” of air came out like a little bubble, then nothing. I opened my mouth and just about managed to squeeze out a tiny “ep” sound from my stomach, then nothing.

“Paul!” I heard the note of panic in my voice, “I'm stuck – like this!” I hadn't any breath to put the emotion I felt into what I was saying. “Can't get – air out!”

Worried, he reached up to the top of the mound I had become and pressed down. My sides bulged out until I thought they were going to split, and my chest contents were rammed upwards but the air stayed inside me.

“Oh my God, we can't get the air out of you!”

I started to think I was going to be stuck as a human balloon forever. How was I going to eat or drink if I was 100% full of air all the time? For that matter, could I even move.

 

In the meantime, I was getting tired of even trying to talk, so I decided to whisper.

“We have to think about this!”, we said and whispered in unison.

 

That would probably be easier for him, in his less spherical state. I found my unprecedented degree of bloatedness distracting and it also seemed to be clouding how well I could think. Paul broke the pregnant pause.

“What do you think happened, Jo?”

“Um...dunno.” It was getting harder to think things through. My lips and tongue seemed swollen and everything was a bit nebulous. Also, amid the panic I was in contradictory throes of ecstasy of having my deepest wish granted. At the back of my mind, the prospect of not making it was tempered by the exhilarating fact that I had literally been inflated like a balloon. In a way I could die happy now I'd got here. That thought beckoned me enticingly into a dangerous area where I didn't even want the air to come out.

 

The only thing which brought me back was how much I cared for the person who got me into the condition in the first place. That prospect brought clarity with it. How could I wish my death on him? How would he explain my body if I did burst? How would he cope with seeing his beloved explode before his eyes, knowing it was his doing? Nope! Not gonna happen. Got to find an answer. A plan began to form in my addled brain.

 

I gestured weakly with my left arm and he put his ear to my mouth.

 

“Maybe you could lie on me.”

“I can't do that!” His tone was shocked. “What if you – didn't – er- what if you popped?”

Again the siren song tempted me. I might really and truly burst. Also, the thing was, I had the best excuse ever for it. It was kill or cure. Laying on me and making me into a human whoopee cushion would just be funny, but if I literally exploded – I couldn't believe I was entertaining it as a real possibility – that would at least be the ultimate rush, even if – well, I preferred not to look at it from his perspective for the time being.

 

“It's just the risk we have to take. Just do it.”

Paul shifted himself between my legs, then looked at me over my huge semicircle of a waist.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” I nodded.

He threw himself forward onto me,lifted his legs off the bed, letting his full weight press down on me. I was glad about what I felt going on between his own legs. My sides bulged out again and I felt like something had to give any moment, but nothing came of it. He bounced up and down on top of me for a while, but only managed to knock the breath out of my lungs. He rolled off before I started to turn blue.

 

“Maybe I can sit you up.”

I gave a sort of strangled giggle, then caught my breath.

“Ha! I'll believe that when I see it.” Even so, I took his hand. Pulling it succeeded in rolling me onto the floor. The air gave a further idle threat to leave and a more alarming threat to make me burst as I bulged out at the sides again. Paul rocked me sideways until I rolled onto my side.

 

“Try drawing your legs up” was Paul's next suggestion. Pneumatic obesity made this more than a bit difficult and I had to pant “help me...” followed by “...do it”. He shifted my thighs over, triggering a sudden shooting twitch along the path of the zip. I squeaked, then lifted my free arm over and hoisted myself onto my front, knees underneath. I seesawed up and down before the pressure inside me pushed me up a little, and I was finally able to get into a kneeling position. Another bubble rose into my chest and lodged there. I was now bulging out further than ever under the weight of my upper body and still equally afraid and excited that I might just pop. The middle of the zip was folded between my chest and belly, stiffly brushing the base of my sternum and the fabric of my jacket was performing some kind of impromptu pencil test, wedged between the two halves of my body.

 

I was dizzy and it was even harder to breathe.

 

“I've had another idea”, said Paul. He reached under the hem of my jacket and felt along my front, then sighed.

 

“Nope. I was hoping the drawstrings were still there but they've disappeared inside.”

 

He went over to the wardrobe and rummaged around until he pulled out a red belt, which he wrapped round my waist. I looked dubiously at the glinting metal.

“Careful...really...aching...not sure...how much...more...I can take.” That left me out of breath. I wondered what would happen if the buckle accidentally dug into me. I really felt it could just pop me. He tightened the belt, cinching my waist, but yet again all that happened was the bubbles moved away and I stopped being able to breathe.

 

“Rest please...tired now.”

“Sure, fine.”

My field of vision was full of swirling patterns. We stroked my front and we marvelled at my amazing curves. I still felt mental and physical twinges, of the strain and confusion about wanting to stay like this, and to burst, and to find a way to deflate. I couldn't see most of my thighs from here. My hands came to rest at the ten and two o'clock abdominal positions. I chuckled, triggering a minuscule twitch. I was definitely too big to get behind a steering wheel now.

 

“How much do more do you think I'd be able to take in?” I whispered.

“Are you serious? I'm amazed you're still OK even now.”

“Well, I wasn't, but...”

I'd had another idea.

“Do you think you could get me...”

Even whispering was a struggle now.

“...back on the bed?”

 

I was definitely starting to feel fainter, dizzier and weaker. I had to find a solution quickly before I passed out.

 

Paul shook his head and smiled, “Unlikely.”

“OK, I stand up then?”

I wondered if this was wise, considering how close I felt to losing consciousness as it was, but I still reached out to him. He stood, leant towards me and ran his arms up to my shoulders before pulling under my arms.

“It's weird you being so big and so light at the same time!”

Together, we gradually manoeuvred me erect. I took a couple of waddling, swaying steps with feet I was only just able to feel through a haze of pins and needles. Thank God they weren't real. I wasn't that light, I thought, just light for my size. I was by no means buoyant. I collapsed backwards onto the bed. Have to keep the idea clear in my head. I didn't know how much longer I had. Mustering all my strength and nous, I took a shallow breath and whispered again.

“I know what's happened. The air won't come out because it's squeezing my stomach and the other end shut. I don't feel windy or gassy. There's an answer, but you won't like it.”

“No, go on, just tell me!”

“Promise me you'll do it.”

“OK, anything to get you back to normal. All that air can't be doing you any good.”

I lifted my hand and stroked his cheek, smiling.

“Oh, believe me, it is.”

“You have to build the pressure in me and keep it high to get the air out, so it holds me open. So blow into me again and hold your breath out, and it'll come out of me and go into you.”

“Oh!” His eyes shone. “So I have to gulp the air down myself?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Let's get to it then.” Unhesitatingly, he climbed back onto me and again my sides squished out. It was going to be quite a ride for both of us, and we weren't sure if we'd both reach the end.

He squeezed my hand.

“I love you Jo.”

“I love you too, Paul.”

Our eyes met as he took another deep breath and pressed his lips to mine. His cheeks puffed out before I opened my mouth to his and mine flared out too. I wondered briefly how it would feel, what would happen and most of all, if something would give. I was relieved it was my idea and that if it went wrong, he had every reason not to blame himself.

 

He pinched my nose and blew like he'd never blown before. My cramped stomach protested as it filled with his exhalation, my bloated innards pushing back hard, resisting the invasion. My belly stretched even more, bulging out sideways under his weight, though it even lifted him slightly. What a pair of lungs he must have!

 

Then something gave.

 

Had something ripped inside me? Was this it?

 

No! A deafening gurgling rumble erupted from inside me and an almighty “BUUUUUURRRRPP!” rose through my stomach, up my throat, bulged out my cheeks and surged into Paul. It filled his lungs, his stomach, then beyond. He flopped off me and I felt him starting to bloat up beside me. He reached up and pressed down on my stomach, emptying me and filling him. Finally, he let go of me and lay beside me, patting his own bloated belly while I burped and farted like anything.

 

Finally it was calm. I ached a little and was still slightly gassy, but that was nothing compared to Paul. He was hugely round now. Was that how I'd looked just now? I was astonished at what could happen to a human body.

 

“Feeling all right dear?” I asked.

“Uh...yeah...” His voice was deeper and more resonant, just as mine had been. “Just feeling a bit...”, he took a breath “...full!”

 

After that experience, we've never quite taken it so far again. Our stomachs ached a little for a couple of days and it took ages to pass all the wind, but there was no harm done, amazingly. We still have the memories though, and boy do we ever use those! We talk about what would've happened if he'd done it an extra time, and it blows our minds as well as everything else.

 

Sometimes things work better in the imagination. Be careful what you wish for.

Author's Note: 

This is an attempt at a realistic romantic story about a boyfriend who decides to give his inflation fetishist girlfriend a couple of birthday presents.

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