Outie

Out of all the new store employees, Kay was easily your favorite.  She hadn't been working there long, but she definitely made an impression: She was always on time, never missed a day, was unfailingly courteous to customers, and seemingly had the contents of the entire store memorized in a matter of days.  It didn't hurt that she was cute, either.  Probably the only downside was that she was a bit strange, like her train of thought reached all the major stops, but by taking routes only known to her.  Still, she was cute.

The day was coming to a close, and the manager had asked asked you and Kay to neaten up the back room.  Your respective paths crossed a few times, ending with you and her on opposite sides of a storage shelf.  Pulling product from a box, you placed it on the highest shelf, stretching up to reach it and causing your t-shirt to ride up on you.  As you lowered your arm you noticed Kay staring at your midsection.  She pointed. "You've got an outie."

"Yes," you reply, fixing your shirt. "I've had it since I was a baby."

"You know what they say about outie belly buttons, right?"

"Isn't it part of the umbilical cord that didn't get-"

She cuts you off. "No, not that.  They're actually tied-off balloons."

You're struck mute for a second before laughing nervously.  This was one of her stranger moments, to be sure. "No they're not, it's just scar tissue."

"No, really!" Kay circles around the shelf. "Lemme show you."

As she approaches you with an outstretched arm you back away, holding up your hands defensively.  She makes a move for the hem of your shirt, and you push her hand away; undeterred, she reaches for it again with both hands, fending off your swings and slaps with surprising dexterity. "Kay!" you exclaim.  "Knock it off!"

In one smooth motion she yanks up your shirt with one hand, and jabs towards your stomach with the other.  You feel her thumb and finger sink deep - too deep - into your navel.  There is a pinch and a tug, and Kay pulls away with a triumphant expression. "See?  Tied-off balloon."

You take a moment to calm down after Kay's... attack?  It was too calm for an attack, more like a tiff, or someone simply getting too personal with someone else. "Kay, you can't just start pulling off people's clothes and poking them, even if it is a joke."

"It's not a joke.  See for yourself."

"Kay," you sigh, "nothing happened.  You just-" You pull up your shirt, revealing the rubbery, knotted neck of a balloon where your navel would be, and your jaw drops.  Your head snaps up to Kay, who merely points down at it as she gives you a knowing look. "...what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," she replies. "You were like that the whole time."

"This is..." Your mind reels, trying to comprehend the impossible.

"It's weird that you didn't know about this," Kay says, her voice strangely serious. "Especially since it actually works.  Let me show you."

Resting one hand on your shoulder, she gently pushes you back up against the wall.  Part of you wants to resist and continue protesting, but you're too dumbfounded by what's happening to do anything but look between Kay and the new addition to your stomach that you apparently always had.  As she lowers herself to one knee in front of you, you snap back to reality, blushing as you gape at her.

Kay gives you a look. "Boy, you've got a dirty mind.  All I want..." She pushes up your shirt, takes the knot of your navel and pulls at it with her fingers, and you feel your skin move far more than you thought it could. "...is to do..." With a tug the knot slips free, and she holds it pinched shut. "...this." Bringing her lips to it, she blows.

You gasp, going weak in the knees.  It's like suddenly eating a big meal but still having room for more, and sounds like nothing less than someone inflating a large balloon.  Your skin stretches - there's no other word for it - as your belly grows to fullness, the largest you've ever seen it, and then beyond it.  Despite the size it feels light, but you can't quite grasp how it's possible.

She pulls away and flicks your stomach with a finger, creating a quiet, hollow "bwong." "Balloon," she says matter-of-factly.  A second later she adds, "this is the first time I've had a chance to do this to someone, though."

"Let me go," you say without thinking.  A second later realization sets in, and your mind is filled with worst-case scenarios.

Judging from her look she knows better than you what could happen, and she gives you a playful smile, but there's something sinister behind it. "Let you go?"

"Or else." The threat feels hollow.  It's not the only thing that feels that way.

She puts a finger to her chin, making a big show of thinking it over. "I suppose I could tie you off," she says. "But what fun is a half-filled balloon?"  With that Kay leans in and blows into you again, and your shirt rides up on you as you swell.  It's a simple act but it drains the strength from you, leaving you powerless to resist.  A third breath follows, then a fourth, Kay steadily puffing away with no signs of tiring.

The growth of your gut continues, but bit by bit the air travels elsewhere.  Your chest grows large and puffy, filling out your shirt.  Your jeans tighten, first around your hips, then in the back, then down the legs, constricting your body as it inflates.  You can feel the fabric creaking as it stretches to contain you just before your shoes grow tight.  As you press your hands against the wall, breath hitching in your throat with every puff she pushes into you, your sleeves become more snug around your biceps, not muscular but merely large.  You flex your fingers as they stiffen and thicken from something light inside of them, fattening up like sausages.

By now Kay is partially eclipsed from view by your own belly, closer in size to an exercise ball than any part of human anatomy.  She stops breathing into you, holding your nozzle shut with one hand as she reaches over to a nearby shelf, picks up a paper clip and slides it into place on your navel.  She stands and backpedals for a better look at you as she catches her breath, ignoring your confusion and shock. "That was easier than I thought it would be," she says.

You step away from the wall, and the best you can manage is an awkward waddle as your gut sways and bobs.  Every part of you is larger, but without any additional weight, and your clothes are almost painfully constrictive on you.  You don't feel fat, and nobody could mistake you for it, but you do feel swollen with something inside of you but not of you.  You reach around the curve of your stomach for your nozzle - only now will you admit to yourself it's a part of you - and feel your chubby fingers brush against it, barely out of your reach.  Looking up at Kay you say, "deflate me.  Please."

She gives you a look of mock confusion. "Deflate you?  But you're not a balloon, are you?  You're a person." Looking down at her watch, she adds, "a person who needs to clock out and go home."

"Kay," you protest, still reaching around your stomach, "I can't go out like this!  People will stare!"

She shrugs helplessly. "But people can't be deflated.  Unless I'm missing something."

You move your mouth to speak, but no words come out.  You let your arms drop, and can feel your cheeks starting to burn; she knows exactly what she's doing and what she wants to hear from you.  Taking a deep breath and feeling your shirt grow even tighter for a bit, you swallow your pride before saying, in a low voice, "Kay, I'm... I'm a balloon.  A big, full balloon.  Please deflate me."

"Now was that so hard?" With a flourish she removes the paper clip, and there's the sudden sound of rushing air and a deflating balloon.  You're filled with a sense of unconscious relief as the pressure inside your body finds release.  Your clothing grows looser all at once as you gradually return to normal, your swollen midsection shrinking back down in the process.  You move your hand to pinch your navel off when suddenly Kay is on you in a flash, grabbing you by the wrists and pushing you up against the wall. "But what fun is a half-filled balloon?"

You struggle, but feel yourself growing weaker as air still streams out of you.  Your body begins to go limp as your clothing becomes more loose, your shirt draped across your body, your jeans slipping down your hips, and your feet shrinking in your shoes.  Kay's hands press up against the wall as your wrists go flat, and you're overcome by a sense of weariness as your head slumps forward bonelessly and too far, your nose touching your chest.  You try to move, but can barely manage a twitch of your fingers.

The sound of flowing air tapers off and Kay turns away from the wall, holding you up by your wrists with casual ease.  She lowers you to the ground, rocking you back and forth as she folds you up on yourself.  Toes touching your shins, shoulders touching your back; you're reduced to a neat pile, disoriented by the unnatural contacts between your body parts.  She scoops you up, carrying you draped over one arm through the back room into the break room, where she opens her locker, takes out her bag, and unzips it.

Kay bends her arm over the open bag and you slide off, crumpling up and coming to rest inside of it atop a stack of books and a water battle.  She looks down at you. "Don't worry, I'll tell the boss that you left on time, but were feeling a little sick so you might not be in tomorrow.  I've got it off, you know." She beams. "We're going to have -so- much fun."

She zips the bag shut, and everything goes black.