Heather's life was just about perfect, she reflected to herself, as she floated in the gentle waves just offshore. She was an adult now, a high school graduate, with her own apartment, and accountable to no one but herself. A world of choices had opened up to her; she could do anything she wanted, or just lounge on the beach all day. And the first thing she was going to do, this very evening, was let her boyfriend Brad take her virginity. Closing her eyes, she dreamily imagined how the night would play out. She'd show up at his front door in only her lace bra and panties...
Heather giggled as she felt something tickle her butt and thighs. Assuming it was just a piece of seaweed, she tried to squirm away, but it seemed to have snagged on her skin. Out of curiosity, she pulled it off herself and held it in front of her face.
In her euphoric state, it took Heather several seconds to realize that the “seaweed” was actually a huge jellyfish, and its tentacles were resting on the exposed tops of her breasts. She freaked out and tossed it away, wincing as tendrils slapped against her face. By the time Heather was able to wade to shore, her cheeks, chest, and legs were already tingling ominously. She managed to make it to her beach umbrella before her legs gave out on her, and she dropped to her knees, her butt resting on her ankles. Heather's heart raced, and she shivered in terror; she had no idea what species that jellyfish was, whether its venom was treatable, or how long she had before she was paralyzed, or worse...
The tingling soon gave way to a curious sensation of warmth where she had been stung. A few seconds later, Heather became aware that something odd was happening to her. Although she wasn't trying to move, her body was slowly shifting position. Even when she held perfectly still, something made her tilt forward degree by degree.
A sensation of pressure in her torso made Heather glance downward, and she was taken aback by what she saw. Her nominally B-cup breasts looked more like D-cups, squeezing together in the cramped confines of her bikini. And as she gaped at her body, they seemed to be expanding, inching forward little by little, stretching her top out as they grew.
This couldn't be real, Heather thought to herself. It was a hallucination, the toxins playing tricks on her brain. She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to shake off the vision. When her bosom refused to return to its proper size, she started slapping herself on the cheek, willing her mind to reject the poison-induced illusion. As she administered her facial flagellation, something gave her pause – did her cheeks feel... rounder?
Heather suddenly noticed that the pressure around her chest had progressed to the point of pain. This was no hallucination – her breasts really were getting bigger, and her top was only getting tighter. She reached behind her back, but the hooks were already locked solidly together. Heather began to panic, clawing desperately at the flimsy garment that encircled her slender torso in a death grip. As if in response, the odd warm sensation she was feeling redoubled, and her bust ballooned faster, stretching the fabric out to its absolute maximum girth. No longer able to breathe, Heather arched her back with all her might, barely hearing the popping of stitches as her vision began to go black.
With a thunderous *RRRRRIP!*, her top finally gave up the ghost, and her engorged bosom exploded violently outward. Gasping for air, Heather surveyed her breasts with dismay. Twin swollen orbs, they each protruded eight inches from her chest; pressing together in the middle, they canted outward, their sides brushing her forearms when she reached around them. She couldn't even see her nipples over the horizons of their curves. Gingerly, she brushed them with her fingers; they didn't yield to the little pressure she was willing to exert against them. Heather wondered what they were filled with -- Water? Air? Something else?
Suddenly Heather broke wind, briefly but sharply. As nervous as she was, the loud noise almost made her jump out of her skin. Was this a coincidence, or a side effect of her inflation? Reaching around behind her, she discovered that while she was occupied with her upper body, other parts of her had been quietly filling out and firming up as well. Her thighs had become broad cones, and her ass a pair of foot-wide hemispheres with a cavernous cleft between them. Her bikini bottom, not particularly modest when it fit her, had mostly vanished into the abyss; what little still saw daylight formed a constricting band around her hips and crotch.
Heather suddenly remembered that this was a public beach, and her solitude could be interrupted at any moment. Medical emergency or not, there was no way she was letting anyone see her naked and freakishly inflated like this. Holding on to the umbrella pole for support, she struggled to her feet. But when she tried to walk, her legs refused to obey her. Heather eventually figured out what was wrong: the pressure in her outer hips was squeezing her thighs together, and the friction between them had locked them in place. Thinking quickly, she grabbed her tube of sunscreen and applied a liberal dose of it between her legs. Now she could walk, although the way her inner thighs slipperily slid across each other was rather... disconcerting.
Although her apartment wasn't far from the beach, the direct route was rather exposed, and the winding forest path she took instead was considerably longer. And Heather's condition certainly didn't lend itself to quick movement: to keep her balance, she had to turn her knees inward and her ankles outward, splaying her lower legs out for a slight modicum of stability. This unnatural stance forced her to bend slightly forward, and even holding her arms out for balance Heather felt like she could fall on her face at any moment. All she could manage with this knock-kneed gait was an ungainly totter which wouldn't get her home in less than an hour.
Heather wasn't quite halfway there when she suddenly ground to a halt. Her heart sank as she realized that her improvised lube job had worn off, and in her hurry to get out of sight, she had forgotten to take the sunscreen with her. She had to get moving again, but what was she going to use for lubrication... Heather blushed beet-red over her entire body at the idea, but unless Dorothy came by with an oil can, she had to do it or she was stuck here. Praying to the Goddess that no one was watching, Heather stuck her hand between her legs and thought of Brad.
Her inflated thighs had so much surface area that it took another “session” to get them sufficiently covered, but finally Heather's legs unlocked again. Although her natural lubricant did the trick, it made her inner thighs slide over one another even more suggestively than the sunscreen did, and the *shlick* *shlick* *shlick* noise they made with every step was an uncanny echo of the humiliating act Heather had been compelled to perform upon herself.
Her progress was slow but steady, and she could see the door to her apartment when she again stopped short. As close as she was to her goal, Heather still had to bring herself to climax again – twice – to make the last few hundred feet. Whatever else happened, she certainly wouldn't be up to her evening with Brad.
Heather was almost at the door when one of her bare feet stubbed against something hard. She flailed her arms about, trying to keep her balance, but couldn't stop herself toppling forward. Her swollen bust arrested her fall, and she winced in pain as her tender nipples collided with the rough concrete. Trying to get back on her feet was an exercise in futility, so Heather dragged herself the last few feet to the door. Propping herself up with one arm, she reached for the doorknob, but it hung just slightly out of her grasp.
Up to this point, the urgency of Heather's situation had kept her emotions in check, but this last defeat put her over the edge, and she collapsed to the ground in despair. How was this fair? Why was her body betraying her like this?! She was supposed to be enjoying a relaxing day at the beach, followed by a night of making love to her boyfriend, and a lifetime of freedom and fun. Instead, she had been blown up like the Goodyear blimp, had to sneak through the forest like an escaped convict, was forced to expend her sexual energy without even enjoying it, and now Heather was so trapped in her own body that she'd been denied access to her own home! Tears welled in her eyes, and she clawed at her hair in silent rage.
Heather was so distraught over her situation that she didn't notice the warmth return to her face, breasts, and thighs, until she felt her body lose contact with the ground. Through her bleary eyes, she saw the sidewalk slowly recede beneath her. By the time her confused brain processed this information and concluded that she was rising into the air, Heather was already several feet off the ground and climbing. Instinctively she grabbed for the doorknob, but in her panic she fumbled, and it slipped through her fingers. Heather flailed frantically, casting about for something to grab onto, as she rose inexorably to five feet, then ten, and beyond...
For once, luck was on Heather's side, as she let out another big fart. The downward thrust propelled her back toward the doorknob, and this time she managed to get hold of it. Quickly she punched in the door combination and slid it open.
Once she was safely inside, Heather held herself down and waited for her heart to stop pounding. This time it had to have been the venom messing with her head, because there was no way she could have actually been floating, right? Tentatively, she let go of her handhold, and breathed a mental sigh of relief when she stayed grounded. But the slightest push against the floor sent her drifting back into the air. Passing gas must have reduced her buoyancy somewhat, but it was clear to Heather that she was still almost weightless. Had she somehow filled up with helium? Or some other strange gas?
Aside from the spacious living room where she kept most of her stuff, Heather's apartment was rather cramped, so it was easy enough for her to float down the corridor to her bedroom by grabbing on to nearby objects. It was quite a surreal experience, pulling herself through her home like an astronaut on a space station. In her bedroom was a full-length mirror, and in it Heather finally got her first good look at herself since being stung.
What she saw nearly made her pass out. Her face, once a slender oval, now resembled an overgrown pear. Her thin cheeks and delicate chin had been absorbed by a grotesque sphere, and her lips were squeezed into a lurid pucker. Heather had expected her breasts to look like overfilled balloons, but she now saw that her nipples had also swollen up and protruded obscenely. Farther down, her waist was as narrow as always, but her hips spread dramatically into beyond-Callipygian proportions. Angling herself around, she found that her comically voluptuous butt and thighs completed a cartoonish parody of womanhood. Heather whimpered softly to herself as she surveyed the damage to the lithe physique she had been so proud of; her new exaggerated hourglass figure made her look like some sort of overinflated blow-up doll!
Until now, Heather's plan had been to hole up in her apartment until the jellyfish toxin wore off. The shock of seeing the full extent of her condition changed her mind; there was no way she was staying like this if there was something medical science could do about it. But the idea of having a bunch of doctors and nurses see her in such a state was more than she could stand – Heather needed moral support. She had parted ways with her parents on less-than-amicable terms, which left Brad as the only person she felt close enough to.
Her phone was in the living room, so Heather pulled her way back there. After five rings, she began to worry that Brad might not be home, but he picked up on the sixth. “Uh, hello?” “Brad, help! I got stung by a jellyfish and I've swollen up and I need to go to a hospital and I need you to come over and help me!” This is what Heather meant to say, but what came out was more like a barely audible “Mmm mmmm mmmmmm mmm mmm!” Cupping her chin in one hand and squeezing her cheeks, Heather realized with horror that her face was so swollen that she couldn't open her mouth! “Hello?! Is anyone there?” In desperation, she took a deep breath through her nose, and pushed her tongue through her puckered lips as hard as she could...
“*THPPBBBPPPBBT*!” Heather struggled to force her mouth open enough to speak, but succeeded only in blowing a series of raspberries into the phone. Not to be outdone, her lower body decided that this was the perfect time to let another one rip, this one so loud that it made her ears ring. “Yeah, hi Doug. Why don't you grow the fuck up and find something better to do with your time?” “Honey, what's going on?”
Heather froze at the sound of this familiar female voice. “Just one of my idiot friends. Now, where were we, babe...” With a click, the line went dead.
It took Heather maybe half a minute to process what she had just heard. When she finally did, her puffed cheeks could barely muffle her scream of rage. MELANIE?! The head cheerleader for her senior year?! She was going to give Brad her maidenhead, and he was cheating on her with that bubble-brained little minx?!
As if taunting her in her misfortune, the strange warm sensation chose this moment to again bloom within her, bringing buoyancy back to her body. Heather soon found herself floating upward to the full length of the handset's cord. Briefly panicked, she kicked wildly with her lower legs, and a flailing foot grazed against the ceiling fan. Just as quickly, she regained her composure. Screw this, she was calling 911. She'd have to present herself in front of a bunch of strangers alone, but hey, what was one more humiliation after what she'd been through today? Of course, Heather was effectively mute right now, but the 911 operator would just trace the call and send an ambulance. But first, she had to get back down to the phone and press the cradle button to get another dial tone.
As she was pulling herself down the cord, a light breeze materialized behind her, which quickly built up into a forceful gust. Cradling Heather gently in its airy grip, it wafted her down to the table; from there, it veered off horizontally, carrying her helpless body with it. Only her hold on the phone's handset kept her from drifting away. Gripping it with both hands, Heather craned her gaze upward, and saw that she had bumped into the ceiling fan's switch, and it was rapidly spinning up to maximum speed. Climbing hand-over-hand against the increasingly stiff wind, Heather managed to make it to the cradle and press the button. Immediately she fell back to the end of the line, nearly jerking the phone off the table, but her grip on the handset held, and she heard the reassuring dial tone. Holding on for dear life, she began to dial: *9* -- *1* --
With a *snap*, the cord ripped free of the handset. Heather had just enough time to press *1* on the useless piece of plastic before her butt slammed into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and the vital piece of ballast clattered to the floor. Before she could come to her senses, Heather floated up to the ceiling. There, the fan-induced convection current formed a vortex of air leading inevitably to the center. Heather scrunched her eyes shut as she slid on her back towards the whirling blades...
*THOP!* The sound was somewhat akin to two over-pressurized basketballs colliding. The impact with her swollen cheek didn't hurt as much as Heather had expected, but it still stung something fierce. The force of the blow set her flying, and her body caromed wildly around the room, rebounding chaotically off of walls and furniture. When she finally came to rest, Heather was too dizzy to grab on to anything, and so she helplessly buoyed back up, facing the ceiling this time. As the swirling breeze dragged her back into the fan, Heather craned her neck, trying to protect her head from the blades. Her ballooned bosom wasn't so lucky, though, and with another *THOP!* she was again sent bouncing out of control. This time, Heather found herself looking down at the floor of the hall to her bedroom. When the ceiling met her back, she pawed frantically at the walls, but there was nothing to grab on to this high up, and she found herself sucked inexorably back into the living room. A *THOP!*, a sting on her springy backside, and her head collided with the wall in a crunch of plaster. Another *THOP!*, and she was launched ass-first into her new flat-screen TV.
Heather lost track of how many minutes, hours... days... this went on. She felt like a cross between a pinata, a pinball, and an ice cube in a blender. Everything she owned of value had been smashed to bits, and she'd never get her security deposit back with all the holes she had knocked in the walls. Most of her body was covered in painful red welts, and she didn't think the world would ever stop spinning. And, barring a power outage or her electricity being shut off for nonpayment, she had no idea how to make it stop. When Heather found herself drifting face-first into that demonic ceiling fan for the umpteenth time, something snapped inside her, and she reached for the blades. She didn't think of the risk of losing fingers; she didn't think of anything except escaping from her personal hell.
There was a jolt, and Heather found herself clinging tenuously to a fan blade by one hand. With a supreme effort, she thrust forward with her other arm and grabbed hold, reinforcing her grip just before it would have slipped away. Heather hoped to reach the switch at the center of the fan and shut it off, but this plan proved to be a non-starter; it took all her strength just to keep fighting centrifugal force as she spun round and round.
Although Heather's weight had been a negative number for some time, her mass was just as high as ever, throwing the fan severely off balance. With every revolution, its ceiling mounts grew more and more stressed and warped. Finally, they gave way entirely, and the rickety device crashed to the floor.
What happened next was too fast for Heather to process. She wasn't aware of the fan's hub blowing apart, or of crashing feet-first through a back window, or shooting through the air at 50 miles per hour, spinning all the way. Her mind didn't catch up to current events until she was skidding to a stop on the sand. Heather finally found herself on the beach, still clinging to the severed fan blade, which at this point was the only thing anchoring her to Earth.
Heather realized with terror that out here there was no ceiling to catch her buoyant body. As her panic rose, that unnatural warmth came creeping back to torment her. Starting in her cheeks, it coursed down through her bulbous breasts, filled her broad hips and ass, and tricked down into her thick thighs. First the near end of the blade lifted off the ground; then, the far end wobbled in the sand before it, too, broke contact. Heather was one inch up, then two, now a foot...
With her attention fixed so firmly on the ground, Heather didn't notice until now that a couple of lifeguards were lounging in beach chairs not 20 feet in front of her. She tried to scream for help, but her cheeks had puffed up so firmly that she couldn't even make those pathetic raspberry noises anymore. In desperation, she tucked the fan blade under her chin, grabbed the undersides of her knees, and pulled as hard as she could. Heather felt like her guts would burst, but still she persevered, and was finally rewarded with the longest, loudest noise she had ever heard.
In her inverted field of view, Heather saw the lifeguards startle at the noise, look from side to side, then at each other. After a few seconds, they both broke into uproarious guffaws.
The release of gas had sent her head thudding down into the sand, but her buoyancy quickly reasserted itself, and Heather was soon ascending again. Frantically, she tried for a repeat performance, but found that her tank was empty. With no other options, she threw the fan blade as hard as she could – it thudded noiselessly into the sand just behind the lifeguards. And having cast aside her last ballast, Heather rose helplessly into the sky, flailing about for a handhold that would never come, as a gentle wind sent her sailing out over the open sea.