Boobies and the Beast
Once upon a time, in a tiny village somewhere in the Dessin region of France, there lived a beautiful girl named Belle. Her sparkling intelligence, graceful movements, enormous eyes, and chestnut hair would have made her the envy of every woman for miles, were it not for one exceedingly small problem.
[BELLE, singing]
I woke this morning and I'm flat, like always
I've got no cleavage, sad to tell
It's not something I can change
Though my fantasies are strange
For I dream that I could make my bosom swell
As Belle passed the seamstress' storefront, the proprietor called out. "Good morning, Belle! I finished making a new dress last night -- want to try it on?"
Belle blushed. "Oh, thank you, unnamed seamstress! It looks wonderful, but I don't think that would, uh...fit me."
The seamstress glanced down at Belle's non-existent chest. "Oh, dear me, I keep forgetting. Well, I'm still willing to work on that custom undergarment, if you'd like."
[BELLE]
I don't think lingerie will solve my problem
There's no brassiere that you can sell
Though I've tried to dress them up
I can't fill the smallest cup
And I can't just force my breasts to start to swell
"Ah, singing your replies for no discernable reason again, I see," replied the seamstress awkwardly, backing away. "Well, uh, enjoy your bridge."
[BELLE]
Oh, isn't this depressing?
There aren't any curves where there should be
Why, I'm still left to guessing
It's as if I never went through puberty
A group of about a dozen townsfolk gathered about ten feet behind Belle. The butcher hummed a note and, incredibly, the entire gaggle of background characters began singing in perfect four-part harmony.
[TOWNSFOLK]
Look there she goes, that girl without a figure
We barely call her mademoiselle
She's as thin as you can get
Like a walking human baguette
And it seems too late for her to start to swell
From across the town square, a square-jawed, burly, attractive man watched the musical scene unfold with a raised eyebrow. He is Gaston, the town's most rugged and eligible bachelor. To prove he is very masculine, he holds a musket, and to prove he is very privileged, he is trailed by his runty manservant, LeFou.
"See, LeFou, that's what I'm talking about," said Gaston. "Flatter than a crepe pressed in a copy of Les Misérables. That's my kind of woman."
"That's because you don't find women attractive," added LeFou needlessly.
"Yes, but only you know that," replied Gaston, striding forward. "And I must keep up appearances -- after all, I am a stereotype. But as the least feminine woman I've ever seen, Belle will be the perfect cover for my true preferences -- and therefore the perfect wife!"
[GASTON]
Right from the moment when I saw her figure
I said she's boyish and I fell
Here in town, there's only she, nearly masculine as me
So I'm making plans to woo and marry Belle
As Gaston passed the village creamery, with LeFou trailing at his heels, three busty blondes loading the daily dairy deliveries joined in the production number.
[MILK MAIDS]
Look there, he goes, isn't he dreamy?
Monsieur Gaston -- now him, I'd do!
Be still, my heart, my bust is heaving
But he ignores my milk jugs for LeFou!
Unaware of all the other members of her village now singing about her, Belle continued with her own song.
[BELLE]
I know it's foolish and my bust's not growing
I'm not endowed like Ariel
I'm less sexy than a fish
But it still remains my wish
For my bosom to develop late
[GASTON]
A perfect beard, my manly mate
[TOWNSFOLK]
We want to see her boobs inflate
And swell!
Tired of singing, Belle returned home to find her father Maurice finalizing on his latest invention, the McGuffin. Belle wasn't exactly sure what it did; Maurice would only cryptically tell her it was "useful for furthering the plot." Instead of asking him to invent something to help her with her problem, Belle simply wished him good luck as he traveled off with his McGuffin into the dark forest, where he quickly found himself kidnapped by a hideous creature known only as The Beast. The monster threw Maurice in the dungeon but let his horse return to town for some reason.
When Belle learned her father was missing, she followed the horse back to the Beast's chateau, picked the lock on the front door, and entered, only to be greeted by a handful of anthropomorphized objects.
"Greetings, mademoiselle!" said a bicycle pump with googly eyes. "I am Lumiair -- what brings you to break and enter here in our castle?"
"I'm looking for my father," said Belle, slightly confused to be talking to a bicycle pump with googly eyes, yet undeterred. "I believe he was last seen in this castle."
"Oui, madame," answered the pump. "He is locked in the dungeon, but you may take his place."
"If it helps move the plot along, I accept," Belle replied.
"Splendid!" said Lumiair. "We cannot wait for you to meet our master."
"We?" asked Belle.
"Oui," replied Lumiair. "Let me introduce the rest of the chateau staff," he said, tilting his handle toward the strange collection of objects gathered in the foyer. "This is the fireplace bellows, Soufflet; the test tube is named Flasque; this rubber tubing is José , and our cleaning crew, Messier the mop and his partner, Buquette." Every character looked like a normal example of those mundane objects, but with googly eyes.
"Our master is one of the famous Montgolfier brothers. No doubt you have heard of José ph-Michel and Jacque-Etienne, the inventors of the hot-air balloon?" said Soufflet wheezingly. Belle nodded.
"Our master is the disowned third brother, Jean-Paul-George-Ringeaux Montgolfier," said Flasque. "He combined his science experiments with forbidden magic, and when he spurned the romantic advances of the witch who instructed him in the dark arts, she cursed him to be not only ugly but eternally flaccid, saying the spell would only be broken when he found true lust."
"We, too, were transformed," offered Messier, "and shall remain so until the curse is broken."
"Oh my," said Belle. "That's a lot of backstory I don't recall requesting."
"Si," said José.
"The master continues his work, searching for an alternative resolution," said Lumiair. "His lab is filled with all manner of experiments, both scientific and arcane. As a Montgolfier, he had access to both wealth and knowledge. After the curse, he shifted his work with inflatables to serve his own...unrealistic passions."
"But perhaps they are not so unrealistic now," added Lumiair with a smile. "The master's goal was to find a way to dramatically increase the bust size of any maiden who desired it." Belle tried not to react, but hearing her own personal fantasy described to her by someone else was alarming.
"Diligently he researched, making many breakthroughs over the last decade -- but he has many theories that need testing. So we have all manner of potential improvements to make your figure more..." Lumiair glanced at Belle's unimpressive upper torso. "Pneumatique."
Belle could barely believe what she was hearing -- not just because it was the answer to her own wildest fantasies, but also because it was being spoken by anthropomorphized bellows, and that was just weird.
A spotlight from seemingly nowhere hit the talking tire pump.
"Mademoiselle, we welcome you to Chateau Montgolfier. Let me explain exactly what we have in mind."
[LUMIAIR]
Pump your chest, pump your chest
Put those stitches to the test
Make your top a whole lot tighter and he's sure to be impressed
Down this vial, add some air, you're ingesting savoir faire
Drink the pink stuff, it's delicious
And it might grant all your wishes
Your brassiere, out to here
Will make every monsieur leer
They'll be totally fixated on your breasts
You can reverse our fate
Just let your boobs inflate and
Pump your chest, pump your chest, pump your chest
[LUMIAIR]
We need you to go first
You can help us lift this curse
We'll aggressively inflate you but we promise you won't burst
[FLASQUE]
Blow you up, that's a must
Til your bust's about to bust
[MESSIER]
There's no limit, we'll keep going
[BUQUETTE]
‘Til your cups are overflowing
[LUMIAIR]
You'll feel swell as you swell
Just how big, no one can tell
For our master is perverse and quite obsessed
Won't it just be a treat
when you can't see your feet
for your chest, pump your chest, pump your chest
Trapped in a production number without a singing part of her own, Belle found herself increasingly annoyed by her surreal musical surroundings. A mysterious spotlight from nowhere illuminated Lumiair as he broke into yet another verse.
[LUMIAIR]
Pump your chest, pump your chest
It's a kink, you might have guessed
[FLASQUE]
Here's a notion, down a potion
and let science do the rest
[SOUFFLET]
Watch them fill, big and round
With a steady hissing sound
Men will find you entertaining
When décolletage is straining
[ALL]
When you're full
That's when you'll
Find they're nearly spherical
That's what happens to the air when it's compressed
Our master's got a fetish
so we hope you'll let us
Pump your chest, pump your chest, pump your chest!
Belle sat silently, stunned, as dozens of sentient objects stare at her with manic googly eyes and fake smiles plastered on their faces, their tiny arms extended and frozen in place, posing and panting at the end of an exhausting musical number they'd obviously had years to rehearse. Awkwardly, Belle offered them some slow, uncertain applause.
"Come," says Lumiair, breaking the tension. "Let me show you to your room."
Utterly baffled at what social graces would dictate in a situation like this, Belle walked wordlessly down a long hallway, decorated with opulent wallpaper and intricate carpeting. Lumiair paused at a rich oaken door, turned to Belle, and broke the silence.
"Mademoiselle, if I may," he said in an earnest tone. "You are conflicted. A part of you clearly wants this. So let me offer you the only thing I can."
"What's that?"
"A reprise."
[LUMIAIR]
It won't stop
Fill your top
Til you feel like you could pop
There's so little room remaining
But we won't hear you complaining
Puff by puff, squeak by squeak
It's not going to your cheeks
But we'll blow some down below if you request
You'll have an hourglass
If we inflate your ass
and pump your chest, pump your chest, pump your chest!
"No encores," said Belle, and slammed the door shut.
—
The next morning, the townsfolk stood around the town square, waiting for their cues for another production number that would never come. Rumors began to circulate about the disappearance of Belle and Maurice, ultimately reaching Gaston as he ate his traditional breakfast of five dozen eggs in the tavern.
"Gaston, Belle is missing!" cried LeFou.
"Belle, missing?" repeated Gaston needlessly.
"Maurice as well," confirmed LeFou.
"Not my type," sniffed Gaston. "Bushy moustache. Reminds me of the caterpillar incident.”
“Yes," he continued, dreamily, "I like them smooth." He stared off into the distance.
LeFou nodded awkwardly. "The butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker all said they saw Belle ride off into the forest toward Montgolfier Castle."
"I've heard dark rumors about that place," mused Gaston. "The brewing of potions. Hissing noises. Something about googly eyes. A beast. Then again,” he sighed, “it could all be childish nonsense, or the targeted demonization of an innocent creative soul through weaponized misinformation."
"Well, if she's there," offered LeFou haltingly, "she's probably being held against her will, and since this is a fairy tale, I think you're supposed to go rescue her."
"Yes, that would make me seem heroic and manly," said Gaston with a knowing smile. "And if anything happened to that perfectly pancake figure, I'd never forgive myself."
"This seems like a good time to flatter you before your big heroic moment," said LeFou, as four musicians swept in behind him, offering perfect accompaniment as he started to sing.
[LEFOU]
Gosh it disturbs me to see you Gaston
Chasing a girl in a skirt
I've had a crush on you only, Gaston
Still it's my feelings you hurt
I don't understand why you hide your true self
You're everyone's favorite guy
Out of the closet, they'd still cheer for you
And it's not very hard to see why
No one's slick as Gaston
No one's quick as Gaston
No one's dick's as incredibly thick as Gaston
For there's no man in town half as manly
Perfect, a pure paragon
You can ask any Tom, Dick or Stanley
And they'll tell you whose lap they'd prefer to be on
No one dates like Gaston
Compensates like Gaston
In his bunk no one else...
"LeFou, you are terribly loud when it comes to keeping secrets," interrupted Gaston, bringing the band to a tumultuous halt. "I do appreciate your bold attempt at singing, but there are still a lot of people who won't accept a male hero if they're not straight. I must keep up appearances, and marrying Belle will let me do that all the way through happily ever after. Now, bury your feelings for me once more and let us ride to Chateau Montgolfier!"
—
After spending the night in the castle, Belle found herself summoned to meet Jean-Paul-George-Ringeaux -- or as she had heard him called, The Beast -- in his laboratory. As she descended the stone staircase, illuminated only by torches along the walls, Belle felt her dread bubble up with every step down.
When she reached the underground lab, she was greeted by medical tables, measuring devices, and tanks of compressed gasses. And that's literally greeted by, as all those objects were anthropomorphized servants as well, welcoming her by name and wiggling their googly eyes. The measuring tape introduced himself as Demeter; the tank, she learned, was named Hank.
The darkened room was adorned by all manner of other equipment as well. Pressure gauges and valve handles stuck out of several copper and iron control panels. A network of intertwined hoses ran around up the walls, their ends dangling tantalizingly from the ceiling. An enormous bellows, easily six feet across, took up a corner of the room, yet Belle saw no fireplace.
Out of the shadows strode a humanoid figure, and as the light hit his features, she steeled herself to finally meet the fearful, mythical Beast of local folklore. But despite her preparation, the creature that greeted her eyes astounded her: A man with fair skin, deep green eyes, and wavy shoulder-length brown hair with a shimmer of auburn. Like, a medium nose. He looked entirely unremarkable. He was...just some guy.
"I...apologize for my hideous appearance," the man spoke with a shaky voice that nonetheless seemed to flow like honey. "I am Jean-Paul-George-Ringaeux Montgolfier. I keep the lighting low so as not to startle anyone with my monstrous visage."
"You look...normal to me," said Belle quizzically.
"Yes, and that's the problem," replied Montgolfier. "A normal build. Reasonable hair. Like, a medium nose. Eyes that are, for some reason, not as large as bread plates. Without idealized, cartoonish features, I am a monstrous outcast in this fantasy tale."
"You are too hard on yourself, monsieur," interjected Lumiair. "Besides, you have dedicated your life to making body parts idealized, cartoonish, and large!"
Jean-Paul would hear none of it. "Belle, I understand Lumiair has explained my situation, but I do not know how much detail he's shared about the curse, my afflictions and my...obsessions." He cocked an eyebrow. "Shall I fill you in?"
"I thought that was my job," muttered Hank with a hiss.
"He told me you kidnapped my father," responded Belle feistily.
"Maurice? Heavens no," replied Jean-Paul. "As a fellow inventor, he is perhaps the only other man of science for miles. Your father is a trusted confidant and a dear friend."
Belle shot Lumiair a nasty look. "Locked in a dungeon?"
Lumiair's plunger took a deep breath, which he let out slowly. "Well, uh, more like resting comfortably after too much wine. He got shellacked but he's sleeping it off." Belle had to admit that sounded on-brand.
"Mademoiselle, pardon moi," said Jean-Paul with a formal bow of apology. "I fabricated the false pretense. I'm afraid the ruse with the McGuffin was necessary for plot progression, so I used your father as bait."
"Truly, he is a master baiter," added Lumiair.
Belle's adorable brow knit her face into a scowl. "So I'm to be your prisoner instead? The subject of your twisted, kinky experiments?"
"Certainly not," responded Jean-Paul with a tone of offense. "None of these hoses work correctly if kinked or twisted."
Belle was having trouble staying angry. For one, she found Jean-Paul charismatic, if not downright charming. But what's more, Lumiair's comment from the previous night rang true; part of her did want this. What if The Beast's weird science actually worked? What if she actually was able to achieve her unrealistic dream of unrealistically large, round, tightly inflated breasts?
Jean-Paul's honeyed voice broke the silence. "Belle, I realize this is not an ideal situation, and faced with a course of action, you are probably feeling a significant amount of pressure."
"Not yet she doesn't!" cried Hank. "Boss, let me at 'er!"
"I only ask your consideration for this opportunity," continued Jean-Paul. "I have spent years toiling in solitude, and I am a patient man. So if you want to take some time to weigh the benefits of my offer."
"I'm in."
"Because I can assure you the scientific principles are I'm sorry what did you say?"
"I'm in. You've got some potion or device or whatever that can pump my girls up like party balloons? Okay, then, let's party."
Jean-Paul's jaw slackened in shock, while Lumiair interjected, a clear tone of disappointment in his voice. "But...we had another musical number all planned while you thought about it. It was filled with heartwarming characters and insufferable wordplay."
"All the more reason to move this along," said Belle, suddenly gesturing toward you through the fourth wall. "You think these perverted readers will be patient forever?"
"Hey, now we're talking!" yelled Hank with a little too much enthusiasm. "I like her moxie. Gosh, I sure hope she doesn't explode."
Belle shot Jean-Paul an icy stare. “Explode...?"
"Well, as I was saying, before you cut me off with your enthusiasm," stammered Jean-Paul, "I can assure you the scientific principles are all but proven."
Belle looked confused. "What does that mean? All 'butt proven'? You've successfully pumped up derrieres?"
"Uh, no -- I meant, my methods work in theory and should work in practice. This time. Definitely."
"You're a lot less confident than you seemed just a few paragraphs ago."
"Mademoiselle, you must understand, things are different now," offered Lumiair. "You possess something…critical."
"No discernable bosom whatsoever?" quipped Belle.
"No," said Jean-Paul, the honey returning to his voice. "Desire."
Belle froze. He knows, she thought. Did Father tell him? Is it my clothing, my body language? Did he hear the opening number?
"Belle, I have the power to give anyone more, but that person has to truly want it. And you...truly want more. Desire takes science into the realm of magic."
His words were intoxicating, or maybe it was the funny smell in the basement. But she considered the strength of her own desire, and could no longer deny it.
"Okay." Belle took a deep breath, which in any other breast inflation story would elicit a notable response. "How does this work?"
Jean-Paul reached for a neatly folded white garment from a side table. "To begin, please put this on." As he held it by the shoulders, gravity unfolded it to reveal a body-stocking with a female silhouette. "I call it the Maiden-Form. The markings in the folds of this elastic garment will help me monitor the progress during the procedure."
"Plus, it might stop you from popping," said the increasingly unhelpful Hank.
"That’s it, you’re in time-out," said Lumiair, wheeling the tank into the corner despite a babbling stream of promises from Hank that he would behave.
Belle turned to Jean-Paul. "For real?" she asked.
"Elasticity could be an issue," admitted Jean-Paul. "But my techniques and technology have improved dramatically of late, and that includes the addition of the Maiden-Form. It will offer some...reinforcement during the procedure."
With one eyebrow raised, Belle snatched the garment from his hand and retreated to the dressing area, which was merely a gauzy curtain with convenient backlighting. Viewing Belle's angular silhouette through the screen offered no excitement.
When Belle emerged, it was clear that the Maiden-Form was not as snug as intended. Acutely aware of her lack of curves, Belle sheepishly said, "Not the best fit."
"Not yet," shouted Hank from his time-out in the corner.
"Room for improvement," said Jean-Paul with a kind smile. "Come, make yourself comfortable."
Jean-Paul led Belle to a vertical wooden platform, a curious hybrid of an operating table and a torture rack. "Comfortable...on that?" Belle noted the built-in arm and leg restraints on either side of the thin mattress. "Are those...necessary?"
"Don't knock it 'til ya try it!" taunted Hank from the corner.
"No," assured Jean-Paul. "Just relax."
Belle dutifully stepped onto the platform's footrests, took another invisible deep breath and exhaled.
"It's a two-step process," explained Jean-Paul in a soothing tone. "First is the potion, which I would call a chemical solution were this not based on a fairy tale. It will alter your body enough to allow the second phase."
Belle looked at the network of hoses dangling above her head. "And that's what all those tubes are for?"
"Hola," said José.
"Not you, amigo," hissed Lumiair.
With a look of concern, Jean-Paul offered Belle a wine glass containing a luminescent pink liquid. "This is the culmination of my life's work. It will change both of us forever. So I must ask you in all sincerity: Do you want this?"
Belle carefully considered Jean-Paul, then the potion.
"More than anything."
As she reached for the glass, Belle's fingers grazed Jean-Paul's own; the moment of contact was not lost on either party.
Several sets of googly eyes could be heard shifting.
Belle lifted the glass to her lips and downed it in one.
"You are a brave woman," said Jean-Paul with a smile.
"Just make me into a bigger one," replied Belle nervously.
With a large metal crank connected to gears at the floor, Jean-Paul tilted the Belle's platform back to a 45-degree angle.
"So," asked Belle nervously, "What happens now?"
"Well, we'll have to wait for the solution to work through your system," replied Jean-Paul. "That should only take about six to eight hours."
"Wait, what?" cried Belle, gesturing once again to you. "They're not going to wait that long. Let's hurry things up." She gave a sharp poke to the narrator and OW THAT HURT OKAY FINE.
—
Exactly seven hours later, Belle woke from an inevitable nap to find herself still on the padded platform. Jean-Paul had roused her from her slumber. "Belle...it's time."
Jean-Paul held out a leather-strapped breathing mask, attached to not one but three of the overhead hoses. With a nod from Jean-Paul, Belle secured it over her mouth and nose.
"You are ready. Everything appears to be in perfect order. Once I open the valves...just breathe normally."
Belle nodded dutifully as Jean-Paul opened the valve on one tank, then another, then another.
"Inhale."
"Did someone say 'musical number'?" shouted Hank.
"Absolutely no one said 'musical number,'" cried Belle, her voice muffled behind her mask.
As if by narrative magic, the lights in the room dimmed save for a lone spotlight, focused on Soufflet the bellows.
[SOUFFLET]
All eyes are on Belle
Flat as she can be
Barely even breasts, flat across the chest, nothing there to see
Doesn't own a bra
Small to say the least
Blow her up with air, make a perfect pair
Boobies and the Beast
Will she stay the same?
Will he be surprised?
Will she pump up round
With sexy hissing sounds
To enormous size?
Nothing known for sure
Now we wait and see
Will he fill her top, will she maybe pop, unexpectedly?
Tension in the air
Pressure now increased
He's a science perv, she just wants some curves
Boobies and the Beast
Blow her up with air, make a perfect pair
Boobies and the Beast
As the lights returned to normal, Belle's face showed her obvious discomfort. "Belle, what's wrong?" asked Jean-Paul worriedly. "How do you feel?"
"Terrible," she mumbled dreamily, "That song...terrible."
"Ah," mused Jean-Paul. "I had hoped the mild anesthetic from hose three might have fortified you against any..."
"Outbursts?" shouted Hank in a sing-songy voice.
"Detente, hombre, obviamente tienes sed de que esto suceda," sputtered José.
"Hey, no kink shaming," spat Hank in reply.
"Discomfort," finished Jean-Paul, with a stern look at his compatriots.
"No need...for that," whispered Belle, struggling against her own drooping eyelids. "I want...to feel this."
Jean-Paul nodded solemnly and closed the valve on the third tank. The anesthetic had kept the strange new sensations Belle felt to a mild tingle, but with each successive breath, a trickle of pressure built behind her breasts. She felt them grow firmer with each inhale.
"Master Montgolfier," said Lumiair with hushed awe. "It is...incroyable!"
But the Beast remained transfixed on Belle's now swelling chest. The elastic fabric of the Maiden-Form rippled as Belle's body slowly and deliberately grew to fill out the garment. Two small domes began to press against the fabric.
It was a moment of which Belle was acutely aware. With closed eyes, she slid her hands up her torso and cupped her burgeoning breasts from the side, lightly exploring, for the first time, a feminine curve she had only imagined in her dreams.
Luckily for everyone, her dreams were bigger than that.
Excited, Belle's breathing increased; accordingly, so did her growth. Deeper and faster she inhaled, emboldened by the swelling sensations beneath her hands. She dared not squeeze; she would not risk anything that would interrupt the procedure or impede her thrilling expansion.
Jean-Paul quickly glanced at the various gauges and dials before leaning in to get a closer look at Belle's expansion. "Ma chérie" he whispered in her ear. "You're inflating."
Eyes still sealed in concentration, Belle's lips curled into a wicked smile. "I'm inflating," she repeated. "And it feels amazing." She opened her eyes and stared directly into those of Jean-Paul.
"Give me more."
Jean-Paul smiled and, with a twist of two valves, increased the flow from both tanks.
Belle's response was immediate, shifting her hips as the Maiden-Form grew taut around her ballooning breasts. Larger and rounder they swelled, as Belle became less careful about how she touched them -- she groped herself, pressing her hands into her breasts as they offered more and more resistance.
The folds of fabric on the sides of the Maiden-Form stretched out. As the seconds ticked by, hand-drawn lines and letters of the alphabet became visible -- C, D, DD -- approximate cup sizes, so Jean-Paul could gauge the subject's size. The alphabet continued to reveal itself as the Maiden-Form stretched to accommodate Belle's increasingly spherical breasts.
Belle attempted to take deeper breaths still, while practically hyperventilating. She squeezed her breasts together, feeling the pressure within mount as they surpassed the size of volleyballs. She had never experienced such a manic sensation; her mind accelerated in a one-track loop of a single word: MORE.
"More!" she gasped between desperate breaths, writhing on the platform in increasing ecstasy.
"Mademoiselle, you are literally a huge success!" said Lumiair. "Surely you do not want to risk explosion!"
"Speak for yourself!" shouted Hank from the corner. "I can't believe I'm missing this!"
"You said...the magic...was desire," panted Belle, pressing at her breasts, now approaching 12 inches wide. "That is my desire. I want to be so full...so big...that I feel...like I could burst!"
Jean-Paul froze. He had dedicated his life to this, and he had succeeded. This was his dream. This was her dream. Could he control her? Could he deny her?
"She's gonna pop! She's gonna pop! Let me see!" shrieked Hank in a panic.
The stretchy Maiden-Form was now taut, no longer showing new letters of the alphabet. Elastic stitches within the garment began to snap under the intense pressure. Belle gasped in unbridled pleasure, pawing the sides of her dangerously inflated breasts, no longer able to reach her arms around them.
"Master!" cried Lumiair. "She's going to blow!"
Snapping back to reality, Jean-Paul quickly spun the first two valves closed and immediately opened the third.
Belle's airflow dropped dramatically. Her thrashing weakened as her bosom's expansion slowed; she became less manic and more docile as only the powerful anesthetic filled her breasts to the absolute limit. The Maiden-Form was at its bursting point, but had served its subject well. Belle relaxed into a limp daze on the platform, two spherical breasts projecting a foot and a half in all directions.
Jean-Paul approached Belle, now docile if not exactly demure, and removed the mask from her face.
"I...I'm sorry," she gasped. "I don't know what came over me."
"Nothing yet, but based on his trousers, it’ll be any second now," cracked Hank.
Suddenly, the room erupted in a shower of magical sparks. One by one, each of the googly-eyed witnesses to their Master's curse-breaking erection transformed from back into human forms. The room was filled with cheers and laughter
"So wait," asked Messier, back in his human form as a janitor. "All we had to do to stop being objects was...objectify someone else?"
---
The next morning, the residents of the Chateau Montgolfier awoke to a heavy pounding on the castle door. Lumiair, once again a human, carefully opened it to find an angry mob, complete with cliched torches and pitchforks, led by the burly Gaston.
"Where is the craven monster known as The Beast?" bellowed Gaston. "We have an unresolved subplot to discuss!"
Jean-Paul stepped into the doorway, wearing a long dressing gown and looking quite exhausted. “What subplot?” he replied.
“Says the coward with the incredibly unremarkable appearance!” shouted Gaston. “You have stolen the woman I love in a very manly way.”
Jean-Paul looked confused. “Uh, in which manly way do you think I stole her?”
“No, I mean, the way I love her is excessively manly,” explained an annoyed Gaston. “My affection for her is an obvious display of my incontrovertible masculinity.” Gaston craned his neck to address the mob behind him. “Yes? We all agree on this point?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” replied Jean-Paul calmly, as Lumiair began to shut the door. “Now kindly take your riot elsewhere, it’s far too early to call on a neighbor.”
Gaston slammed a powerful hand into the door, shoving it open again. “You know very well! Where is my beloved, the boyishly beautiful Belle?”
“Boyishly…?” questioned Jean-Paul with a raised eyebrow.
“I know she’s here,” shouted Gaston. “And what’s more, I know you remember her description from the beginning: Sparkling intelligence, graceful movements, enormous eyes, and chestnut hair.”
“And zero bustline,” added LeFou, holding a pitchfork that was larger than himself.
“Yes, flat as a planche à repasser,” said Gaston, accidentally remembering he was French. “Lacking testicles, but also, lacking chesticles.” Gaston paused, expecting a hearty laugh from the angry mob. The horde remained quietly unamused.
“Well, monsieur, I assure you…there’s no one matching that description here.”
With that, an equally disheveled Belle stepped into view. Or rather, two enormously inflated breasts hastily covered in bedsheets appeared at the side of the door frame, followed by Belle’s tiny frame.
“Confirmed,” said Belle, arching her back and blocking Lumiair and Jean-Paul from view.
The crowd gasped. A few whistled.
“But…how can this be?” cried Gaston, downright Gastonished. “Belle, you’re…you’re…”
“Not yours,” she replied. “I never was.”
“Oh well!”” said LeFou hastily, before his tone turned hopeful. “But, uh you still have me, Gaston.”
“Actually, we already thought you were a couple,” said a milkmaid.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” said the cobbler.
“Love is love, man,” added the blacksmith.
“Belle and I are to be wed,” interrupted Jean-Paul, albeit somewhat muffled from behind Belle’s balloons. “And on that joyous day, I shall host a grand celebration for the whole town, here at the castle. But right now,” he said, eyeing Belle lasciviously, “I’m going back to bed.”
“Well, before that happens again, there’s one more thing we need,” said Belle with a wicked smile.
“Do you truly mean it, mademoiselle?” said Lumiair hopefully.
“Yes,” replied Belle. “I know I’m not getting out of here without another song, so let’s get it over with.”
The angry mob parted to reveal a string quartet.
[BELLE]
For all my life, I wanted change
And it may be my fantasy is somewhat strange
I always yearned for something more
And now there’s something here that wasn’t there before
[JEAN-PAUL]
They called me mad, out of control
But I proceeded and succeeded at my goal
I had my doubts, but now I’m sure
Because there’s something air that wasn’t air before
[BELLE]
New and a bit alarming
Who'd have ever thought that this could be
Now, I’ve met my Prince Charming
Thanks to my bust, he has a lust for only me
[LUMIAIR]
Well who'd have thought
[SOUFFLET]
Well bless my soul
[HANK]
Well who'd suspect
[SOUFFLET]
Well who indeed
[LUMIAIR]
She saved us all because Jean-Paul became erect
[ALL]
As you can see
Forevermore
She now has something there that wasn't there before
[JEAN-PAUL]
There’s something filled with air that wasn’t there before
[BELLE]
I’m glad there’s something there that wasn’t there before
And, being French, they lived happily ever aft-air.