Minimum Wage, part 7: Night Watchman

Sometimes, Samantha felt like her life was slipping away. She spent every weeknight guarding a soda bottling plant, and every weekend at home with her significant other. She knew there was more to life than this, and that someday she'd regret being such a shut-in. But every time she tried to venture out into the world, her "curse" forced her right back into self-imposed solitude.

Samantha had a figure for which the term "hourglass" was technically accurate, and yet not nearly sufficient. Her enormous bosom thrust forward like a pair of zeppelins, dominating her petite torso and resting ponderously in her custom-made reinforced brasserie. Beneath their ponderous bulk, her body tapered into a taut, narrow waist, before flaring dramatically into voluminous hips with a burgeoning, bulbous backside. She was very nearly a cartoon parody of a woman.

Her teenage years had been a rollercoaster of triumph and despair. As late as thirteen years old, Samantha had been a scrawny little beanpole, jealous of her classmates' development. Then puberty had finally kicked in for her -- but it didn't seem to know when to stop, and before her fifteenth birthday, she already wore larger bras and panties than her mother. Her body continued to compound its excesses, until she was fitted for her first custom bra soon after she turned sixteen -- and still puberty held her in its grip. In her junior year, she was forced to start wearing adult mens' clothes, as nothing designed for her age or gender could begin to encompass her curves, and her walk was known to bring entire crowded school corridors to a halt. And for all the inches puberty had lavished on her chest and hips, she still hadn't quite broken 5'6" tall.

At first, Samantha relished the attention paid to her body, the favors it brought from one sex, and the envy it inspired in the other. After a time, though, she began to tire of everyone she met treating her like a sex object or a man-stealer. But whenever she tried to engage someone on a more social level, her figure overruled her; boys hung on her every word, no matter how trenchant or banal, and girls couldn't seem to get over the affront to their femininity that she represented. Samantha eventually became so self-conscious about her body that she dropped out of school rather than face another person judging her by her shape. She didn't stop filling out until she was almost 20.

And so at 21 she found herself working this lousy dead-end job, patrolling a factory after-hours when no one would see her. Even here, though, Samantha couldn't escape being constantly reminded that she was a freak. While on duty, she was required to wear a proper uniform, rather than the oversized menswear she knocked around in at home. The company had ordered the absolute largest pair of olive-green slacks their supplier could provide, and then trimmed nearly a foot of material from the legs so she wouldn't be trudging around in piles of fabric. Despite their enormous girth, it was a daily struggle for her to zip them up over her prodigious rear; she then cinched her belt around a comically dense mass of pleats encircling her narrow waist. Her button-down shirt would have fit comfortably on a man who could eat a dozen eggs for breakfast, and then carry a hundred sacks of potatoes before lunch, and yet she had to triple-thread the buttons to keep them from popping off under their load -- and even that wasn't a complete solution until she trained herself not to breathe too deeply.

Samantha did rounds through the factory several times per shift, but she spent most of her time on a computer, browsing the Internet and chatting with people who didn't know what she looked like. Tonight she was browsing articles on plastic surgery, hoping against hope to find a cure for her condition. Her consultation with a surgeon hadn't been promising: she couldn't just have a third of her body weight excised at once, he had explained. It would take so many surgeries to bring her down to a reasonable size that she'd be in her forties by the time they were finished, not to mention all the scarring that would inevitably result, and the compounding risk of complications. But still, she held out hope that some new surgical technique would be discovered that could turn her from a sex toy into a normal human being.

Little did Samantha realize that an absent-minded employee had forgotten to shut down one of the carbonation units before he left, and it was churning steadily away, fighting against ever-increasing strain to pump more and more gas into a huge vat of water. After hours of overpressurization, the vat's walls had passed their limits were finally starting to buckle.

Samantha snapped to attention at the sound of a metallic groan from the factory floor. Grabbing her flashlight, she nervously crept from her office. Other than the light, she was equipped with a truncheon and an empty, closed holster, but no actual gun. There was nothing here worth stealing that wasn't bolted to the floor; all she was told to expect was the occasional vandal or thrill-seeker, who would most likely flee as soon as they realized there was a guard present. But Samantha wasn't as worried for the equipment as she was for herself. She had learned through experience that her body had a way of making boys lose control of themselves, and despite all the self-defense courses she had taken, the idea of a strange man catching her alone sent goosebumps up and down her spine.

A quick perusal of the floor with her flashlight showed no signs of another person, and so she decided to zero in on the noises she heard. Strangely, they all seemed to be coming from the same location, as though the intruder was pacing in place. She finally traced the sound to one of the carbonators, but there was no one to be found under or around the vat, and these things were supposed to be turned off at night, weren't they? As Samantha studied the device, she didn't notice an outlet port on the side beginning to unscrew itself from the incredible pressure within...

All of the sudden, a powerful blast of water socked Samantha right in the gut, knocking the wind out of her. The sheer force sent her flying backwards into a corner, where she landed with her face level with the stream. An unstoppable torrent of water slammed into her mouth and forced its way down her throat, despite her best efforts to get out of its way. The pressure on her body kept her from ducking forward or sliding out of the corner she was wedged into, and she couldn't even close her lips across the geyser.

Samantha didn't know how long she was pinned there, but finally the torrent abated, and she found herself choking and gasping for breath. Getting unsteadily to her feet, she noticed some odd changes to her body. She felt bloated and waterlogged, like when she was on her period, only far more pronounced. Her clothes felt even tighter than usual, as though she were engorged with liquid, and as she moved, parts of her seemed to slosh back and forth for a moment before settling down. The most unusual thing, however, was the gentle hissing noise that seemed to permeate her entire being. No matter where she turned, she couldn't narrow down where it came from.

Suddenly, a button burst from her shirt, pinging off the carbonator's control panel. She heard machinery whirring to life as the carbonator drew off a sample from the water still pooled in the bottom of the tank, and automatically sealed it in a plastic bottle. A conveyor belt then carried the bottle up to the sampling station, where it proceeded to fall off, as the sampling table has been stowed for the night. As soon as it hit the ground, the water inside furiously roiled and bubbled, distending the plastic until it burst with a BANG that startled Samantha, causing her to stumble and topple backwards, landing heavily on the floor.

Samantha gasped in surprise as the hissing within her crescendoed into a deafening roar -- and then she gasped anew as an incredible tingling sensation permeated her entire being. A third gasp escaped her lips as the tingling quickly gave way to a wave of pressure that tore through her like a stampede. She bit her lower lip and moaned softly until the sensations subsided. The whole experience had been nearly orgasmic, but what on earth had caused it?

As Samantha struggled to her feet, she found that her limbs were oddly inflexible. Appraising her body, she was shocked to discover that her formidable curves had somehow swelled even greater. And as her hands explored them, they felt not soft and yielding as before, but taut and resilient. What was happening to her?

And then Samantha's eyes alighted on the shards of plastic that were left of the water bottle. She glanced from them to herself, and back to the shards, and then her blood ran cold, as she recognized the nature of her situation, and its dire implications: she was full of massively overcarbonated water, and any agitation would cause gas to be released and her body to inflate. One thing immediately became clear -- she had to get out of here, and back home, before the pressure inside her became more than she could handle!

Trying to cram her bloated, pneumatically stiff form into her car was a waste of time and effort; all her squirming and jostling accomplished was to further inflate herself, so Samantha determined to walk home. It was only a few miles away, and she could make it that far even in her current state, couldn't she? And it wasn't like anyone would see her at this time of night, right?

The generous breadth of Samantha's hips meant that despite her efforts, she had an unavoidable tendency to roll them as she walked. In ordinary circumstances, this only caused her to draw lingering glances from men and steely glares from women. But now, as she trudged homeward, Samantha could feel liquid sloshing from one side of her hips to the other with every step she took. And every slosh meant more gas escaping, which brought further expansion to her curves, and took her that much closer to... Samantha tried not to think about that. She just had to get home safely, and then she could figure something out in peace.

Her shirt was first to go; the triple-threaded buttons held on long enough for it to rip down the back, then finally gave way to her expanding bosom, and the two halves slid down her arms to fall on the sidewalk. Her custom-built brasserie was made of sterner stuff, though. It held on until after her pants had fallen away in shreds from her ballooning butt and thighs, before finally tearing asunder, allowing her breasts to sproing free, jiggling chaotically and agitating their hypercarbonated contents until they grew turgid from the pressure within. Her panties (also custom-made for her dimensions) snapped off and sailed away on a light breeze, and finally her feet burst from their shoes, leaving her naked except for her belt and socks (oh God, she hoped she wouldn't blow up big enough to outgrow her socks!) by the time she reached the suburbs. As the hissing inside her ominously deepened in pitch, Samantha knew her body was fast running out of slack.

Samantha tried to distract herself from her involuntary striptease, and impending explosion, by trying to work out how to reverse her current condition. Once she was home, she wouldn't have to move around, so she'd be in no danger of popping. If she could hold out for a few days, she could simply pee out the rest of this carbonated water. As for the gas she had already accumulated, hopefully it would find its way out some orifice as well.

Coincidentally, at that moment, a copious amount of gas did escape Samantha's body, and through an exit that wouldn't have been her first choice. Her inflated buttocks squeezing so tightly together increased both the pitch and volume of the resulting noise, which could have been likened to a rape horn playing a trombone into a megaphone. Samantha's entire body flushed beet-red with embarrassment at the sound. She clenched down as hard as she could, to avoid an encore performance, but the vibration of her cheeks had incited the release of more gas, and she found herself locked into an inescapable cycle of flatulence. Gritting her teeth, Samantha fixed her eyes firmly on the sidewalk in front of her, determined not to make eye contact with the people she imagined must be rousing from their slumber to observe a walking blow-up doll, her ass announcing her presence like a trumpeting herald.

As the water inside her percolated, and the pressure continued to mount, Samantha's walk was reduced to a waddle, and then to a totter. By the time she made it to her front door, she could barely bend her arms enough to punch in the door code, before they snapped back into the T position. Samantha somehow made it to her bedroom before the pneumatic force finally immobilized her. Try as she might, she couldn't take another step; she was frozen in place, like some sort of pressurized living statue. At least her inflation had finally choked off those humiliating emissions. The last thing she wanted right now was for Tori to wake up and come investigate.

Given the difficulties she had in dealing with both sexes, Samantha sometimes wondered if the only person who she could relate to would be a gay man, who wouldn't see her as a fuck-toy or a homewrecker. She was therefore rather surprised to find herself in a relationship with a lesbian. Although Victoria was obviously attracted to her "assets", she could at least hold a conversation with her while only occasionally glancing at her bust or butt; and if she was at all jealous, she kept her feelings to herself. Samantha had always considered herself a confirmed heterosexual, but Tori could be very... creative, in bed, and Samantha was gradually warming to the physical side of their relationship.

Samantha's heart sank as she heard the sound of Tori's footsteps approaching her room. "Are you up? Some idiot's been honking his horn all over... WHOA!" After Victoria had calmed down, Samantha explained her situation. All through her explanation, Tori kept pacing around her, eyeing her from top to bottom all the while. It was disconcerting, to say the least. "So I figure if I can keep from exploding for a couple of days, I can cycle out all this water, and then I should be in the clear. As for the rest of this gas, well... that was the honking you heard, so I think I'll be able to deflate myself naturally, given enough time... Tori, are you even listening to me?!" "Oh, sorry. Yeah, I heard what you said. But I was just wondering -- what does it FEEL like?" "Feel like?" "Yeah, being pumped so full of air. All that pressure inside you, blowing your tits and ass up like balloons. Because I have to tell ya, girl, you look INCREDIBLY hot right now!"

Samantha rolled her eyes in exasperation. Tori could be sexual during the most inappropriate situations. Sometimes, like the time they made love in a public park, just on the other side of some bushes from a Boy Scout troop, she found this spontaneous sensuality exhilerating. But NOW, of all times, when she was one careless move from bursting, she wanted to get it on?! "It feels like I could pop if someone brushed me with a feather, is what it feels like. I can't even MOVE, for Pete's sake! So please stop fooling around and -- OHHHHhhhhhh..." Tori had just knelt down in front of her and slid a finger down between her legs. Samantha's drum-tight skin had become super-sensitized, and the sensations running through her undercarriage were beyond anything she had ever felt. When Victoria emerged from beneath the massive curves of her bosom, she had a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Oh no. No, no, NO! Tori, this is NOT the time --" But Tori had already shrugged off her nightgown, revealing that she was wearing her strap-on vibrator. She tried to drag Samantha's immobile form over to the bed, but Tori succeeded only in toppling her forward on top of herself. Samantha winced as the impact kicked up a surfeit of carbonation, her skin groaning in protest at the strain it was under. Undeterred, Tori wedged one leg up between Samantha's thighs to work her crotch, and brought her other foot up to stroke her enormous backside, as her hands caressed Samantha's massive, globular breasts. With a sly wink, Tori reached down between her legs and switched on her vibrator.

Through the throes of her ecstacy, Samantha realized that the vibration was propagating through Victoria's body into hers. Her ears popped, and her petite frame shuddered as the pressure inside her built to unbearable levels. She tried desperately to summon a belch, toot her horn, ANYTHING to keep from being blown to bits. When she felt Tori's lips wrap around one of her protruding nipples, Samantha felt something give inside her, and closed her eyes, preparing to savor her last moment.

Victoria was busily working Samantha's nipple, when a powerful jet of water hit the back of her throat like an express train. Coughing and gagging, she was disoriented as the water blasted into her. When she came to her senses, she attempted to roll Samantha off her, but her weight and awkward T-shape conspired against Tori's efforts. Trying to slide out from under Samantha, Tori found that her leg stuck between Samantha's rigidly-inflated thighs anchored her securely in place. She almost passed out from lack of oxygen before finally getting her mouth out from under the flow. Extricating herself from under Samantha, Tori slid backwards on her hands and feet to the back wall as she caught her breath.

As she composed herself, Victoria came to recognize a strange sensation within her gut. Glancing down at herself, she was horrified to see her stomach swelling like an inflating balloon. It took her several crucial seconds for her to realize that her vibrator was agitating the carbonated water, by which time her rising belly blocked her access to the off switch. She tried to slide the damn thing off her, but the straps were already digging firmly into her ballooning butt and thighs. Tori whimpered as the pressure migrated upward, searching for space to fill.

By the time the straps snapped under their growing load, her arms were too full of gas to reach the vibrator still stuck inside her. Desperately, Victoria curled her legs upward as far as she could. She had to fight for every degree against the pneumatic pressure, but finally Tori got the handle clenched between her inner thighs. One uncurl later, the cursed device finally squirted out of her.

Tori gasped with relief as she felt the percolation within her fizzle out. But when she tried to get to her feet, she found her expansion an insurmountable obstacle. Five minutes later, Victoria collapsed in defeat, having failed to even budge herself from her position. It wasn't until then that she realized that Samantha had been looking up at her from her prone position, still immobile and undeflated, silently eyeing her with a steely glare this whole time.

"Um... was it good for you?" She sheepishly asked.