Recovery

Sarah was lucky to have such good friends.

During her stay in the hospital, her neighbor Frank had collected her mail for her. Her friend Kate drove halfway across town every day to feed Plum, her cat. Everything in her apartment was much as she remembered it. Some of the food in her fridge had gone bad. She'd have to take care of that.

She gently lowered herself onto her bed, still looking quite haggard from her ordeal. Her muscles still ached from being stretched into the same position for two weeks straight. She picked up her remote and turned on the TV. Whatever it was she was watching, she could barely focus on it. Without really thinking about it, she was patting herself lightly on the crotch. It was a lazy sort of rubbing, but satisfying nonetheless. Being bedridden for days on end had driven her close to mad.

Sarah turned the volume down on the TV, recalling her accident. All it had taken was a slip on the party shop's wet floor, a crash into a collection of compressed helium cylinders, a punctured thigh muscle, and a loose valve. The perfect storm of bullshit and coincidence and plain bad luck.

Sarah unbuckled her belt.

Before she realized what had happened, gas had already started to empty out into her, hissing through every inch of her already-plump body. The nozzle of the tank had plugged her wound -- she had started to bleed a little, but no more so than she would have from a bad papercut. Her pudgy stomach started to firm up and round out, straining and snapping her belt.

Sarah undid her button, and drew her zipper down.

Her button popped off, her zipper forced open by her inflating body. She lay spread-eagled on the floor, wiggling helplessly as her arms and legs shredded her shirt and her jeans. Her shirt stretched and ripped apart as her breasts heaved forward and upward, snapping the straps off her bra.

Sarah lifted her shirt, unfastened her bra, grabbed herself and lightly pinched her nipples. Her hand slipped through the waistband of her sky-blue panties.

Her belly, her puffed-up crotch, her thighs and her ass, all pushed her panties to their limits. Bigger... rounder... lighter. Her body, tethered only by the nozzle plugged into her wound, started to float. Naked, humiliated, terrified, Sarah inflated into a bloated, immobile parody of the female form. The tank mercilessly hissed into her, rendering her a helpless sphere. The hands of complete strangers tugged and pulled at her, trying to lift her up. At last she popped free, the puffed-up muscle around her wound closing up, sealing her tight.

The balloon girl began to float lazily towards the ceiling. No one would touch her, for fear of bursting her.

She slid her jeans off. Sarah was now lying half-naked in her bed, her bare ass sinking into her fresh bedsheets. Like making love on a cloud.

The EMTs arrived, taking a ladder from the storeroom to reach the 12-foot blimp of a woman bobbing softy against the rafters. After assessing her skin's durability, they bandaged her wound and called for a larger vehicle. For the sake of her remaining dignity, they draped a tarp over her, fastened it with duct tape, and tied ropes securely around her wrists and ankles, teams of two holding onto each one as they rolled her back into the loading bay and squeezed her into the back of a large truck.

Sarah started to play with her clit, gasping softly.

They found long straps and secured her to her hospital bed. The nurses swore to their oaths of confidentiality that they'd tell no one of this. Sarah's friends held her hand, hugged her, told her it would be okay. The doctor promised to get to work right away.

It was two days until Courtney came to the hospital for her nursing shift. Sarah was grateful to be in the care of her best friend. The prognosis was good -- unbandaging her wound and using an IV on the healed skin would allow the helium to slowly drain from her body. Until then, Sarah would have to stay, and Courtney would be right by her side.

Every day, she would brush Sarah's teeth, close the blinds and bathe her with a sponge, loosening the bed-straps to get to her underside and to change the sheets, letting her patient hover in the air. After a few times of this, Sarah asked to be let go completely. Courtney obliged her, letting her friend float up to the ceiling. Bouncing against it made her giggle in a helium-tinted squeak that Courtney began to find irresistably cute. She would make jokes about Sarah's condition -- good-natured teasing about her size, how bizarre it was to behold an inflatable woman. Nicknames were in no short supply, everything from "blow-up doll" to "windbag" to "bubble-butt".

Sarah gently slid a finger inside herself, thrusting in and out and unashamedly moaning.

It was a quiet night when Courtney locked herself and her patient inside the room, drew the blinds, and slid her tongue into Sarah's mouth. She began to whimper in confusion and shock, pleading silently with Courtney as she groped her patient's massive, weightless tits. She whispered a few desperate squeaks of bewilderment. Courtney replied only with more affection, closing her lust-filled eyes before every kiss.

Sarah arched her back, turned on her side, twisted up her bedsheets all around her as she treated herself.

With no protest from her patient, Courtney began to lick hungrily at the blimp-woman's over-stretched vagina. It felt funny, the kind of embarrassing tingling she got when she was first discovering her sexuality. Like having her first crush all over again. She squeaked and gasped as her attendant nurse softly tongued her pussy.

Then she awoke.

She desperately wanted to be deflated. She had to get out. All the touching, all the bathing and teasing and examining and poking and prodding was getting to be too much.

She wanted nothing more than to throw Courtney onto her bed, rip her clothes off, and ravish her until the sun came up.

She rubbed.

She panted.

She gasped.

She climaxed.

Sarah lay dazed, exhausted, sore all over, but satisfied. She smiled as she wiped her hand on her bedsheets, lying back and sighing. She patted her tummy, whispering "balloon-girl" to herself, deciding she liked the sound of it. "Balloon-girl," she sighed, sinking back into her pillow.

Still half-undressed, she muted her TV, picked up her cell from the nightstand, and gave Courtney a call.