Internal

Eva arrived home and found getting the goods from the car to the house difficult. Her hands were shaking. She’d enjoyed many adventures with balloons and inflatables: filling her hiking tent with balloons and spending the evening writhing amongst them; tying clouds of helium balloons to her shoes and walking around her block, naked but hidden in her swaying and wind teased clutch, enjoying the fight to bring each footfall to the earth against the lift; inflating beach balls in her blouse to feel the thrilling tightening and the button bursting pressure while imagining her breasts swelling. In short, Eva loved balloons, wanted to be a balloon, wanted to float away like a balloon. Her hands shook more with each armload of gear from the car because she suspected tonight’s fun would exceed all past efforts and she would really feel what it was like to be a balloon, to inflate like a balloon and maybe, if she was feeling really daring, what it was to pop like a balloon. She would have to see about that last one. She wanted to know how it would feel in the final moments, skin growing tighter, pressure rising, weak points racing from just beginning to fail to catastrophic rapid tearing, but she also wanted to know what it was like to receive the attentions of her boyfriend while a balloon. It would be at least an hour before he arrived and she wasn’t sure she could hold off ‘til then. Something about her love of balloons short circuited the pleasure of anticipation and she was putting even money on her going too far too quickly.

The unpacking over, she surveyed her purchases, arrayed on the back lawn. Compressor, hoses, valves, bucket of lubricant and huge weather balloon. The latex beast (she often thought of her inflated friends as living entities) still folded neatly into its box, five pounds of dusty pink rubber.

Eva made a show of disrobing, providing a convincing amateur strip-tease for the benefit of her beautiful balloon.

“You’re gonna get all of this to play with soon,” she cooed as her sweater, shirt and bra fell to the ground. “Just one thing I ask in return,” as she swivelled around, bent over and pulled down her jeans. “Share a secret or two with me,” as she faced her beloved balloon again, toying with the elastic of her panties. “Let me know,” the panties were drawn down over one hip, the gusset still hiding her crotch. “How it feels,” the panties were down and kicked away, sandals joining them in short order. The sun took a moment to caress Eva’s naked curves and she smiled at it in thanks for the late spring warmth, allowing her to fulfill another facet of her fantasy, performing these rites outdoors.

She hooked up the compressor and set the balloon inflating, enjoying the show as it freed itself of its box while she opened the tub of lube and began applying it to her skin. Every square inch of her received its share as the pink bubble rose from its cardboard home and the creases in its skin gradually unfolded.

Slippery from head to toe, she reached for the soft, growing orb and lifted it to her, kicking the now ineptly small box clear of the playground. The huge bubble fell into her arms and folded itself over her breasts, sticking to the wet gel at all points of contact. Each second added to its girth and it seemed to wriggle against her, sliding over her skin as it neared its spherical maturity. Her hands, spread wide to hold it to her, tested its resilience, squeezing and caressing, holding it against her front more tightly while it squeezed back, cupping her breasts in its soft embrace and reaching for her mount of Venus. As pressure built and size increased her grip began to slip and she had to crouch forward over her toy to maintain the pleasant caress it now offered her entire front. She measured her length as a dimple in the yielding surface. Kicking gently forward, her feet left the ground, legs spread wide and her weight rotated over her hips, the balloon rolling over the earth beneath her, leaving her suspended facing the sky, balloon clad from ankles, over thighs, buttocks and back, all the way to her pony tail. The rolling and writhing had elevated her mood and she stared at the slowly passing clouds, feeling the growing sphere pushing her up toward them and likely to take her among them, even if it were only in her imagination. It was time.

She lifted her feet from the ground and allowed her weight to roll her forward, the balloon depositing her butt first on the grass. She pulled the valve out of the balloon’s neck before plunging her arms through the aperture. Once inside, the arms spread wide, using the leverage to pull the mouth over her head and shoulders. Hands met the rubber horizon just below her armpits and began to push. The yielding material didn’t make it easy but the pleasure of feeling the balloon swallow her breasts, her belly and start over her buttocks gave her encouragement. She felt a gust of air escape between her cheeks as she worked the latex over the final speed humps. Once past them she could bring each leg into the balloon in turn, gather the neck together in her fist and survey her handiwork. The walls of her balloon womb showed the world outside in pink monochrome. The squeaking was more intimate inside, but the best part was the smell. Rich latex scent filled her nostrils with each breath and she breathed deep, imaging the scent was her own and that it would grow stronger as she grew.

Her fist unclenched and the world inside the balloon began to grow darker, the walls closed in. The gush of air felt like the departure of a close friend, but Eva knew the feeling would be short lived. They would be back soon. The walls grew closer. Eva positioned her head carefully below the neck and shivered in anticipation of the latex hug she was about to experience. Hands reached up and guided the descending neck safely over her head. The seal at her neck was sound and the hands had to be employed to allow more air out so she could experience the complete encasement sensation. It was wonderful and she spent a minute enjoying feeling folds of loose latex sliding over her curves, imagining this limp, slippery feeling was what a balloon felt before it knew anything of pressure and stretching.

“I’m a big balloon and I want to know what it’s like to inflate,” she intoned with near religious solemnity. An arm was slid clear of the neck to retrieve the hose and valve.

“I wanna blow up big, and round,” the gas was allowed to start its work. “And I want to get so big I start to float.” The latex began to lift from her wet skin, sending electric rainbows shooting through Eva’s brain as her mind’s eye she saw herself from the outside, the limp balloon woman slowly taking up her slack skin in preparation for the slow, steady, unstoppable stretching. “I wanna drift off, higher and higher, lost and uncontrolled.” Slick hands grasped for folds of the still slack skin, holding it to her own flesh, making canyon deep cleavages in the forming bubble. They began to unfold as the balloon grew and her slippery hands lost their tenuous hold, but her eyes delighted in the sudden unfurling of her balloon form, like a time lapse flower bloom. Nostrils flared to take in the aroma (was it salty, was it sour?) and she noticed the ebb and flow of her lungs still affecting the overall volume and she enjoyed this extra visual cue that the balloon was her, she was the balloon. Rubbing the insides of her cocoon with the gentlest, most loving caresses, legs akimbo to measure her diameter, Eva gazed upward and willed the final episode to stat. She needed to float, to drift to the end of the hose and bob there, gaining size and lift until the valve slipped free and she was aloft. To gain height, enjoy the unfamiliar view of familiar streets and homes, bask in the sunlight playing on her distended skin and the stares of friends and neighbours, admiring her perfect blimped form (she felt the balloon begin to reach up, her neck forming a dimple in its near spherical skin). Rising higher and being part of the air currents, feeling no breezes but knowing their playful part in her course (bulges of latex flesh began to press into her neck, reaching for her chin). Registering the falling pressure, popping her ears and distending her already gloriously bloated body (her chin and cheeks felt the insistent climb of her inflating form as her head became an increasingly deep dimple in her balloon body). Rising, rising, higher and higher, bigger and bigger until she…

The balloon skin shook violently, magnifying the vibrations of its occupant. Pressure, lubricant and weak knees saw Eva’s head disappear into its dimple, the balloon neck shot upward, the hose fell away and air whooshed free. Still shaking, Eva reached for the neck, having to wait a moment before the balloon shrank enough for her to get purchase. She gripped the rim and pulled it down, each sense and each action contributing to her continued vibration, preventing her mind and body from coming down from their plateau. Her head emerged into the sunshine once more and she breathed deep, slowly reviving from her dream, from her release. So close to the pop. So far gone in her mind. Could she actually reach the pop in a balloon this big? Would physics and physiology keep her sliding back from the brink? Certainly she would have to train hard to prevent the excitement from moving the goalposts. Perhaps Anton would arrive to help her.

Her breaths became shallow, eyes closed, she allowed her knees to fold to the earth, dimpling the balloon around her head once more, taking enough weight to hold her upright. Her head lolled and one cheek rested on her bulging pink collar.

“So, that’s what it’s like to be a balloon,” she whispered, followed by “Physics: what a pain in the arse. Why can’t I float away?”

There was a faint hissing, ringing throughout the balloon, insistent in the ear resting against the latex. One eye flickered open and made a lazy survey of the nearby bubble skin before the focus turned to what could be seen through the balloon skin. What could be seen caused considerable surprise and both eyes were quickly assigned to the task, the knees got themselves sorted on the third go and got her stood up and the hands were brought up to see if they could confirm the unbelievable reports from the optic nerves. The hands stopped just short of contact with the breasts, not daring to break the spell, to waft through the illusion and find themselves resting on the standard, pleasing but disappointingly non-inflatable flesh. The hands, failing in their active duty, soon found they could report in the affirmative anyway, as the breasts in question most definitely were inflating and had swollen out to meet them in their holding pattern. Eva pressed inward and the balloon breasts slid away in a comic ballet of well lubed flesh. Release, regroup, retry, came the order. The hands allowed the breasts to settle back to their relaxed position, found the antipodes and gently moved inward. The image of her greasy breasts being pressed to form porn star cleavage and then swelling further around her hands brought back the weak knees. She eased the pressure of her hands and allowed them to caress her areolae and nipples, following the mystery growth as these toys were drawn away from her chest and her arms began to bow around the increasing girth. A hand fell below their magnificent circumference and encountered her belly, smoothly curved below, hidden by the growing boobs. Curiosity spurred the hand to move on and it found evidence to support the swelling buttocks hypothesis. Eva’s head swiveled to gaze over her shoulder and the hypothesis became a theory as she witnessed the gorgeous engorgement of her posterior. How, why and was it reversible were disregarded as annoying and possibly dangerously interruptive questions and she delightedly enjoyed the sensations of both inflating and exploring her inflating body with her hands. Giant womanly curves were caressed by gradually bloating arms. Thighs and calves were scissored back and forth over each others’ voluptuous excess. The tiny hissing, as though every pore of her were drinking deep of the gas between her and the weather balloon. The sticky, squelching squeaks of balloon on lubed balloon. The latex scent, now hers. Dizzy with inflating lust, Eva watched as her breasts, foremost in the race to swallow the available volume, reached out to touch the outer skin. Nipples bridged the gap, evoking a gasp and inciting a gentle bouncing, sliding their hard, dark points across the skin with a thrilling, vibrating squeak. They were pressed more firmly into the latex as the curve behind them began to meet the curve of the balloon wall and the bouncing increased in vigour. Belly flesh, buttock flesh, thighs and finally, bloated, near useless arms were all gradually brought into contact with their share of the original form. The hiss rose to an indignant pitch, each swelling surface gasping for the last of the available gas. The outer balloon stretched into crevices and over limbs as the greedy inner balloon woman vacuum sealed herself into the second skin.

Eva surveyed herself. Joyously distended. Voluptuously inflated. Pink, rubbery perfection greeted her eyes in all directions. “I’m the perfect balloon!” she burbled semi coherently. “What could be better?”

The question sparked the idea. She knew what could be better and began trying to waddle herself toward the discarded hose. However, the idea could be topped and her knew balloon body would save her from herself. Air began to flow out through Eva’s mouth. Horrified to find herself receding from the opportunity to pop, she shut her mouth, tried to stem the leak, but it was as futile as trying to halt the tide, to slow the seasons, and the gas first bulged her cheeks, then leaked down her nose, the threw open her mouth and left her body in a minor hurricane. Every square inch of lost surface area increased Eva’s ability to shuffle closer to the hose and valve. She fell toward it and gripped it in newly nimble fingers, trying to jam it into her mouth and regain lost ground. The air slipped around it and she shrank. Furious, she pulled the hose free and quickly found a home for it, somewhere more snug fitting, and again, tried to keep her curves, her glorious sheen, her proximity to the pop. No deal, the gas seemed to whisper as it left her mouth ever faster. Arms, back to their original size, grasped desperately at the still distended breasts only to be rewarded by the distressing sensation of loss. The shrinking balloons fell away behind fingers urging the reverse, trying to massage enthusiasm for growth back into the deflating orbs. Almost back to normal, Eva threw aside the hose and jammed a hand over her mouth, stood and ran to the back door, entering the house frantic to find something to bung herself closed, to save her final vestiges of ballooned magnificence. Her breasts resumed their familiar size and shape, then fell away beneath the newly saggy arm crossed protectively over them. Knees began to flex too far, hips could no longer support her torso. Eva fell gently sideways onto the couch and felt the final, humiliating defeat as the last of her strength left her with the final puff. Her pink rubber form lay in what, in other circumstances, might be called a langorous pose. Odd bubbles remained in the wrinkling, retracting skin, a finger here, part of a calf there. She’d been robbed of her prize and couldn’t fathom why. So much of her fantasy had come true. Why did it have to stop short of the pop. If this was a dream, it had been very good to her but she wished she could wake herself to relive the best parts and enjoy having the strength to help her body enjoy the replay.

She did not wake up.

She lay there listening to the clock ticking.

The gentle ticking was drowned by the sound of a key entering a lock and Anton arrived in all his bustling, noisy, sexy clumsiness. Eyes, ears and nose drank in his presence but the mouth couldn’t appraise him of her distress, call for his aid, ask him to…

“Eva?” he called. “Eva? Oh, ha ha. Airva!” His eyes locked on hers but she couldn’t communicate a thing. “This one must have cost a mint. Looks perfect,” he muttered. One word ran through Eva’s mind: Helium. Over and over she tried to shape the word on her useless lips, tried to fire it at him through the ether.

“Looks like Eva’s finally turned herself into a balloon,” Anton intoned as though reading from a script. This was pretty close to what he was doing. Having shared secrets with each other, he knew what his girl liked. The stories she’d written and the images she’d shown him on the net had informed his role play in the past and he was hoping to give her a good show.

“She looks a bit flat. I’d better find something filling for her. Gee, I really hope no-one’s hiding in the cupboard, or filming me right now, because I’d look really stupid playing with a blow up doll.” The mention of being filled gave her some relief, but Eva desperately wanted to let him know that she wasn’t hiding, living her dream vicariously through some cheap toy and a game. This was her, she was living her dream. She hoped he could remember that the ceiling, while fun, wasn’t her ultimate goal.

“You know, you’ve always wanted to blow up with enough helium to float to the ceiling. Let’s see if we can’t make that dream come true,” he intoned from the miasma of inflation dialogue he’d been indoctrinated with.

The living room helium cylinder was maneuvered from behind the couch and the hose was inserted in her mouth. “Gonna’ blow you up big and tight, Eva.” He turned on the gas and she began the journey back to her former glory. Gonna’ make your balloon tits so big you float right off the floor. Gonna’ blow your butt so blimped you’ll have trouble getting out through…” Anton paused and thought for a moment as his hands worked on his belt and fly, as Eva surpassed her normal size, the expansion starting in her breasts once more.

“Gonna give you a balloon belly to fly you to the moon, float you up ‘til you pop” his voice faltered while his boots were kicked aside. He was trying to remember something.

The penny dropped. The gas was stopped. The hose was removed and Eva was allowed to float to the ceiling, enjoying the way the new perspective constantly reminded her that the sensation of her body pressing against the plaster surface was the opposite of gravity at work. She smiled down at her man as he manhandled the helium cylinder across the room and out the door to where the open sky beckoned in the yellowing evening sun.