My Inflation Dreams

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Overblown
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My Inflation Dreams

I spent a long time debating whether or not to post this here.  While it's relevant to the topic of the forum, I wasn't sure if it was the sort of thing people would want to hear about.  However, after seeing a few other people posting about inflation dreams and lucid dreaming, I figured I'd go ahead and share.

As a general rule, I don't have sexual dreams.

I'm not sure why this is. Perhaps it's just something about how my brain is wired, or perhaps I have enough outlets in my waking life that my subconscious doesn't feel the need to express itself in that way. Whatever the reason, dreams with sexual content are exceedingly rare for me, and fetish dreams are rarer still. I can count the number of fetish dreams I've had on one hand and still have fingers to spare.

That is, until early spring of this year, when I started having a surprising number of inflation-themed dreams - nearly all of which I could remember in vivid detail upon waking.

Exactly what caused this sudden shift in my dreams is a mystery to me.  It didn't last, and my sleeping patterns returned to normal after a couple of weeks.  Still, it offered some interesting insights into my fetish and the forces behind it.

With that preamble out of the way, I figured I'd share some of the dreams I had during this period.  I don't know how interested people will be to read about them, so I figured I'd start with the first one.  Then, if people are interested enough, I'll post more.  

So, without further ado, let me begin...

---------

The Big Blowout Event

In this dream, I'm working in some sort of retail environment. I think it's a book store, but I can't be sure - the background details were hazy. Regardless, it's early in the morning, and the store has yet to open. The management has announced that they need one of the employees to inflate themselves like a balloon as part of some promotional event they're doing. Since I'm one of the only employees with a talent for inflation, the store manager - a slim, blonde woman with a cruel streak and a serious case of "resting bitch-face" - has saddled me with the responsibility.

The manager - who doesn't seem to like me very much - clearly doesn't think I'm up to the task, and is hoping to use this as grounds to fire me. I'm determined to prove her wrong however, as being a huge balloon happens to be the one thing I think I'm truly good at. As she watches, arms crossed, I pull back my shoulders and begin sucking in air.

The exact means by which I was taking in air seemed to fluctuate throughout the dream. Most of the time, it seemed like I was just inhaling deeply, but at other points, I felt as though there was something in my mouth - like a clear piece of plastic tubing - that I was sucking air through. In any case, I could feel my belly begin to swell and bulge outward, my skin stretching as my stomach filled with air. My work shirt was quickly pulled taut across my expanding gut, the buttons puckering gaping as the fabric was drawn tighter and tighter. Drawing in even more deeply, I feel my stomach balloon outward, quickly inflating to the size of a jumbo beachball. My shirt is stretched to it's limits, then beyond, the buttons bursting off one-by-one with a series of soft POP-POP-POPs. I can feel the pressure pushing against my body from the inside, stretching my belly out. It's a detached sensation, but exhilarating. I want more.

Casting a quick glance over at the manager, I see her regarding me with utter disdain, her lip curled into a faint sneer of contempt, as if to say "Is that it?" I feel my face flush a bit with indignation. Unwilling to let her get the better of me, I arch my back and, gripping my bulging sides, I begin heaving in great, sucking breaths of air. My belly balloons before me, bloating and expanding up and out with the soft, hollow hiss and creak that one always hears form an inflating balloon. Bigger and bigger I inflate, my skin stretching tighter and thinner as it struggles to contain the growing volume of air within me. I grow and grow, puffing myself up until, at last, my belly is so huge that I can no longer see over or around it. It's as large as a weather balloon, if not larger - an enormous, pale globe of drum-taut skin, slightly flushed with the strain of containing so much pressure.

Holding my breath, I turn my head to look at the manager, eager to see if I'm finally big enough. To my dismay, her expression remains unchanged, and I feel a sweat break out on my brow. I'm feeling the pressure quite acutely now, and I know that I can't get much bigger. Yet it's clear she isn't satisfied.

As if in echo of my own thoughts, one of the other employees - who's been acting as a spotter of sorts throughout this - peers around the immense curve of my inflated belly to address the manager. "Um, boss? How much farther are we pushing this?" she asks, glancing nervously between the manager and my own incredibly taut, pressurized gut.

The manager snorts. "Until he meets the requirements. If he can, that is," she says, shooting me an expectant look. I think I can see the faint ghost of a triumphant smirk tug at the corner of her mouth.

An indignant fury fills me. Clenching my fists and squeezing my eyes shut, I tilt my head back and begin sucking air with all my might. My belly heaves and groans, expanding rapidly to fill more and more of the floor space within the store. The other employee backs away several paces, an apprehensive look on her face, before turning and hurrying off, clearly determined to put as much space between herself and the out-of-control balloon that is her co-worker as possible. The manager stands her ground however, watching me with arms folded, an almost bored expression on her face.

Still sucking in air, I arch my back, thrusting out my now gargantuan gut as far as I possibly can. My belly looms before me, vast and terrible, the skin beginning to flush an angry shade of pink as it struggles to contain the pressure. I can feel the pull and strain on my sides as my skin is stretched well beyond it's safe limits, the creaking sounds coming form my monstrous middle growing ever more dire with each passing second. I can feel my belly approaching the ceiling above me, my over-stretched skin growing hot and unbearably tight. Surely I'm big enough now. I have to be!

Trembling with strain and feeling absolutely ready to burst, I turn my head to look at the manager, but she only yawns, thoroughly disinterested.

Overcome with desperation, I muster every last ounce of strength in my body and inhale one last time - as hard and as deep and as long as I possibly can. The vast, globular leviathan of my belly shivers and throbs with the tremendous influx of air. It swells... and swells... and swells... and swells...

Ka-POW!

With a sound like a firecracker going off, my enormous balloon belly finally bursts - and the rest of me along with it - sending rubbery tatters flying in all directions. The manager casually brushes a few of these stray shreds off her suit jacket, and smirks. "Finally..." she mutters to herself, before straightening her glasses and walking away.

~fin~

buttburster2000
buttburster2000's picture

why arent my dreams award winning movies?

Margeret Moonlught
Margeret Moonlught's picture

That was byootiful. I haven't been this moved since I first watched Gojira.

10/10, Would read again. 

Side note: any advice on getting my dreams to be as in detail as this? Most of the time mine are just abstract locations with really freaky people-things in 'em, Which is fun at first, But gets old fast.

BI.org’s very own metamorphic incomprehensible memetic fractal entity 

Overblown
Overblown's picture

Trust me, if I could induce these kinds of dreams with any sort of reliability, I would.  I have no idea what triggered this shift in my subconscious.  The dreams started out of the blue, lasted for about a week, then stopped just as suddenly.  I haven't had any since then, and it's anyone's guess if I ever will again.  

I'm glad you enjoyed it though.  I have a few other decent ones I can share if people are interested. 

Overblown
Overblown's picture

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...

--------

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~

Anon-321

These are some very entertaining dreams. You wouldn't happen to have a female boss, would you?

Overblown
Overblown's picture

Not at the time I was having these dreams, no.  I think the recurring theme of a domineering/controlling female authority figure is just another facet of the kink for me.  It's a theme that regularly features in my inflation fantasies, so it makes sense it'd show up in some of these dreams as well.  Same with the recurring theme of pride and the desperate need to impress.  

Yeah, I'm weird. :P

Machinequeen
Machinequeen's picture

I have dreams where people just randomly bloat up, myself included. But I can still move around and do stuff as if I'm normal. Even stuff that should be impossible like touching my toes with a big round inflated torso.

 

The dream isn't even focused on inflation, its just a side thing that happens and people are like: "oh no Im big." and then INSTANTLY get over it. If I my sister bloated up; she'd be FURIOUS irl.

mek#5731

(DISCORD)

Overblown
Overblown's picture

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

-------

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~

Breathy Chest Boi

The things I would do just to see a visual version of this...

Brilliant!