And then, at the table, it happened. A soft hissing, and she jerked back in her seat. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"It's...something...I feel strange." I thought I saw a ripple under her dress. She adjusted her bra and was satisfied with it; I could still hear the hiss. Then I saw it -- a slight swelling by her right arm, for sure, near the bustline. I could tell she felt it, whatever it was -- it wasn't my imagination. I could see a visible change -- her chest was bigger than before. And it was growing. Slowly, but definitely, her breasts were expanding before my eyes. "Help me," she said, trying in vain to cover what was happening. A few people at the other table noticed what was going on; they must have heard the hissing.
"It's the implants," she said, horrified. "Something's wrong!" Hissing! It was air, it had to be -- from the breast augmentation she had. They told us the inflatable implants were safe, but as I sat watching, her chest was swelling up like a balloon. I didn't have time to postulate why.
Larger and larger she grew, still slowly, straining her blouse. A crowd began to murmur about the woman and the hissing sound. She was panicking now, in awe of her own body. Her breasts continued to inflate, steadily ballooning bigger and bigger. Pow! A button burst forth from her dress. Someone shouted for a doctor...another yelled "She's blowing up like a balloon!" She screamed when she heard this, and her dress exploded another button. The hissing was louder now, her chest expanding still larger. She had swollen from a C to a double-D in just a few minutes! I tried to rip part of her dress, but she wouldn't let me get near. Incredible cleavage was in plain view by now, her distended breasts pushing into each other and inflating further.
Pow! A button sailed across the room. I heard the stitches from her dress slowly pop and rip, one by one, as her chest ballooned. She had reached beyond an F by now, and was almost in hysterics. She wriggled free of her torn dress and watched in horror as her breasts expanded, pumped with air, with no way to stop them. "She'll pop!" "She's getting bigger!" "She'll burst!" cried the crowd. Her sports bra held on as long as it could, before it too tore from the pressure, stitch by stitch. She tried to hide her swollen, distended breasts to no avail. She gripped her chair, as if looking for an anchor...and sure enough, she needed one. She began to float!
"Oh God, no!" she screamed, as the hissing grew louder. I grabbed her and held her down, pushing myself onto her over-inflated chest. "The pressure...relieve the pressure," she moaned, barely conscious. "How?" I cried, amazed at the sight of her enormous balloons. "Do it!" she gasped, as if the overabundance of air was causing her to suffocate. I put my lips to her nipples, and tried to suck the air out. It was no use. Her chest had expanded to unimaginable proportions by that time...she was too big. She was blowing up too fast, and her swollen breasts weren't showing any signs of stopping. The only thing that kept her conscious was the manic scream of the crowd.
How much further could she stretch before the inevitable? How big could she get?
When would she explode?
When would she pop?