American Gladiators, revisited

Author:
Inflation Types:
Popping:
Sexual Content:
Date Written: 
02/20/2021

(Warning: ahead be male inflation and popping by vicious women, but the man deserves it)

The crowd cheered as the female announcer smiled and said, "Welcome to American Gladiators, Chubbo Special! Up next, men's assault! For our viewers at home, in order to score any points, the contenders must successfully navigate their way to five different firing points, trying to hit the target above the Gladiator's head. Each weapon fired scores a point, but the contenders have to be on their guard, for the gladiator will be firing special tennis balls formulated to cause maximum embarrassment...or worse! Mary, what are the stakes here?"

"The contenders are playing for $50,000 today, though given the physical specimens we have here today, I wouldn't hold my breath thinking any of that money's going away soon." "I'll say. Looking them over, they look like so many shiny balls or balloons on legs." The male contender looked up at the fit and sexy woman on her perch, tennis ball gun at the ready, making him glance down at himself, over three hundred pounds of chubbiness, clothed in spandex. The woman's words stung as the female referee looked you over, asking,"Are you ready?" He winced at the cruel jabs the crowd fired at him, nodding and trying to forget them, trying to imagine the sweet taste of that $50,000 and more importantly, how much he could buy with it all. I've never even seen that much in my life, and all I had to do....was make it to the end of this course. It couldn't be too hard, right? After all, it wasn't like the women were firing something more aerodynamic like darts or arrows....I might actually have a chance here!

"I'm ready," he responded in determination, unable to keep from gulping down a lump in his throat. Looking him over, the referee sighed and cried out: "Contenders, ready! Gladiators, ready! GO!"

Some sixty feet away was his first station, a crossbow firing a suction-cup tipped arrow. Sixty yards away, he heard the first tennis ball shoot and bounce in front of him, zinging away into the transparent shield protecting the crowd. Trying to ignore the taunts of "Smack that belly!" and "Bust that gut!", he set off, knowing that if he tried to shoot the gladiator, she'll still be able to see you and shoot at him. He tried his best to ignore the referee and the crowd's clear and obvious lack of faith in him. He flinched back away from the first ball, letting out a small gasp. If he didn't know how much women loved this kind of thing, he'd swear that was a warning shot. Steeling his nerves, he made a mad dash to the crossbow podium, which, seeing as he was pushing 300lbs, sent his fat body jiggling in an obscene manner.

"Look at him go, Anna! For the benefit of the viewers at home, what happens if a ball strikes a contender?"

"Well, the contenders have been sequestered for the last week in preparation for this event. Given the special diet there were on, they've been slightly fattened up plus a little something extra for the audience."

"What's that?"

"Their diet had a special additive in it. Their fat's unstable, so any sudden irritation of their fat will cause it to break down into long chains of hydrogen and oxygen; it will also have the side-effect of slightly rubberizing their skin."

"Oh wow! So they'll balloon up if hit?"

"Yes, but the gas becomes explosively volatile around 30 PSI. This should be interesting. If they still manage to cross the finish line, we'll try to safely stabilize and deflate them. If not, the audience gets a fireworks display."

As he reached the station, he swore his suit felt a little tight. Ignoring the odd feeling all over his body, he felt one ball skim across his belly, just a mere glancing blow. Fighting down his nerves, he quickly picked up and fired the crossbow, missing high. The women's commentary made him even more nervous, his pudgy hands shook as he missed the target. He swore internally as the delayed reaction from the gladiator's ball brushing against his belly took effect, causing his already quite substantial gut to swell and bloat against his spandex bodysuit, creating an appearance not unlike an overly full beer gut.

He had two options: 1)Try to take another shot and risk getting struck with one of the gladiator's tennis balls head on, or 2) try to shake her off and make a pass around the arena so as to maintain a (albeit slowly) moving target. With the referee yelling "Gotta move! Gotta move!", he took off to the second station, acutely aware that the distance between him and the Gladiator's cannon was slowly closing. Catcalls from the crowd cheering on the Gladiator (of all people!) in his ears, he reached the station to discover that in order to fire his weapon, he had to step out into the open, revealing his entire body to the Gladiator, who's played this game many times and knew where and how he had to shoot.

Taking a deep breath, his belly swelled a bit more than he was used to or comfortable with as a result. In fact, he was sure his shiny black clad balloon of a gut was poking out from cover. He steeled his nerves and burst out into the open, not wanting to repeat the same mistake as last time and taking a second to actually aim properly. No sooner did he step into the open than a loud SMACK! was heard around the arena. The crowd grew silent with bated breath, then roared in approval as his belly started to dome out massively, a strange tingling and heat forming inside him, as if an insane woman with a pump was going mad, forcing him to become bigger and more unstable.

"Well, Anna, that was quite a shot she made from that distance!"

"It was, Mary, it was. The contender can still fire his one shot, but then has to move to the next station or she's going to be allowed to shoot again and again..."

"Good point, Anna. He reminds me of something vaguely familiar with that suit. Huh, can't think of it right now, sure it'll come to me."

"Oooooh....." he groaned, his hands shook as he tried to ignore the rapidly rising heat and pressure inside his fat bloated dome of a belly. I can't stay here, I'm too big of a target...and getting bigger every second...he hastily fired the weapon, hoping against hope that he could hit the target, and that he could still move fast enough to avoid putting on any more mass. Against all odds, he saw the suction-tipped arrow rise up...and up...it seemed to be on target when a yellow blur hit it midair and knocked it out of the way. Raising his gaze, he saw the female gladiator wave and blew him a kiss even as she worked the loading action of her gun. She sighted on him, waiting for the 'Shoot' signal from the referee. At this rate, at least he was thankful the swelling hadn't gone to his legs or arms yet.

"Mary, what happens if the contender was unable to reach the station or reaches the weapon but was unable to fire it due to inflation?"

"It's the same penalty as if the contender chose not to move, the Gladiator gets to shoot at him. Still doesn't move, she shoots again and again."

He gulped and bolted as fast as his pudgy limbs could carry him, eager to try to stem the tide of warm bloating inside him as the referee yelled, "Gotta move, gotta move!" as she slapped his belly loudly. The crowd cheered at the images appearing on the TV screens set up around the arena: a close up shot of his swollen and bloated belly in slow motion, replaying in tribute to the gladiator's prowess. Looking up, he saw her cheerfully zeroing in his next position. Ahead of him was a small air cannon. He could fire it blind without a problem, but any real aim would expose him to those tennis balls from Hell. Reaching his next station, the crowd and gladiator awaited his next move!

He bit his lip nervously as he waddled to the air cannon as fast as his pumped up body will allow him. He skidded over to the controls and, desperate to knock this cocky, buff amazon off her perch, took a quick shot, hoping beyond hope he could hit the target before she struck his increasingly large target of a belly with more of her ammo. Reaching the cannon, he fired his one quick shot, only to see it go left wide. In doing so, he noticed something that's oddly unfortunate and (to everyone but him) rather hilarious.

In his rush to reach the gun, he had discovered the hard way that the foamboard obstacles are on rollers. In his rush, his massive gut juuuust pushed the two barriers apart, exposing his belly to the woman in her perch. Too bad for him he was unaware of it until a ringing meaty SLAP and stinging sensation struck his belly square.

And just like that, his inflation began anew, heat and pressure increasing at the same time. With two stations to go and weapons to shoot, just how will he manage this course? Even now, he could feel his fat converting into volatile gas, increasing his internal pressure and gradually seeping into his limbs as well! He grunted as he took a moment to wince at both the pain of being struck in his already sensitive and prominent belly as well as the growing pressure and heat inside him. He was certain his face must be pretty flushed, both from the exertion of maneuvering an increasingly large and unwieldy body around this course and also from the heat inside him. He felt like a star about to go supernova, but waddled forward, panting and gasping.

I'm still in one piece after all.

"Look at him blow up, Ann! Ever seen anything like it?"

"I must confess, he's holding quite a bit in there. Whatever else this episode will be remembered for, it will be for both getting so inflated early and still continuing on with that big bomb-gut in front of him."

"I'll say! Our Gladiator's practically growling with anticipation, seeing his belly shake and grow like that! Was his face starting to turn red?"

"It sure was, Mary. Oh, the referee's telling him he has to move, he's got two stations left!"

Reaching the next station he yet hoped to knock this cocky strutting Amazon off her perch. He took a quick shot, hoping beyond hope that he could hit the target...and missed.

The Gladiator's return shot did not, taking him square in the belly, a target she just could not miss if she tried. Hissing now becoming openly audible, even to the crowd, he felt the heat and pressure churning inside him, definitely starting to creep into legs and slowly seeping into his arms as well! Belly now visibly straining at the confines of the suit, the fourth station beckoned. Even now, he could hear the announcers:

"One more weapon to fire and a finish line to cross and that money is his, but only if he fires the weapon. If that gas swells his arms and hands into immobility, it's all over for him." "Yay, fireworks for everyone!"

Letting out an audible groan, he staggered forward on bloated and near useless legs as best he could. The heat was starting to really get to him, filling his belly, and now rapidly fattening limbs with heat and pressure. As that monolithic belly of his rounded into a near perfect black sphere, it reminded him of a cartoon bomb. That's how he felt, too big to function and too volatile and pressurized, the heat inside pushing his impossibly taut body out more and more. He rounded out even bigger at the sides, conical limbs barely cooperating. Certain he couldn't handle too much more, he still went forward, every step toward the next station felt like a mile. Sweat poured down his round red piggy fat face, now as red as a cherry tomato. He gasped and wheezed, letting out a loud groan. "Make...it...STOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPP..." He begged, though he knew what these women were here for, and there was only one way this was going to stop.

A growl of pleasure came audibly from the Gladiator atop her perch, she grinned as she took careful aim at a target she could not possibly miss. Though lacking a formal sight, her tennis balls flew with a speed of upwards of ninety miles an hour. Smiling and blowing him a kiss, her only regret is that her weapon isn't automatic. She aimed and fired at his belly, manually worked the action, aimed and fired again.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! as three such tennis balls struck him with sharp stings, they sent the fat conversion process into overdrive and absolutely bloated him up. The crowd roared with approval as the Gladiator ceased fire for a moment and strutted on her perch, bowing to the crowd and waving to them.

"Ooh, that's GOT to sting, Mary! Gotta give him credit, he's still trying to get to the fourth station!"

"Yes he is, Ann, but I think that even if he reaches it, he's not really going to be able to pick up the weapon and fire it. He's really shiny and black all over. He's not pulsating yet, but I think it's time we took precautions."

At her words, large transparent blast shields are lowered from the ceiling, stopping between the bloated ball of a human bomb and the audience.

"Ooooooooohhhhhhhhh...." He moaned, the pressure inside him increasing exponentially as the Gladiator pelted his overstuffed body with tennis balls, each one making him wince in a mixture of pain, excruciating heat and pressure. Looking and feeling like a neglected boiler about to blow, even his hands fattened up as the relentless pressure inside him pumped him up everywhere and everywhere that wasn't stuffed dangerously full to bursting. He staggered forward, hoping against hope that he could hold it together, remain in one piece just long enough to complete this inflation nightmare of an obstacle course. He couldn't even bring himself to pay attention to the Gladiator showboating on her perch, all his attention was diverted to willing his body to not just blow apart at the slightest poke or prod.

Thighs and calves, now little more than useless cones connecting his literal bombshell of a body to similarly fattened feet, were having trouble maneuvering around each other. His belly, once a monument to my own gluttony and lack of discipline, now loomed around on all sides, was even now trying to greedily consume his arms and legs, rising up around puffy cheeks like a caricature of wanton greed and consumption. He couldn't even see how far the next station was, eyes shut tight against the mounting pressure rising inside him.

In a final show of futility, he tried running to toward the station, though seeing as the bloated bomb of his belly has now swallowed his legs past the knees, he easily stumbled forth and land on his obscene swollen gut, letting out a loud moan as he realized there's no way to right himself. His legs weren't even close to the ground anymore, and his arms were too fat and stubby to do much more than flap uselessly at my sides.

"Wh-wh-whyyyyyy....meeeeeeeee.......??????" He groaned out, the sound of his voice becoming more and more strained as he began losing the battle against the exponentially multiplying pressure inside him, an opponent a bloated fat chubbo like him was never meant to face, much less prevail against.

"Well, Ann, he's not going anywhere right now. Under the rules of the game, our Gladiator can take as many shots as she wants until the inevitable conclusion."

"Absolutely, Mary. Wait, what's this, she's coming down from her perch! What's she doing?"

"If I know this Gladiator's history, it's to give the audience here and at home the spectacle they deserve."

"Question is, can he take it? If she runs out of tennis balls and he doesn't explode, he still gets half the money!"

"Don't think that's going to happen today."

Strutting as if reveling in a battle she's already won (and who's to say she hasn't?), the Gladiator in all her glory came down just to stop in front of him and looked him over. "My my my, what do we have here? Let me help you up a bit." Seeing how little give he had left, it actually made it easier for the Amazon of a woman to manhandle this unstable chubbo into an upright position. She leaned in, whispering in his ear and said:

"Sorry, darling, I'd like to say it's only business, but the truth is, I positively LIVE for shit like this. And for ME to properly enjoy it..." as she makes you face the audience and her perch, "...you have to see it coming."

Blowing him a kiss as she stroked and patted his jutting out belly, she strutted back up to her perch, giving him and everyone in the arena of display of her fine form. Quickly reloading her cannon, the now bloated bomb that was once a man could see she had only four shots left. Blowing him additional kisses, she took deliberate aim and fired two shots quickly into his center mass, the terrible stings of them reverberating through both his body and the entire arena while sending his internal pressure and heat skyrocketing as the crowd roared: BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A long pained groan escaped him as his big round bomb of a body tried to swell bigger and bigger, but due to all the pressure she's already packed inside him, he could only manage a few measly inches. Every part of him throbbed with that dreadful fullness, his belly, his feet, his pudgy little hands...even his own manhood throbs turgidly against his will. He knew what she's going to do next, but he didn't think he could keep himself in one piece as it was! Then the second tennis ball hits square in the gut (or...more accurately the apex of the gigantic gassy globe his body has become) and he had only one hope left. Just endure.

She only had two shots left, and if he didn't pop, He'd still get half the money! Assuming these sadistic women don't just squeeze him too hard with those sharp nails while they're trying to deflate him...even that sounded like a better fate than being blown up into a living megaton bomb and having his shame televised for an audience of screaming and cheering amazons. He's so hot …he felt like he might just go supernova anyway from the heat if nothing else! He gritted his teeth, trying and failing to stifle his pathetic whimpering as he prayed to whatever goddess that still listened to men that he can hold together...just a few more seconds...

"Wow, Ann, he's stopped growing! I think we all know what that means!"

"Sure do, Mary! For our audience at home, that's a sign someone has no more room inside him and that he's at that critical point of over pressurization. Our Gladiator has two shots left...wait, what's she doing Mary? It looks like she's working the pumping cylinder of her air cannon."

"She's increasing the air pressure of her gun, Ann. Those tennis balls leave the gun doing better than ninety miles an hour. All those pumps...I figure her last two balls will be traveling in excess of a hundred twenty now!"

"She sure does love her work!" Looking up at his tormentor, he saw her evil grin on the gigantoscreen overhead. Licking her lips in anticipation, she casually aimed at his terribly over pressurized belly, a brief pause...then fired, then tennis ball almost a an unseen blur, the POP!/SMACK! of the cannon shooting almost simultaneous with the report of it striking his poor, strained bomb of a body. Almost immediately the pressure and heat inside him increased as his fingers and toes plumped out, the few exposed parts of his body taking on a shiny red appearance as the crowd roared in anticipation and approval from the cover of the blast shields!

The pressure was too much, his bomb of a body couldn't take much more. Every inch of him felt about to positively erupt. The creaking from his skin had become a high pitched squeal as his body began to fail to contain his pressurized explosive growth. He let out a low groan of "You....BIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!!!!!!" as his poor terrified mind repeated one phrase over and over again. "GONNAPOPGONNAPOPGONNAPOPGONNAPOPGONNAPAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWP!!!!!!"

At this point was only a matter of seconds, whether or not the gladiator wants to take the final shot or not, his fate as a firework all but sealed.

"Wowee, Ann. Look at him! I think we're going to get those fireworks after al."

"Yes indeed, Mary. We've put up an infrared scan of him on the monitor and he's all reds, yellows and oranges, I'm just glad the rood to this place has an opening in the top."

"Wait, you're telling me Gladiator Arena was specially constructed for this?"

"It's all about ratings," she answered sweetly.

Smiling to herself, the Gladiator noticed the pulsating form in front of her, saw he was about to about to make the final transition: from human to balloon-bomb to pure energy. Checking her PSI for her cannon, she saw that it read a dangerous red-zone 200. As she ignored the slick wetness twixt her legs (she's being televised, after all), and said to herself as she aimed:

"I'm going to be pissed if the high-speed cameras aren't rolling to capture this. Paycheck and rent money, here I come."

A sound like a whip echoed throughout the arena as she fired the last ball into the trembling, pulsating body of a chubbo before her, the heat and pressure too much for him to take. Every pore of his being seemed to cry for release, nerves afire!

As last ball struck his huge bomb of a body, his eyes widened as he finally lost the fight to keep himself together. In a brilliant fireball, he promptly detonated, the explosion shaking the stadium as all that heat and energy breaks through his gossamer thin body, just a shell for the massively fat overpumped bomb he'd become. From chubbo to balloon to bomb to fireball, the audience of cheering amazons definitely got what they came for.

"Well, Ann, looks like he should've avoided those carbs!"

"Indeed, Mary. We'll take a break for those at home while the debris field is being cleared, then bring on contender number two!"

Author's Note: 

(This is based off another RP, revised and reprinted with permission. Always wanted to try this. Enjoy!)

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