My Inflation Dreams

I figured I'd move forward with the second installment of my Inflation Dreams.  I should probably point out that I'm not listing these dreams in chronological order.  Not all of the dreams I had during this period were coherent enough to make for good storytelling, so I've tried to single out the ones I feel make for the most entertaining read.  I've also tried to tidy up the prose a bit to make it flow a bit more smoothly, paving over as many bumps in the dream logic as I can.  

Anyway, let's get on with part 2...

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Fulla Hot Air

In this dream, I'm sitting on a barstool in a room with red walls and warm lighting.  It's late, and the place is mostly empty.  Out of the blue, I'm approached by a woman - a statuesque, almost amazonian redhead in coveralls with rolled-up sleeves, its front unzipped just enough to provide an eye-popping view of her prodigious cleavage (think a more pneumatic version of Rosie the Riveter, but with a few extra piercings and sleeve tattoos down both arms).  She addresses me by name, and asks to speak to me privately - though "ask" might be a generous way of putting it.  Her air is cool, almost disdainfully direct, and though she draws plenty of stares from the handful of patrons still lingering nearby, she clearly doesn't care one whit for what they think.  

We move to a booth, where she gets straight to business.  She tells me that she's been looking for a guy who knows how to blow, and all her inquiries have led her to me.  She explains to me that she runs a garage that specializes in repairing flat tires and other inflatables.  What makes her operation unique is that she doesn't use air-compressors, pumps, or other such contraptions - only raw lungpower.  For years, she's prided herself on being able to huff and puff and blow up anything her customers threw at her - from monster truck tires, to full-on parade floats - without ever getting winded.  In recent months however, business has started to pick up to the point where she can no longer keep up with the demand all by herself (at least not without risking a rupture).  To help lighten the load, she's decided to recruit a few additional human air compressors, seeking out individuals with a notable talent for huffing and puffing - hence her interest in me.  The job doesn't pay much, but she assures me that she's more than willing to offer... "fringe benefits" to loyal employees.  To help drive her point home, she unzips her coveralls down to her navel, allowing her huge bust - barely contained by a severely over-stressed sports-bra - to bulge out provocatively, and gives me a sly smirk.  

I'm more than ready to sign on, but she holds up a hand, telling me that if I want the job, I'll need to prove myself first.  She tells me to meet her at the garage the following day for my "audition".

At this point, the dream shifts, and I'm abruptly standing outside something vaguely resembling an auto-garage.  It's daytime, and the woman is standing outside waiting for me.  She's clad in the same getup from before, but she's stripped off the upper half of her coveralls and tied them around her waist, leaving her toned upper body clad only in that ready-to-burst sportsbra of her's.  

"Alright gasbag," she says, folding her arms under the bulging shelf of her bosom, pushing her cleavage up to her collarbone in the process.  "Let's see what you can do.  Go on.  Gimme the biggest inhale you've got.  Suck air until you're ready to burst!  Let's see how much you can take!"

Obediently, I pull back my shoulders and breathe in as deeply as I can.  My chest swells and my belly balloons as the air rushes into me.  I can feel my clothes constricting about my body as it expands within them.  Bigger... bigger... bigger...  Fabric creaks and seams strain as my bloated body fills my shirt and pants well beyond their capacity.  My chest puffs up under my chin until I can barely move my own head, while my belly bulges outward, beyond the furthest reach of my arms.  The buttons on my shirt pucker as the material pulls tighter and tighter, the gaps between them stretching wider and wider under the strain.  Finally, with a sharp POK-POK-POK the buttons begin to burst free, unable to contain my swelling form any longer.  My shirt bursts open, and the button on my pants follows mere moments later. Yet still I inhale...

I can feel the tension and strain building along my skin, the pressure welling up within me stretching me out, fuller and tighter.  I try to concentrate on the task at hand, wanting to appear casual and unconcerned.  As though this were a mere trifle for me.  As though I couldn't care less what she thought of my performance.  Yet as I continue to throb and expand, feeling my clothes slowly burst to ribbons around me, I can't resist the urge to glance in her direction.  To my dismay, she seems thoroughly unimpressed, even bored.  Flustered, I inhale even harder than before, and my inflation accelerates.  My enormously distended chest and belly balloon up and out, my limbs thickening and puffing up as the pressure wells up within my body.  I'll show her!  Just wait until she sees what I can do!  I'll be the biggest thing she's ever seen!

Perspective becomes a bit distorted at this point in the dream.  I don't look as big as I feel, and I feel enormous.  My body continues to swell bigger.  Ten... fifteen... twenty feet across!  Bigger still!  My face feels hot and flushed with effort, but I keep going, determined to prove myself, no matter the risk.

Finally, she gives a whistle. "Alright big boy, that's enough," she says. Reluctantly, I close my mouth, cheeks bulging as I strain to hold in all my air.  She eyes me up and down, arms crossed, lips pursed in thought. Finally, she shrugs. "Not bad," she concedes. Her gaze travels over my impossibly blimpish form. She raises an eyebrow. "Not bad at all..." I hear her murmur. "Now then, let's see how you blow."

Retrieving a length of rubber hose, she puts one end in my mouth, then takes the other end for herself.  This next test, she tells me, will measure my lungpower. She often gets orders for high-pressure inflatables, and my lungs must be up to the task of filling them.  "Doesn't matter how much air you can hold if you can't actually put it to use, now does it?" she says.  The test, she explains, is simple - I'll blow into my end of the hose, and she'll blow into her's.  If I can overpower her breath and force all my air into her - or at least hold her in stalemate for long enough - then I pass.  If I can't, I fail.  Rolling her shoulders back, she opens her mouth wide and begins sucking in air.

Her intake is smooth, confident, and incredibly powerful; I can feel the air rushing past me, into her mouth and down her throat, as though there were a black hole embedded deep within her gullet.  Her already massive chest heaves up and out, tanned breast flesh bulging over the cups of her painfully over-taxed bra.  Her stomach bloats outward, ballooning rapidly to the size of an over-stuffed beanbag chair, then beyond.  I can see now why she chose to strip off the upper half of her coveralls - they would have been burst to shreds in a heartbeat once she began to inhale.  She arches back, sucking in air with even greater ferocity.  Yet beyond the look of focused concentration on her face, I can detect no hint of strain.  Bigger and bigger she swells, her tanned skin taking on a taut sheen as it stretches around the increasingly massive volume of air inside of her.  Her increasingly inflated bosom begins to crowd up under her chin, forcing her to tilt her head back to avoid obstructing her mouth.  Yet still she inhales... and inhales... and inhales...

I watch with a mixture of awe, trepidation and naked lust as her body continues to expand before me.  Acres of tanned cleavage are bulging over the cups of her bra, the garment now seeming ludicrously undersized for the mammoth breasts it's struggling to contain.  There's an ominous groan, followed by a loud SNAP and her bra explodes off her chest.  Yet she barely seems to notice, not bothering to slow her intake by even one iota.  If anything, the freedom afforded her by the destruction of her top only goads her to accelerate her intake.  She balloons. Bigger... bigger... BIGGER...

At long last, she stops, skin creaking as it fights to contain the pressure trapped within.  She has more than matched my size.  In fact, I'm fairly certain she has exceeded it by at least a foot.  I struggle not to show my awe.

She lifts her end of the hose to her mouth with one puffy arm.  "On three..." she grunts, struggling to speak without losing precious air.  "One... two... three!"

We blow.

The hose shivers as our breath surges down it's length, the hurricane-force gusts colliding somewhere in the middle.  I can feel the raw power of her breath pushing against mine, trying to force my air back into my body, then follow after it.  My cheeks bulge and my face flushes beet red, then purple, as I struggle to resist that power.  I blow harder, throwing all my strength behind my breath.  For a brief moment, I can feel my breath beginning to drive her's back, but then she clenches her fists and blows harder still, her face flushing darkly as she strains to overpower me.  I can feel the terrible power of her breath beginning to overwhelm me, and I blow with all my strength, my cheeks flaring as large as grapefruits as I struggle to resist her pneumatic onslaught.  Locked in stalemate, our bodies begin to throb and groan, the fearsome pressure of our own breath backing up into our impossibly distended forms.  Little by little, we begin to swell and expand, our skin creaking ominously as it is forced to stretch tighter and tighter.  Sweat beads on our brows, trickling down our flushed, straining faces and across the taut swells of our cartoonishly inflated cheeks.  Yet we refuse to relent, straining with every last ounce of strength we have, each of us desperate and determined to overpower the other.  Our bodies continue to swell, groaning as the building pressure stretches them out bigger...

...Bigger...

...BIGGER...

...BIGGER...

We are both enormous now, our taut, overpressurized bodies dwarfing the garage itself.  My cheeks are puffed out to such an absurd degree that they dwarf my own head. The pressure within my body is building, faster and faster, with no way out.  My strength is failing. I cannot hold out much longer.  Yet I refuse to give in.  Refuse to submit.  The thought of losing now is unbearable. I'll show her!  I'm not just another windbag she can brush off!  I can do this!  I can win!  Mustering every last ounce of strength I have, I blow as I have never blown before.  The pressure within me skyrockets, and I can feel my body beginning to shudder and throb.  With a tortured groan, I begin to expand faster, my body ballooning out of control around me, my limbs and even my head beginning to sink into the quaking, heaving bulk of my over-inflated form.  Yet still I blow, refusing to admit defeat!  Refusing to accept my failure!  I blow... and blow... and blow... and BLOW, until...

Ka-BOOM!

With a sound like thunder, I explode, bursting apart into a thousand rubbery shreds.  The woman spits out the hose and blows out her air in a great, howling gust.  In less than a minute, she has deflated back to her original size.  She stands for a moment, panting, then regards my tattered remains with a scowl of disappointment.  "Pffft, figures," she sneers, crossing her arms over her naked chest. "I knew he was fulla hot air..."

~fin~

Bet you thought I was done with these, hunh? :P

I could go into a lengthy explanation of why I've been mostly quiet for the past year, but in the grand scheme of things, why bother?  I mean, let's be real here - I seriously doubt anyone on this site has been waiting with baited breath for the next installment in this series, so I may as well just keep the preamble to a minimum and get to the point. XD

No fancy title for this one I'm afraid.  I'm sure you're all terribly disappointed. :P

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In the dream, I'm officiating some private event (as is so often the case with dream-logic, the details are vague and undefined). My physique seems somewhat distended in this case, as if I'm permanently inflated, leaving the buttons of the formal suit I'm wearing more than a tad strained. I'm addressing a small crowd of people - no more than a dozen, possibly less, all of them well-dressed upper-class types. I take a deep breath, straining the buttons on my suit even more, and begin to give my speech. Everyone seems quite pleased, particularly whenever I have to breathe in, expanding myself bigger and straining my buttons once more.

At the conclusion of my speech, it becomes clear that, to cap off the event, a big gust needs to be blown up (being dream-logic, the reason for this is never clear - I never see what's to be blown down - though it seems to be loosely equivalent to 'cutting the ribbon' at unveilings and dedications, at least in terms of significance). Surprisingly, I'm not the one being called upon to do this. Instead, a skinny young woman with glasses, dressed in a formal blouse and skirt, steps forward to do the honors. She inhales a HUGE breath, expanding her chest to cartoonish proportions, straining the buttons on her blouse to their limit, then blows with all her might. To everyone's surprise and embarrassment however, her gust doesn't seem to do the trick. Blushing furiously, she quickly sucks in another, even bigger breath, inflating her lungs and chest so large that several buttons pop off her blouse. She blows again, furiously, but still fails to achieve the desired results. Frustrated and fuming, she heaves in an ENORMOUS breath, pumping up her chest to such massive and ludicrous size that her blouse bursts open and she has to struggle to see past it. She blows and blows with everything she's got, until she's blue in the face and nearly collapses, but it still fails to do the trick.

At this point, the crowd begins demanding that I step forward and do the honors myself, insistent that nothing could possibly withstand the breath of a huge windbag like me. I'm embarrassed and reluctant at first, but the crowd gradually wears me down, cajoling and encouraging me until I finally relent. Stepping forward, I take a HUGE breath, causing my already rotund body to swell and expand, straining the buttons on my suit to the absolute limit. I puff out my cheeks and blow with all my might, but as with the young lady before me, my gust doesn't seem to do the trick. The crowd urges me to try again, cheering me on. I inhale again, even more deeply this time, puffing myself up so large that several buttons pop off my suit. I blow fiercely, face flushing with the effort, but gust still seems insufficient to the task. The crowd continues to egg me on, seemingly enjoying the show for it's own sake. A particularly pneumatic young woman in a slinky, low-cut dress steps forward as I'm catching my breath, imploring me to keep trying. Thoroughly in the thrall of the crowd now, I suck in an enormous breath, my globular body ballooning so large that I burst all the buttons off my shirt and pants. The crowd - particularly the pneumatic young lady - cheers and whoops their approval. Red-faced and with sweat beading on my brow, I blow with everything I've got, but still my efforts fail to achieve the desired result. The crowd is egging me on like mad now, and the pneumatic young lady is front and center. Clasping her hands in front of her enormous bosom, she urges me to try again, to take the biggest breath that my immense balloon body can possibly hold and blow like I've never blown before - to show the world who the biggest blowhard really is!

Furious at my failure up to this point, I don't even try to restrain myself. Mustering every last ounce of strength, I heave in a gigantic breath. Then another. And another. I huff and HUFF, puffing myself up in stages, until I'm little more than an enormous, pale pink sphere. I keep sucking in air, pushing myself bigger... and bigger... and BIGGER, until I'm absolutely MASSIVE, and my head is beginning to sink into the ballooning expanse of my colossal, straining body. Yet still I inhale, and inhale, my body groaning as it expands to truly monstrous proportions. Finally, my giant, globular form trembling and creaking with strain, I heave in one last wheezing gasp of air and... KABOOM! I burst like an enormous balloon!

~fin~