Half-Time Helia

Half-time had just begun during a fabulous Sabres hockey game. The HSBC Arena was packed with fans cheering on our home team. Maxim Afinogenov and Chris Drury had been slapping pucks into the opposing teams goal like disk-shaped rockets. I had cheered on my favorite Left Wing hunk, Andrew Peters. It had been a wild second period and I was all fired up, mainly on a few 16-oz beers and a hot pretzel or two.

People just started to move around as the players cleared the ice. The announcer called over the loud speaker stating that fans should check under their seats for a "special half-time gift." I was still sitting as the ceiling mounted searchlights started scanning the crowd for that lucky person to jump up and announce the winning seat location. I didn't think about winning. I never won anything. I could buy lottery tickets, "call to win" radio contests, and raffle tickets for cheap junk I'd probably never use or need.

Leaning forward in my seat, my 120-inch breasts squished up in my lap. My v-neck Sabre fan sweater that read SABRE SIZED bunched up, my big boobs squashed between my lap and my ribcage. My chin nestled in the warm cleavage and, blushing, I smiled at the lady next to me who sat staring as my fingers fumbled beneath my seat.

"Sometimes they get in the way," I said with rosy cheeks.

She looked down at my giant bosoms and said, "I don't know why you strippers do that to yourself."

"Uh?'m not a stripper." I said.

Not listening, the woman humpfed in disgust, got up and left her seat.

Fingers glancing across a small dimple of dried gum, I found something that felt like a loose paper tag at the bottom center of my seat. Testing the tag for securement and finding it ready to fall off with more prying, I tore it free and sat up straight. Holding it before my face, I read the bright red lettering. It read: HALF-TIME SHOW WINNER and the day's date. Today's date! I WAS THE WINNER!

I launched myself from my seat and screamed. People still seated or moving around glanced my way only to get an eyeful of an excited girl jumping up and down with her huge boobs bouncing and jumping out of unison with her jerking movements.

The multitude of searchlights swung down on me and I was momentarily blinded by their brilliance. On the eight-sided Jumbotron scoreboard above center ice, a shot of me waving my arms about and shrieking with glee was captured. The cameras quickly zoomed in and encompassed my enormous wobbling juggs for the packed house of over 18,000 spectators to see. A funny tingling feeling started at the top of my head and traveled down through my body as I felt eyes upon me, maybe not directly on me, but on the image flashing on the Jumbotron screens. The sensation passed to the ends of my wobling and swaying boobs and down to my crotch.

Feeling self-conscious, I immediately stopped my gyrations as the cameras didn't let off my jiggling bust.

"We have a lucky winner. Please come to the Sabre Senter Counter for your prize, and we'll see you on center ice," the announcer said over the arena.

Pulling my sweater back down and snuggling it over my giant boobs, I moved out of my seat and went to see what my prize was.

I stepped gingerly out onto the ice as the crowd cheered and the announcer spoke up. "Welcome to the second period half-time show. A lucky guest has been chosen for our PUSH THE PUCK contest," the announcer said as I made my way out to center ice.

"I would like you to meet Miss Helia Melonowski, a waitress and a stripper at the local GoldCoast Club in Blasdell. She's 27 years old, 5-foot-4 and totes an incredible 120-inch bustline. Let's give it up for? HELIA MELONOWSKI!"

The crowd cheered again as I walked forward, almost slipped and caught myself. My boobs heaved in the black rubbery suit that now covered me from neck to ankle. I wore a padded helmet over my head that wrapped thickly all the way around my forehead and down to the base of my skull. The black outfit clung tightly to my wrists also, almost painfully tight. Beneath I wore nothing but my bra and thong panties. My clothing had been left in a dressing room off-ice.

"Show us your tits!" a guy yelled from section 106.

"I'd like to run my hockey stick between those melons!" another guy yelled from section 223.

"Allright, folks, you know how this game is played. Our guest is wearing a special pneumatic suit that we inflate into a giant black ‘hockey puck,' then, with thanks this week to the Buffalo East Elementary School 7th graders, they push the puck along the ice to score goals for cash. The most goals wins with an added 100 dollars going to the victor," the announcer said cheerfully.

"Oh poo! What have I gotten myself into," I said under the wail of the crowd, running my hands over the tight ebon suit. The suit was skintight and really made my big boobs stand out. The cool air blowing off the ice made my nipples stand out and I blushed knowing people were staring at them.

"Are you ready, Helia?" the announcer asked.

I shrugged and nodded with a thumbs up. I had never played this game before and it must have been new this year for I'd never seen it played until now.

Suddenly two skaters dressed in Sabre uniforms came out onto the ice. They came on so quick I hardly knew what hit me until it did. The each held a small canister in their hands and as they skated by me, each slapped the canister onto my hips. I squealed as I felt a slight poke on either side of me, then a hissing sound filled the surrounding area as whatever was in the cans was actuated.

"Oh my!" I squealed again as I dropped my hands to my sides, feeling myself starting to bulge out. The black suit expanded, puffing up with air.

"Ooh, this feels funny," I said as I pressed my fingers against the fabric of the plumpening suit. My whole body was tingling. I pinched the fabric, thinking I'd be just pinching fabric, then squealed again as I realized I had took a pinch of my own flesh under the fabric.

"Wait! Oh no! It's not just the suit that's blowing up," I cried as I slapped my hands to the sides of my boobs that were suddenly beginning to widen and elongate. "OH NO! I'm blowing up too!"

The skaters rushed by again and slapped two more canisters to my sides.

"NO! Wait! No more! This stuff is going directly into me!" But they couldn't hear my pleads for the crowd was cheering and suddenly a bunch of little kids from a local elementary school came running out onto the ice.

"No! Oh no! I'm?'m blowing up like a balloon!" I cried.

My poor hips, tummy and ass were the first to feel the full affect of the air injected into them. My hips widened and grew into two giant sized drumsticks. My poor asscheeks followed suit and widened and swelled, growing fatter and fatter and fatter. My tummy ballooned outward, taking a freakishly round ball-like shape as it expanded, swelling, widening, growing rounder and bigger and larger and larger.

It was not a giant inflated hockey puck that I was becoming.

"Eek! No! My boobs? Not my beautiful big boobs! Ungh! They are big enough! No, not any bigger! OH PLEASSSEEE!" I cried as the air rushed now into my already tremendous sized breasts. I looked to each expanding boob-balloon as each fattened, wider, and wider, and wider. They extended outward like massive torpedo cones, longer, longer, longer, growing wider and bigger as they grew outward.

"Gah! I am going to explode!" I cried as the little children crowded around me. They laughed and pointed, thinking it was all part of the show and part of the fun.

The air crept down into my thighs and lower legs, bulging them out, blowing them up like the rest of my inflating body. They stretched out taut beneath and I felt ready to topple as my expanded dimensions shifted my center of gravity from front to rear, and rear to front. My arms suddenly snapped straight also as the air affected them, infected them, making them fatten and thicken and widen.

"Eeee! I am going to fall over! Too big! Getting too big!" I cried as my bloating body coalesced into one big round black-garbed balloon-shaped sphere. There was no difference between my upper and lower body now, simply two large roundish bumps on the top of the "ball" that were my breasts. Only my little hands waved and my little feet below the ankle wriggled.

"No! Oh pleeeease someone help me," I moaned as I tipped forward, more from the help of the little kids who were suddenly shuffling around me and pushing me along the ice.

I rolled, hair swishing about my face. Luckily my head didn't bump the hard icy surface of the arena. The kids laughed as they tried to bounce me into a goal. They missed then another small team of kids took charge and tried to roll me to the other goal.

"It looks like the kids could use a little help getting Helia into the goal. Soooo stand up and cheer for Sabres own, Andrew Peters!" the announcer announced over the loud speakers as the crowd cheered.

I turned my head the best I could to see the hunky Andrew Peters come out onto the ice. He carried a huge hockey stick that looked more a toy than something one would actually use.

"Andrew! I'm your biggest fan! I love youuuuuu..."

Before I could finish he skated up and slapshot me into the air. I tumbled up, up, up over the Plexiglas fence and into the stands. As I descended I felt fingers doink me and send me skyward again. I was suddenly being batted back and forth across the rows and columns and stands like a huge black beachball.

And that was how I got my gig earning a little extra cash on weekday nights and weekends. I became a mascot in a sort of way to my favorite hometown hockey team. They suited me up in a giant black leotard of super stretchy material and they'd blow me up and trounce me across the arena. On the front of rear of the suit was the Sabres emblem and on occasion they'd put our teams MVP picture on the suit...so on occasion I'd be wearing Andrew Peters face across my expansive chest.

I hear advertisers and sponsors were interested in putting their ads on me. Of course, I can't see them really doing this unless they...oh no...unless they intended t make me...gulp...BIGGER!

Help!