Male Only: How Would I Inflate You, the Re-Pumping.

 The screen flashed, and indicated an incoming message. Bubblez101, his online handle, had been a subject of much debate since his promise to deliver a "real, authentic inflation video", without any sort of tricks or padding techniques to deceive the audience. Every day he received messages, urging him to hurry up and release his video, or proclaim himself a fraud. Inflation communities could be quite vicious during the wait for new content.

 Ignoring any further commentary, Bubbles shut down his usual trinity of instant messengers and chat platforms to prepare for the video. The camera was set up, waiting to be told to record the events; the stage was set, all furniture set off to the sides; and his clothes were pre-stretched, hanging loose over his narrow frame. He wanted to make a show of things, and he intended to do that by growing larger and larger until the cream-beige pants and t-shirt stretched tight like the canvas of a blimp.

 "You're going to make me very popular", Bubbles proclaimed to the chilly bottle of clear blue liquid in his hand, fizzing away incessantly, as if the liquid itself was growing impatient like his viewers, and wanted to burst out of the plastic container.

 The camera began recording, and he set up a stream for the event, why not do it live he thought? Give them no qualms to the authenticity of his little spectacle...

 Glug... glug... glug... the liquid poured down his throat began to react with a startling eruption of hissing noises, that started off akin to a far-off whistle not unlike a boiling kettle, and built up to an all consuming din of discordant roar of various pitches.

 Bubbles felt tingly. His skin, from the ends of his fingers to the tips of his toes, felt tight. Pleasantly tight, secure almost. His cheeks grew round and fat from pressure trying to escape his mouth, while that feeling of all-consuming security grew more intense with the litteral expansion of his body!

 The freckled young man teetered on his comically plumpened feet. Within seconds he had grown with explosive rapidity, and become cartoonishly swollen, and unable to tilt his head. Each attempt to lower his field of vision to get a look at his computer screen, and witness the stunned commentary of his viewers, was met with the cartoonish rebounding of his chin against his bouncy air filled body.

 HISS, FIZZ, GURGLE...

 The sound drowned out everything. He couldn't hear the cars outside his window, or the bleeping of his computer. Bubbles fought to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to part with the wonderful gas that filled his once-slim body to the brink with pressure! He was a balloon now. Well and truly, no one could dispute it! Beige and cream fabric began to tear, his skin was bright and shiny like gossamer, he estimated he had to be at least eight feet around... but the exact measurement didn't matter. He FELT huge; and his viewers were surely gasping for breath by now!

 Something he had no problem with. He finally opened his mouth, deciding enough was enough, but stood in a confused daze when he found he couldn't eject the pressure... He tried to belch, burp, blast the gas out orally; but nothing happened. He tried to bend his thick hands and press his sausage balloon fingers into his belly, but nothing happened. Nothing happened! He was still growing!

 In a panic. He tried to waddle to the camera to call for help from his viewers, but he tripped and fell! His tight round body, SMASHING the camera! The final images recorded were that of a balloon, in the vague shape of a boy, stretched tight and aching to release the pressure with an almighty kaboom! ... but the screen went black before whatever fate fell to the young inflator could be captured and immortalised, what a pity.

(Sorry, I hope this is to your liking! Left the end ambiguous, since you weren't too keen on popping; but enjoyed the imagery of the point up to that!)

 "Welcome, large ladies and globular gentlemen! To our ninth annual big-bang fundraising extravaganza!", a fat semi-inflated man with a ridiculous golden pompadour exclaimed to the audience, dressed in a gaudy blue suit made of elasticated fibers that send out massive groans of strained clothes through his microphone, and into the audience. The noise was synonymous with the venues favourite pass-time, and so it generated a great din of cheering from a host of similarly pumped-up patrons.

 "Now. We all remember last year, and what a bang we got out of our volunteer! This year we have PUMP! Give it up for Pump, ladies and gentlemen", the announcer paused and then placed the microphone directly in the face of a bright-faced man, who contrasted the crowd by being the only one not yet inflated, at a modest 5ft 9in, with no fat or girth what-so-ever.

 The crowd gave an unsure half-hearted applause.

 "Oh come now folks. This boy's a champ. And he's about to bust a gut because he's just so damned eager to make this the most memorable big-bang night we've had yet! Aint that right, Pump?"

 "Uh-huh, sure is!"

 "Well aint he just swell, boys and girls? Let's cut the chatter and get it underway!"

 Pump was spritely, but his cheer was infectious. His body was clad in bright silver latex, and a bright pink explosion was painted over the gut with the clubs logo. It was designed to be as recognisable as possible when the wearer of the outfit was ready to "max out", and Pump promised himself he wouldn't pop until EVERYONE got a good hard look at that logo.

 Three large women kindly got up on stage, and connected a number of hoses to gaps in the suit. One went into his navel, and he winced at the cold metal jammed into his warm belly; one then went into his mouth, and he blushed at the attractive bombshell-belly blonde placing the object so delicately between his lips; and the final one went into his petite ass, and he made an unholy noise at the sudden penetration. All set up, and bursting with excitement. He wondered if the hoses would survive to be used again once he exploded.

 "Let's pump up our Pump, folks!"

 Each of the green rubber hoses stiffened with pressure, and he felt himself begin to fill from all free directions. His cheeks blew out like grape-fruits, his belly swole like an XL exercise ball, and his hips, thighs, and buttocks rubbed and pushed against themselves as they fattened with an excess of hydrogen.

 Pump almost rolled back his eyes in bliss. Each of the three assistants massaged, and rubbed his body, adding some voyeuristic appeal to the act. The sensual acts were done under a pretense that massaging the body helped elasticate the skin, but that was a lie. Fact or placebo, either way, Pump felt himself driven to expand even bigger with the attention received.

 I want to fill the stage... His inner voice wished, and his body responded. His chin almost vanished and he found himself with a tiny, fat-cheeked face, atop the latex clad rubber that used to be his body. He was forcing his assistants down, off of the stage, and squashing the announcer against his podium with one side of his globular balloon-belly.

 I want to swell into the audience... He monologued internally, and his creaking body began mooshing into the host of swollen patrons. Their hands, reaching up, poking and grabbing, and rubbing and kneading, their attention raising Pump's body temperature and stimulating the hydrogen inside.

 I wan-- No, I'm going to get so big... His arms and legs stiffened like the hoses being used to pump so much noble gas into his body, and became unable to bend. His hands and feet nothing more than puffy decoration. They sunk into his spherical torso, slowly, and he began resembling a great comical, cartoonish, and over-full balloon; not a human; just a big fat balloon!

 So big that I make everyone jealous... No one in the venue was safe from him by this point, and he felt his body push against the walls, trying to contest the concrete.

 So big that everyone can see me... His body creaked, groaned, squealed in protest. Hydrogen whistled out of the corners of his mouth, and his navel. It shot out of his ears, and his nostrils, in an attempt to vent the pressure...

 SO BIG THAT I GO OUT IN A BIG, THUNDERING, MASSIVE, AMAZING, STUPENDOUS... the hose fell out of his mouth, and he exclaimed with so much pride that he would go... "KABOOOOOOOOOOM!"

BA-BA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!

"Y'hear about Bob?"

 "No, what about Bob?"

 "Bob went boom."

 "Eh?"

 "It's this new virus. Only targets men. I hear it turns you blue, and you start swelling up, like that uh... that kids film, y'know?"

 "Oh that's just a rumour".

 "Yeah, a big fat rumour, look if I start blowing up like a blueberry you'll be the first to know. We work in the same office. Hey, maybe you can roll me to the juicing room?"

 Ferox didn't take the rumours seriously. He thought they were just the product of an over-active imagination, mixed with the dull lack of any stimulation involved with a lackluster line of work. Filing papers, filling spreadsheets, it wasn't very exciting.

 "Hey, Ferox, you get new lighting or something?"

 "No, why?"

 "Yer face just looks awfully..."

 Ferox was in the middle of writing a very tedious email, when his lightning pace with the keyboard slowed to a dumbfounded tapping of the B key. His fingers had turned blue, and were slowly growing thicker. The dark indigo was moving up, along his arm, and he could see his torso changing colour beneath the thin white fabric of his dress shirt.

 In an immediate panic he stood up, only to let out an involuntary belch, with an aftertaste of blueberry.

 Looking back down at his desk. He tried to pull up a search engine, but his hands were too stubby and balloon-like to do anything. In the reflection of the screen he saw his hair and moustache both turn dark blue, and that was the last he saw of his own face... his gut suddenly surged, gurgled, and bounced out in front of him. The computer screen crackled, and he quickly stepped into the middle of the his office to avoid the sharp edges of his desk.

 "Wh-what do I do?"

 "There's no hope for you man. You're gonna pop!"

 His co-worker quickly called for some help, and Ferox nearly died at the mortification of his entire office floor seeing him quickly lose his balance and begin to roll around like a ripe blueberry dropped to the floor.

 "Help me! I'm getting too fu-full... urp... I'm not gonna last!"

 "Roll him out, quick! If he splashes on us we might blow up like him!"

 "Wait, wait, no!"

 Everyone in the office began pushing, and prodding, and rolling him towards the door which he knew he would never fit through. Ripping sounds and bust seams followed, and with every rotation of his body, he felt his jeans and shirt tearaway into juice-stained scraps.

 "Puuuuush!", the workers cried.

 Ferox' upper half squeezed through the door with difficulty, but his middle, which contained most of the juice. Just didn't fit! They pushed, and pushed, and Ferox felt himself reaching critical mass. He saw other workers, gawking through their transparent glass walls at him, and he wondered if he would soon be covering the panes with juice.

 "Puuuuush!"

 They weren't going to help? They were just going to shove him out into the hall, and hope none of the juice landed on him?

 He wasn't sure when, but something inside of him snapped. He darkened, and reasoned: If they won't do a thing to help me, then they can all just go pop like me!

 And he began to breathe in.

 Deep breaths, one after the other, adding miniscule but crucial pressure to his taxed round body. His blueberry flesh, shiny like fruitskin, began to creak and groan.

 "H-hurry, he's going to explode!"

 "Damn right I am!", Ferox commanded. And with one last breath, he shut his mouth, and pushed inwards.

 CREEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKK

 "He's gonna bloooooow!"

 KA-SPLASH!

 All that remained of the office worker was a puddle of juice, and a pair of thick hipster glasses. The remaining workers looked at themselves in horror, and one by one turned blue.