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Control 7: Neighbors
Control 7: Neighbors
“Sounds like our neighbors are out for a swim,” Gretchen Lipshitz said, accepting a glass of iced tea from her husband. She took a quick sip of the drink and stretched, enjoying the lazy weekend sun from under her tinted glasses and wide-brimmed sunhat.
John, a middle-aged balding man, set down the day’s copy of the LA Times and plopped into another chaise lounge chair next to his wife with a grunt. Skipping the sections of local news and national politics, he went right for the financials. The international stock markets were down all week, and his brokerage had taken quite a beating in the stock and futures markets. He barely registered what Gretchen had said to him until she repeated her statement, expecting a response. “It’s about time they got some use out of that pool,” he snapped distractedly.
Their neighbors, a young couple with no kids, had moved in about a year ago into the exclusive Thousand Oaks area subdivision. John and Gretchen had met them when they first purchased the property. The man was a medical doctor, maybe even a plastic surgeon if John remembered right, and the wife was some sort of fashion designer. The tranquility level of the neighborhood had begun to be disturbed not long after, as the new couple set about immediately adding onto their house with what looked like an artist’s studio off the back yard, and the installation of a swimming pool. Construction had finally been completed two weeks before, and now the Lipshitzs could finally enjoy some peace and quiet in their own backyard, next to their own pool without the work noise for next door.
The two sat in the sun, sipping their tea, listening to the splashing and laughing of the couple next door. Gretchen, only a year younger than John, stretched again; her long legs sticking out of a modest green tankini rubbing lightly against each other. She gazed at her husband and cringed, seeing that he was again wearing those awful blue board shorts that were a size too small for his middle-aged physique. His moderate gut slopped over the tops of the squeezing swim trunks, exaggerating its size. But, according to him, he worn them because that’s what all the young studs are wearing, and he never backed down from a fashion challenge. He didn’t see her roll her eyes in disgust, or simply ignored what he knew she was thinking.
The excited playfulness next door ebbed. Gretchen, ever the nosy neighbor who loved to spread the latest juicy gossip to the other rich ladies in the area, perked up and listened more closely as the splashing became more rhythmic, with the occasional moan of pleasure from over the wall. “I think they’re at it again,” she whispered, but John was again not paying attention. When her husband didn’t respond, she threw her sunglasses at him, bouncing them off his balding dome. He turned angrily to her, but she placed a finger over her lips to signal him to be quiet while pointing toward the wall that separated the two house’s yards. “I think they’re having sex in their pool again.”
John had been waiting for this. He had caught the couple next door fooling around in their pool last week, and what he had seen didn’t make sense. So he had waited for it to happen again, so he could try to prove what he had seen was not a trick of the eye on the water or that he was delusional. So he got up, setting down his newspaper, and quietly began to track back to his house. “This is scandalous,” Gretchen said, “and I can’t wait to tell the girls! Where are you going?”
“Bathroom,” he mumbled, quickening his pace. His too-tight swim trunks made it difficult to move with much speed, but he didn’t want to pass this opportunity to catch them in the act.
“Alright, but come right back, you hear?” Gretchen called out. “And bring the rest of the pitcher of iced tea when you do.” He waved to her dismissively as he entered the house.
Scrambling up the stairs as quickly as his shorts would allow, John dashed into his bedroom. He grabbed his expensive digital camera with the telephoto lens, maneuvered to window closest to the border wall, and pulled the curtains partially shut. He had been in this same spot last week, and had noticed that a small break in the trees along the wall allowed him to see into his neighbor’s yard, overlooking their new pool. And what he had seen was beyond description. He had happened to glance through the break just at the right time to see Michael and Suzie Wilkes walk up to the edge of their pool, pull off their clothes, and jump naked into the water. John had sat there in the light to the setting sun and watched as the couple began making boisterous love in the waves. That hadn’t bothered him; he had kinda enjoyed it at first. But what happened next was what he wanted to view again, and record this time, so that his wife wouldn’t think him crazy when he finally told her about it.
As the couple’s sexual romp had become more vigorous, John had thought he had seen Suzie’s breasts begin to grow. And not just grow a little; her chest had inflated like a pair of beachballs. And the bigger she got, the higher her boobs pointed. It even looked like Michael was having to hold onto her, because she was rising out of the water, attached to a pair of skin blimps that threatened to pull her skyward. Suzie, throughout all of this growth, had thrashed and moaned like she was enjoying this immensely. John had watched dumbfounded as Suzie’s breasts ballooned so big that it looked like she was almost floating out of and above the surface of the water, and was going to take her husband airborne with her. Finally, Michael must have finished and ceased pumping into her, because she suddenly started shrinking, and slowly settled back into the surf as her breasts deflated. John had sat speechless as the two gathered up their clothing and had gone back inside their home.
Now he wanted to catch them in the act, and record the act to show his wife later.
Michael stood in the cool water, Suzie’s arms wrapped around his neck as he ground his hips into her. “Harder,” she whispering into his ear. “I’m about ready to go up.”
That was their catch phrase to let him know when she was ready to be inflated. Michael slammed into her rhythmically, causing her to jolt with each impact. She smiled, loving the friction of the action, and knowing that even though she was light in the water, once she was blown up a bit, she was even easier for him to handle if she was floating slightly. And the inflation usually put her over the edge into a very satisfying orgasm. “Okay,” she said between thrusts, “give me the helium.”
John couldn’t hear what was being said, but the camera that was focused closely on the couple picked up the first hint of expansion. But he was so entranced but his neighbors’ lovemaking that he didn’t notice what was happening in his own backyard.
Gretchen sat, a devious smile crossing her lips while listening to the Wilkes’ pleasure each other on the other side of the wall. Her iced tea glass was sweating in her hand, and the moans from next door actually turning her on slightly. She set the glass down on the table to her right, closing her eyes, and placed both hands on her breasts, cupping and stroking them gently like she always asked John to do to her. Her nipples tingled under her swimsuit top, those tingles descending into her loins and causing impure thoughts to spring into her head. Touching her tits more aggressively, kneading them like a baker with bread dough, it took a moment before she noticed the change. Her breasts began to grow, expanding within her grasp, soon spilling out of her hands before she noticed that she had more there to play with. The breeze through the trees muted the slight hissing sound that emanated from her chest as the inflation began and increased rapidly.
When she felt something nudge her chin, she opened her eyes, expecting to find John to be standing over her. Instead what she discovered was two huge mounds of flesh that were pushing out of the top of her green tankini, beginning already to strain the fabric. “What the…” Gretchen exclaimed as boobs continued to rise, spilling out in all directions of the inadequate swimsuit that was digging into her flesh. She pulled the restricting straps off of her shoulders, and her tits bounced free. Mouth agape, she reached with both hands and tried to push back the growth, but her breasts continued to inflated outward and upward, soon rising up into her face and blinding her. “John!” she screamed. “Something’s happening out here! I need you!”
Mr. Lipshitz was a little preoccupied at the time, as Suzie’s breast blimps were now big enough to start lifting both she and Michael out of the water. He was still fiddling with the camera, making sure that it was still recording, and didn’t hear his wife’s panicked screams.
Within seconds, Gretchen’s boobs had grown passed the size of basketballs. As they approached the diameter of beachballs, she felt the first hint of upward lift. Her chest balloons started to pull her skyward, her nipples pointed straight at the clouds, and the only thing within reach that she could grab for ballast was the wire table that her tea glass rested on. “Help!” she screamed as her finger clamped onto the edge of the table and bobbled it. Her glass crashed to the poolside concrete. The lightweight table halted her ascent, but only temporarily. Too soon her buoyancy overcame the added weight, and she again began to gain altitude.
“Did you hear something?” Suzie stopped bucking. She was hovering, her feet the only part of her still in the water. Michael had a hold of her hips, his face planted into her nether region, keeping her from floating away as he pleasured her. Weather balloon-sized tits threatened to send her flying if he let go too soon.
There was the sound of breaking glass, followed but another crash. They both heard a woman scream, the panicked tone scaling up in timber. Both turned toward the sound just in time to see a woman, their neighbor, wearing a green swimsuit, slowly rise above the height of their barrier fence, attached to a pair of overinflated tits. “Oh shit!” Suzie stammered. “You inflated her too. Get her down!”
Michael, still holding onto his floating wife, closed his eyes, exhaled, and sent out a general mental command. He heard a high-pitched squeal in response, similar to the sound of balloon that has sprung a small leak, and he felt Suzie begin to deflate and descend, settling both of them back into the water. Gretchen was twenty feet up in the air, and a slight breeze had pushed her into the Wilkes’ yard, when she slowly began to drop back to the ground.
Michael and Suzie jumped out of the pool and threw on bathrobes as Gretchen lightly touched down in their yard. The older woman tried to speed up the process by pushing in on her breasts with her hands, trying to stuff her balloons back into her tankini top to no avail. “I don’t know what happened,” she babbled, trying to cover her still slightly inflated breast with her hand for modesty around the unfamiliar people. “I was just sitting in my chair next door when pfffffffttttttttt! I blew up like a pair of balloons!”
Suzie looked at Michael with a slight smile, realizing that Gretchen hadn’t known that they were the cause of her inflation. When she was floating, she had landed with her back to them, so Gretchen may have not noticed that Suzie had also been blown up. Unfortunately, John had seen it all and had recorded it in all of its digital glory. And he came sprinting into his neighbor’s backyard to rescue his inflated wife, only to find Gretchen grounded and talking to the perpetrators. His wife’s swollen breasts were almost back to her original B-cups when he arrived.
“Alright, how did you do it?” John demanded. “I know you did it, because you made your wife blow up and float too.”
Michael and Suzie looked askance at each other suspiciously. “You saw?” the doctor asked.
“Everything, and got it recorded on video too. So don’t try to deny anything,” the stock broker huffed. “What did you do to my wife?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen to your wife,” Michael explained. “Only mine. But somehow my control slipped, and your wife was too close and caught some of the slippage.”
“Is it biological, chemical, pharmaceutical, what?” John pressed. “How did you do it?”
All eyes were on Michael. “If I tell you, then you must keep it a secret,” he begged. “I will pay anything to keep this under wraps.”
“What did you have in mind?” Suzie asked him.
Gretchen placed a reassuring hand on John’s arm. “How about this?” she said to her husband, then turned to the two others.
“How about you blow me back up?” she said suggestively, placing her hands back onto her puffy boobs. “I’ve always wanted to be bigger, and I know he’s always wanted the same thing, but without implants and surgery. And certainly not so big that I am floating like a helium balloon! But make them permanently big, as big as I want.”
Michael shrugged. “Done.” Gretchen felt a tingle in her nipples as her breasts began to expand again.
John’s fingers clicked a few keystrokes on his computer, the keyboard illuminated in the glow of the display monitor in the dark room. Gretchen had gone to bed, having to learn to adjust her sleeping positions due to her new extra-large air-filled chest protrusions. He had placed the memory card from the camera into his computer, and now was watching the recorded events of the day for the fifth time. He had turned the camera when he first heard his wife scream, and caught her as she started to float up and away. He was fascinated by what he had caught on video, but hesitated with decision to share it with the world.
He had loaded the video, and all he needed to do to post it to YouTube was press the ‘Enter’ key.
His finger floated above the key, waiting for the mind to choose what to do next.