Leslie awoke, but didn’t open her eyes at first. She no longer felt Roger’s weight on her. She was lying flat on her back now, to whatever extent she still had a back. Best as she’d been able to tell, her body had been one giant curve before she went to sleep.
She wiggled her fingers, breaking into a grin as she realized she could move her hands freely once again. Her feet were similarly mobile. Moving her arms and legs proved somewhat less fruitful. She could wiggle them some, causing her to wobble in place and displacing the air inside her, but bending simply wasn’t happening. Leslie was still somewhat heartened. At least now she could distinctly feel that she had limbs.
Taking a deep breath through lips that she could feel were still significantly plumper than normal, she steeled herself in preparation for viewing her current condition.
Leslie opened her eyes.
“Holy shit, my tits are huge!” she cried out, then laughed at the absurdity of her response. She was used to her breasts growing larger when she inhaled, but she’d never had the opportunity to appreciate her pneumatically enhanced mammaries. Previously she’d never stayed inflated very long, and last night she’d gotten so huge that they were stretched to near nonexistence across the vast surface of her body.
But she’d shrunk down considerably while she’d slept. Now her breasts stood out from her body as two towering, swollen domes blocking most of her view. She couldn’t even see the rest of her torso.
“I’ve — I’ve deflated.” Not completely, that was obvious. Looking to the left and right, marvelling at her reclaimed ability to turn her head, she could see her hugely distended arms tapering to hands that had returned to their normal size. Leslie was still massive by any reasonable estimation, even though she was a mere fraction of her former size. She looked more like an overinflated doll, whereas before she’d been a weather balloon with feet. She smiled, laughing with relief.
“You’re awake,” Roger said as he approached. “And in good spirits by the sound of it.”
“I’m not a blimp anymore,” Leslie said. “I was worried I might be stuck like that.”
He leaned over her and kissed her, gently stroking her tousled red locks. “Good morning.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is.”
“You started getting smaller around midnight while you were asleep,” he said, looking her over. “Somehow the air was leaking out.”
“Enjoying the view?” she asked cocking an eyebrow. Roger quickly turned his gaze from her enormous bosom and back to her face.
“By the sound of things, so were you.”
“Don’t change the subject,” she chided.
“They are rather — enticing,” he said. “And large.” He reached out to gently press a hand to her colossal bosom and could clearly hear Leslie’s sharp intake of breath in response.
It was a fascinating sight. “Large” was an incredible understatement. His hand looked so small against the vast, pale surface of her breast. And although her dark pink areola was vastly diminished in size from last night, it was still far too large for him to cover it. And despite being swollen to several times its normal size, her nipple still looked absurdly small by comparison.
Her flesh was soft and yielded easily to his touch. Her pale skin was smooth and showed no distress from having been so impossibly overstretched. There were sharp transitions to a darker shade where her swimsuit hadn’t shielded her from the sun the previous day. At her current size, the rhythmic rise and fall of Leslie’s chest was barely discernible, but had noticeably quickened at Roger’s touch.
Roger turned his attention to Leslie’s face once again. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, her freckled cheeks blushing.
“That feels a lot better than I was expecting,” she breathed.
“Do you want to?” Roger asked. “It would be a bit cumbersome, but you’re small enough now that we could probably manage it.” It felt strange to describe Leslie as “small” in her current state, but recent events had greatly altered Roger’s sense of scale.
Leslie bit her lip nervously. “I do, but I don’t?” she said. “I mean, I bet it would be amazing, but this is all pretty new to me. It’s definitely something I’d want to explore. But right now I really feel like a balloon, and I’m a little apprehensive about how a balloon might respond to a vigorous poking.”
“As you wish,” Roger said with a chuckle. “Coffee?”
“Coffee sounds wonderful.”
While the coffee was brewing, Roger made several attempts at standing her up. It was to no avail. With her decreased mobility Leslie was unable to maintain her balance. Even a small shift in weight resulted in a slow-motion fall and gentle bouncing.
“At least I have built-in airbags,” Leslie joked. They decided that the best course of action was to lean her against the sofa so she could be comfortable and mostly upright.
She could hear the clink of ceramic and silverware as Roger prepared the coffee, but with her back to the kitchen she couldn’t see him. It was frustrating. Will he remember? Cream, no sugar? This was the sort of thing she’d normally handle herself, but now couldn’t.
After taking a sip to make sure it had sufficiently cooled, Roger brought the mug to her lips. She smiled.
“Good?” Roger asked.
“You remembered.”
“Of course. Now, what would you like for breakfast?”
While Roger was cleaning up after breakfast, he heard Leslie grunting in the living room. He went to investigate and found Leslie flexing her arms. She’d strain to lift them as much as possible, then let them fall back to their resting position, sticking out nearly straight from her body. She’d repeat the process, bending them forward, then down, then up again.
“Under the circumstances, I think it’s okay for you to skip a day of aerobics,” Roger said.
“I’m trying to force the air out faster,” Leslie responded.
“Do you want me to help?” Roger offered. “I could — squeeze you?”
“Squeeze me? What, you’re not going to roll me to the juicing room first?” she teased.
“There’s no juice in there, that’s air,” he countered. “Besides, my juicing room’s out of commission. The living room will have to do.”
“That’s alright,” Leslie said with a laugh. “Honestly, I have no idea if this is speeding things up. But I’d rather do something besides sit here and wait.”
“Whatever makes you feel better.” He kissed her cheek. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“Could you put something on the television? I could use the distraction.”
“Certainly.”
As much as she would have liked her thoughts to reflect the cheesy levity playing out in the sitcoms she was watching, Leslie couldn’t keep her mind from wandering into unpleasant places.
She knew that Roger had only meant it as a lighthearted quip and it was completely irrational for her to read anything more into it, but his comment about the juicing room had left her unsettled. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was one of her favorite movies. She’d long felt a deep kinship with Violet Beauregarde, and her recent experiences had strengthened that connection.
In the movie, Wonka stated that Violet had to be juiced immediately lest she explode. Had the juicing room not been available, that scene would have had a much darker tone to it.
What if Violet hadn’t been juiced in time? What if Roger hadn’t let go in time?
Leslie pushed the thoughts away and concentrated her attention on her arms. She could already feel her range of motion increasing as the air slowly left her.
After several episodes, Leslie wanted to test her progress.
“Roger, could you help me up?”
He lifted her from the couch and stood her upright.
“Okay, gonna let you go now.” Roger took a step back. Leslie swayed a bit, but managed to adjust and remain vertical.
“I can stand!” she cried out overjoyed. Her spirits lifting, Leslie’s ambitious drive was returning. She shifted her weight to left, lifting her right foot. Carefully, she swung it forward. And set it down. She then shifted right and brought her left foot forward.
“Oh my God, I can walk!”
“Where do you want to go first?” Roger asked.
“The bedroom,” Leslie replied.
“Changed your mind about some pneumatic naughtiness?” Leslie was already lumbering away from him, so he couldn’t see the look of consternation on her face.
“No. I’m exhausted from that workout. Now that I can, I want to sleep in an actual bed.”
As it turned out, regaining the ability to walk wasn’t the only hurdle she had to clear to get to the bed. She was too big around to make it through the doorway on her own. Roger had to pull her through the doorway sideways. She just barely squeezed through, and nearly smothered herself with her own bosom in the process. He helped her onto the bed and laid a sheet on top of her. It couldn’t completely cover her, but she didn’t even notice. By the time the sheet was in place, she was already snoring.
Leslie awoke to a number of pleasant surprises. Most of the air had left her. Her limbs were still quite puffy, but she could easily bend her knees and elbows now. And to top it off, most of the air that remained had settled in places where she was naturally curvy. Even though she still had a prominent paunch, her hugely swollen breasts and backside gave her the most exaggerated hourglass figure she’d ever seen.
It’s a bit much, but I guess getting blown up isn’t all bad. Admiring her new shape in the mirror, she gave a quick shimmy and watched with amusement as her various swells quivered and jiggled long after she’d stopped.
The end of Leslie’s ordeal was in sight. She was still comically curvaceous, but she didn’t mind much. At least she could now move with relative freedom and easily fit through doorways. She was no longer trapped in her own body and could leave the house if she wanted to. Assuming she could find clothes that fit, of course.
But her first order of business was to get a shower. She giggled at the loud patter of droplets against her swollen body as she sudsed herself up. The warm water and fragrant foam relaxed her. She revelled in her ability to reach most of her body; she would never again take that for granted.
Leslie searched through her drawer to see if she had any clothes that were stretchy enough to accommodate her. Of the few garments that she had any chance of squeezing into, most weren’t capable of providing much coverage. Leslie suddenly realized that her sense of modesty had returned. She hadn’t even noticed its departure. It wasn’t that she’d quite literally had bigger things to worry about. She’d been naked since she burst out of her swimsuit yesterday, but she didn’t feel naked when she was round. Now that her areolae were smaller than serving platters, she felt the need to cover them.
Underwear simply wasn’t an option yet. She didn’t even try. After an extended struggle, Leslie was able to stretch her leggings over her enormous posterior, and over the audible protests of the garment’s seams. Thank God for spandex. She gave up on her tops and borrowed one of Roger’s t-shirts. It covered her boobs, but left her bulging midriff exposed. Although she’d finally reached some minimal level of decency, she was reconsidering the wisdom of leaving the house. She was quite large, but she didn’t appear fat. Her firm, gravity-defying curves reflected her preposterous reality; she was a living balloon, and would certainly look the part to a casual observer.
“So what?” she mused, defiant. It’s not like being inflatable was a crime. She’d puffed herself up in front of people many times before, but never to this extent. She’d always limited herself to a size that people would dismiss. It was amazing what people could rationalize when faced with the impossible. Inflating that beachball for Roger was the first time she’d let someone see her pumped up to the point that her true nature was undeniable.
“And look where that got you,” she grumbled, giving her gigantic boob a squeeze. Strangers would stare, but likely just assume that she was some kind of freak of nature. But if she was recognized by anyone who knew her, her secret would be out. She couldn’t risk more people knowing.
Leslie sighed. She’d have to stay hidden away in Roger’s home for a bit longer.
“Mmmm,” she purred as she emerged from the bedroom. “That smells wonderful!”
“My cooking skills aren’t exactly top notch, but I figured I could manage a passable lasagna,” Roger said. He had just set the pan down. His jaw dropped when saw Leslie’s new curves.
“Still enjoying the view?” she asked with a grin. “After all, they’re a lot smaller than they were this morning.”
“So’s the rest of you. But I have to say, I’m liking the proportions.” He pulled her in close for a kiss, running his hands over rounded bottom. “What do you think?”
Leslie glanced down at her bulging cleavage. She was so big, Roger couldn’t get close without her breasts squeezing against his chest.
“I know I look and feel pretty impressive, but this is a bit overboard. But at the rate I’m shrinking, I think I’ll be at a pretty fun size by the time we’re done with dinner.”
“So maybe after dinner, we could have some dessert?” Roger asked hopefully.
Leslie licked her lips. “Maybe,” she chirped. He pulled out a chair for her and they sat down for dinner.
“Thank you,” Leslie said as Roger refilled her wine glass. “Dinner was wonderful, by the way.”
“You’re quite welcome,” he replied.
“You’re lucky I’m such a good sport,” Leslie said. “I can’t imagine any other woman being so understanding after her boyfriend blew her up.”
“Technically, you blew yourself up,” Roger corrected her.
“Is that really a hair that you wanna try to split, mister?” Leslie glared at him sternly.
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in surrender. “And you’re right. I am lucky in so many ways. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not furious with me.”
“I am. Kind of.”
Leslie was so deeply conflicted it was hard for her to think straight. Despite her generally bold nature, she’d never been aggressive about pushing the limits of her ability. She had no idea what would happen if she went too far. Sure, she might just spring a leak and deflate like a cartoon character. But she knew all too well what happened when you put one puff too many into a balloon. And you never know how many is too many until it’s too late.
But now thanks to Roger she knew her capacity far exceeding anything she’d ever imagined. There was so much to explore in her newly broadened horizons. A day had passed, and she was almost completely back to normal; everything had worked out in the end.
But what if it hadn’t? Things could have easily gone horribly, catastrophically wrong. And Leslie couldn’t purge that possibility from her mind.
“Good. You should be,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done what I did. My curiosity got the better of me, but I should have just asked you about your talent. Not doing so is one of my two great regrets from last night.”
“One of two?” Leslie asked. “What was the other one?”
“We never determined if you could fill that really big beach ball in one breath.”
“Are you serious?” Leslie scoffed. “After watching me blow myself up to the size of a weather balloon, do you really think that puny thing would give me any trouble at all?”
“So we’re in agreement now that you blew yourself up?”
“Hair,” she snapped.
“You’re right, what was I thinking?” Roger conceded. “Having seen what I’ve seen, it would be foolish for me to question your capabilities.”
“You really don’t think I can, do you?”
“I’m sure you can,” Roger said. “But at its rated maximum size it’s over six feet across, and it can probably handle a bit more—”
“I was definitely more than six feet wide last night,” Leslie retorted.
“Definitely,” Roger agreed. “I’m six feet tall, and you were a little taller than me.”
“Just a little?” Leslie asked, tersely.
“Well, we never actually measured you,” he said.
“Fine,” she said, setting her glass down. “We can settle once and for all just how much I’m capable of. Go get it.”
“Maybe we should settle this later, after you’ve fully deflated.”
“No, we’re going to settle this right now,” Leslie growled. “Get the ball.”
“You don’t have to —”
“Now.”
“Okay,” Roger said. It was all he could do to keep from smiling. Leslie was definitely getting back to normal; her competitive nature always got the best of her.
They returned to the living room, where Roger fetched the beach ball for her.
“You stand over there so I can keep an eye on you.” Leslie pointed toward the couch. “There will be no funny business this time.”
“Of course.” Roger stepped aside.
Holding the beach ball in one hand, Leslie closed her eyes and inhaled.
Her already distended body plumped up even more. Her her chest rose, her breasts billowed, her belly ballooned forth. Her shirt rode up, revealing more of her expanding form.
Leslie’s eyes snapped open; her steady intake of breath turned into a series of frantic gasps, her arms windmilling in panic. It took Roger a moment to realize what had happened; she was already swollen when she started, and had inadvertently puffed herself up to the point where she couldn’t properly maintain her stance. She’d lost her balance and was slowly listing forward.
“I’ve got you!” Roger shouted as he ran to her. He reached out to halt her descent, mostly winding up with two armfuls of Leslie’s billowing boobs. “Oops,” he said sheepishly. He looked up at Leslie’s bemused expression and realized that she’d stopped inhaling.
Suddenly, and with astonishing agility, Leslie grabbed his head with both hands, pulled him close, and brought their mouths together. Quickly, but not quickly enough, Roger realized she didn’t intend to kiss him.
Leslie blew.
It all happened so fast. A torrent of air rushed down his throat. First his torso surged outward, his belt painfully cinching his midsection. The seams of his jeans growled and popped as the increasing girth of his legs overwhelmed their strength. Through no accord of his own, his arms straightened, releasing his hold on Leslie’s bosom. They slowly rose as they filled, bursting his shirt’s stitches.
Roger tried to scream against the onslaught of Leslie’s exhalation, but only produced the faintest of muffled squeaks. His attempted cries were fueled by both fear and pain; his waist was still held in the death-grip of his belt, while his bodily continued to expand above and below. The pressure was immense; something would have to give, and soon.
Bang!
The belt made a noise like a gunshot when it finally failed. It flew to a far corner of the living room as Roger’s middle rushed outward with a loud bwoom. He was pretty sure he could feel Leslie giggling at the noise. He allowed himself to feel the briefest moment of relief; freed from his constraint, he didn’t feel nearly as full anymore.
Leslie seemed to take this as a challenge.
“Mmmrrph!”
Leslie blew even harder, and Roger ballooned even faster. His body rounded out, steadily absorbing his limbs as the ceiling grew ever closer. When he was nearly spherical, he felt the pressure within him rising. The swelling spread to his furthest extremities; first his hands puffed up, then his feet. He could even feel his manhood filling and stretching. Finally, his cheeks began to bulge, pushing Leslie’s hands apart.
He was running out of places to grow. With a rising sense of terror, Roger wondered whether Leslie would stop before it was too late.
He was certain that point was mere moments away when Leslie finally relented. She released her hold on him before heaving one final gust of breath.
“Wow, I wasn’t sure that would work,” Leslie said. She looked down at herself with a mix relief and disappointment. While blowing into Roger she had completely deflated. Although she was happy to be back to her normal, petite self, she missed having a bit more more bounce to her figure.
It looked like Roger was trying flail about in panic, but his struggles only resulted in a bit of slow rocking.
“Wh-what...what have...” It was only with great effort that Roger could utter even that little bit. His face and lips were hugely swollen.
“What have I done?” she asked. “Let me clear that up for you. I blew you up. See? Simple. No hairs to split here.”
“B-b-but...why?”
“Why? Why? Do you really have to ask that after what you put me through?”
“I’m so sorry…”
Leslie had been wondering how long it would take for Roger to actually apologize for what he’d done to her. At this point the words felt as hollow as Roger himself.
“You damned well better be! I could have been hurt! I could have been stuck as a living blimp forever! I could have fucking exploded!” Leslie trembled, blinking back tears of rage. “So I think you’ve earned this. We can call it even now.”
“I feel like I’m —”
“About to burst?” Leslie finished for him, giving his drum-taut skin a soft pat. “I know, I’ve been your shoes before, remember?” Although Leslie had to admit to herself that the shoes seemed to be fitting Roger much more tightly than they did her.
It made sense; Leslie had been inflating for most of her life before her big blowup. This was Roger’s first time, and she’d made him huge. She’d assumed that since Roger was a bigger person than she was, he could handle more air. At his highest point he nearly touched the ceiling; he was significantly larger than she’d been and he appeared to be under much more stress. As frighteningly firm as his body felt, she wouldn’t dare try to climb on top of him.
Roger’s reaction echoed her concerns. The pressure inside him greatly magnified the sensation of her gentle touch.
“Please, d-don’t! I’m too full!”
“Calm down, you’ll be fine,” she said. “You’ll just have to wait it out like I did. Maybe this can be a learning experience for you as well.”
“Help,” he whimpered. “It’s too much! I can’t--”
“And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for what I’ve learned from this,” she continued, dismissing his fearful cries. “Now I know that I can stay inflated and that I can deflate afterwards. And I can inflate other people. That’s amazing! I just know I’m going to get myself into so much trouble with that.”
Roger found her gleeful grin and wide-eyed excitement to be more than a little disconcerting.
“And I meant what said this morning. I’m really looking forward to finding out how it feels to make love while inflated. But that won’t be today,” Leslie said with a sigh, “and it won’t be with you.”
“What?”
“We’re done, Roger. Maybe in time I could forgive you, but I’ll never be able to really trust you. I think it’s for the best if I just grab my things and go.”
“No! Please, don’t leave me like this! I’ll — uuurrrrrghh!” Roger clamped his eyes shut and clenched his teeth as his body shuddered, groaned, and swelled.
“Oh shit!” Leslie reflexively took a step back; as he grew, Roger’s skin had flushed to an alarming shade of pink.
Is he right? Did I go too far? What if he can’t hold all that air in?
“On second thought, I can get new things,” she said, her voice quavering. She picked up her purse and quickly walked to the front door. She wouldn’t want to be anywhere nearby if something precipitous were to happen.
“No!” Roger screamed.
“Goodbye, Roger.” Leslie shut the door behind her.
Author's Note:
Really not sure how I feel about this one. I guess that makes it a fitting sequel for Leslie’s Blowup.
Leslie’s Blowup is one of my more popular stories overall, and has the most favorites on my DeviantArt account by a huge margin. Readers have described as “sweet”, “cute”, and “romantic”. So I took a swing a writing a sequel that would cover what happened the day after Leslie inflated.
I ran into problems.
Leslie’s Blowup only works as a happy story because of how Leslie reacts to Roger making her inflate. She doesn’t freak out, she doesn’t get angry, she calmly accepts her situation and adopts a “we’ll have to wait and see what happens” attitude. This is an incredibly charitable response under the circumstances. This is only credible because Leslie’s established as having years of experience with inflation. What happened was just an extreme version of what she’d done many times before. And while not being able to deflate as she usually did was alarming, Leslie is a sensible woman; becoming panicked or enraged when one is helpless and vulnerable isn’t constructive.
I’ve written a few times in the past about the willfulness of my characters. They have their own ideas and their own desires; they don’t always follow direction. So while I wanted to write a sequel in the same vein as the original, Leslie had other ideas. While she waited to deflate, Leslie didn’t have much to do besides contemplate her situation. And during that time she developed some rather strong opinions. Eventually, she felt free to express those opinions.
In short, Leslie was pissed.
And she had good reason to be. When you get right down to it, Roger assaulted and forced her to inflate to a massive size when he had little knowledge of the nature her ability and no knowledge of its limitations. She could have suffered permanent harm. She could have taken days or months or years to fully deflate. She could have popped.
By any reasonably objective evaluation, Roger was a reckless asshole who very well could have murdered his girlfriend. That she escaped the ordeal safe and unscathed was incredibly fortunate, and not an outcome that Roger could have predicted with even the tiniest certainty. So Leslie wanted payback.
Over the years I’ve discovered that I deny my characters’ demands at my own peril.
This is the first time I’ve spent a significant amount of time dealing with how an inflatee copes with being overinflated. It’s quite different. Most of the story is about how Leslie tries to manage her new form and how she feels about her circumstances.
Also, a shoutout: Sievert's story Working Light is old enough to vote, and I still remember how the phrase "did something precipitous" stood out to me. It was such a dry and detached, but incredibly appropriate euphemism for "exploded." It fit that scenario perfectly, and it think it worked pretty darned well here also.
This is an amazing story that I never want to read again.
I've been reading inflation fiction since before you posted the first 'Leslie's Blowup', but holy beans, this was a serious emotional gutpunch. It took me through the various stages of a breakup quite accurately , and I don't think I'm ready to do that again any time soon. The first story was indeed light and fun at the time, under those 'accepted limits' of romantic fiction, but you have seen and shown to us in return that those happy little assumptions we make when reading or writing turn to so much ash in the blistering light of reality and reaction.
Leslie was, essentually, assaulted by Roger as you had said, and sexually so. That realization made that whole story less comfortable to me and sandblasted away the patina of nostalgia that rested upon it in my mind. So, here in this 'Realer' place that I'm reading this story from, she's gone and murdered her rapist in an ironic way. This is inflation fiction, yes, but romantic fiction this is not. This is the end of a romance. This is inflation Horror. This is the familiar and comfortable language of the fetishist turned into an uncomfortable look at the relationships we normalize in our imaginary safe spaces.
It's true art. It moved me in a direction that I wasn't expecting to go, and (Like the movie 'District 9') I enjoyed it, but will never intentionally experience it again.
Thank you.