Tags: Inflatable Clothing, Female Inflation, Clean Popping, catsuit, corset, floating, helium, latex
Text: It is New Orleans, the Mardi Gras. Costumed people everywhere. One of them, dressed as Catwoman in a shiny black skintight latex body suit, struts haughtily through the swarming crowds, teetering skillfully on her high heeled boots. The suit is a close duplicate of the one worn by Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Returns: complete with mask and a shiny black leather corset over the suit. She has an angry look in her eye--the look of a woman who has met an unexpected obstacle, but who knows she will overcome it shortly.
As she picks her way through the throng, not a few heads turn and watch her pass. She is stunning. Those lucky enough to be close by when she passes them might even hear the squeak squeak of her powerful lean thighs as she struts by.
Though the general public has not been informed about the intimate details of Michelle Pfeiffer's catsuit, THIS particular catsuit has a zipper that starts at the base of the spine just below the corset laces, curves down between the buttocks, and up all the way to the top of the neck. With the corset laced on over top, naturally it would take forever for catwoman to perform her periodic natural functions: she would have to take off the corset and unzip from the front. But fortunately, the zipper is double ended: she can unzip starting from the back and open her profusely sweating privates up to the waist in front, where the front edge of the corset begins.
Suddenly, over the din of the partying, she hears a hissing sound. She stops and turns. A few yards away a fat middleaged woman behind a counter at a booth is filling helium balloons from large cylinders and selling them to children. Business is poor at this booth despite the Mardis Gras, but the booth is festooned with helium cylinders and coiled and dangling hoses of all shapes and sizes. Plastered all over the booth are colourful paper and cardboard animal and decorative shapes. In the cluttered shelves behind the counter and under the canvas awning are rows of glue bottles used to attach these figures to the balloons. This is a tradition the balloon woman revives every year in New Orleans.
"Do you have any black balloons?" says catwoman, sckritching forward sensuously with her hands on her tightly rubbered hips, "I want one."
"Yes, I think I have some buried under the counter here, just a minute," says the woman pleasantly, rummaging under the counter. "There isn't much call for black balloons here, they're considered rather morbid if you don't mind my say . . ."
"Yes I do mind," snaps catwoman. Then, examining her steel nails as if wondering who to attack with them next, she adds in a sultry confident voice: "I am displeased with my boyfriend. A black balloon is my sign of warning. When he finds it tied to the doorknob of his apartment, he will know who was there, and that he is in deep trouble."
The balloon woman, Agnes, slowly heaves herself up from behind the counter: "I'm sorry miss, I can't seem to find them. I guess we haven't got any."
"What? You fool!" Of course you've got some!" cries the impatient customer as she rudely rushes around the end of the counter into the booth and in amongst cylinders and bunches of hoses dangling thickly everywhere from the framework of the canvas awning above. She trips in her haste and bumps forward into a cylinder. Rebounding backwards, she plops onto a chair with a long coil of hose sitting on it. "Shit!" she cries, as she struggles to her feet. "Look at all this junk. No wonder you can't find anything."
With shocking arrogance, catwoman then goes to the counter, bends forward, and starts hauling boxes out from behind the counter as the balloon woman looks on helplessly.
"Please don't mess up my shop" she says, then notices with alarm that the end of the hose that was on the chair is lodged in the butt of catwoman's suit, just in the small gap above the zipper handle. She must have been a little careless, thinks the balloon woman, and not quite zipped herself up all the way after going to the ladies room. "Oh miss," says the woman with a worried look on her face, "I think you should just check the back of your suit and . . ." but the latexed lady hisses like a cat and pays no attention as she throws various boxes and bags over her shoulder. One small box strikes an open bottle of glue on the shelf behind her and it tips over, starting a sticky puddle on the floor.
"Oh my," groans the saleswoman, "you're making a mess"
"Be quiet won't you?" catwoman replies. Still bent forward, corset and rubber buttocks straining, she staggers backward dragging a large box out from under the counter. As she proceeds to rummage through its contents, the spilled glue drips onto the bum of her suit, drying quickly and forming a seal between it and the hose.
Finally she stands up straight. "Nothing! Time to blow this popsicle stand!"
Meanwhile, Agnes, upset by the rudeness of catwoman and distracted by a customer, tries to reorganize the chaos of hoses and valves and cylinders the feline terror has created. Fitting a balloon on a nozzle, she is not sure which valve to turn. She tries first the red valve, then a green one. Yes, here we are, the green one is filling the balloon now. Heavens knows where the red one leads. Unfortunately, in her confusion and upset, she forgets to turn the red valve off. Looking across the thronging street, catwoman spies another balloon booth. This is the booth of one Wendy Birch, a large butch lesbian in overalls. Wendy has a calm and easygoing manner, but with an undertone that lets you know she won't take any shit from anyone. She has been watching the events at her friend's booth, and is now sauntering over to see if she can help her friend out, and also get a better look at the obnoxious babe in the bodysuit.
"Do you have any black balloons, then?" asks catwoman impatiently as Wendy approaches. Not one to hurry an answer, Wendy leans on the counter and looks the woman over from head to foot. She is disappointed. From the waist up, catwoman is very lean-- just how Wendy likes 'em. But from the waist down, she seems to be unexpectedly bloated. Funny, Wendy thinks, she didn't seem to be like that when she passed by on the street before. But suddenly, the catlady blinks and stares:
"Huh?" she says. "I feel something. . . ." Quickly, her spidery cat-nailed fingers flutter over her hips and thighs. "My suit is inflating!" she says with disbelief. Then her hands find the hose glued into the butt of the suit and she begins to tug on it, causing a squeaky frictional rubber sound. "Can't . . . get . . .the damned thing . . . out!" she grunts through gritted teeth.
In the meantime, Wendy has come around into the booth. None of the trapped helium has squeezed beneath the corset, so it is only from the waist down that catwoman has blimped out. At this point, she simply seems to have a very voluptuous lower body, much out of proportion to her lithe upper body. A few people begin to stop and stare. Motioning Agnes away, Wendy pretends to try to turn off the red valve and then pronounces it stuck.
Catwoman laughs nervously: "Stuck? It can't be!" She continues to grunt and strain at the hose, making squeaky rubbery sounds of a very embarassing nature. She twists and turns in her unyielding corset, trying to get a look at her swelling behind like a stupid dog chasing its tail. Wendy feels herself starting to get wet. "Do something! Please! I can't be seen like this!"
Then for a moment, catwoman looks at Wendy with a pleading look on her face. Wendy replies with a cool possessive expression that says, "you belong to me now, kitty-kat," but her voice says happily, "let me help you dearie." She has catwoman bend forward a little and brace herself with her claws on the counter, facing the increasing number of people who are now beginning to snicker. Wendy plants one large booted foot on catwoman's expanding rubber ass, and with both hands yanks on the hose. This causes catwoman to lurch and stagger on her heels in a most undignified way.
"Please hurry," she begs.
"Well, that sure isn't going to work," says Wendy, just barely suppressing her laughter and arousal, "we'll just have to cut you out of this foolish corset and then unzip you from the front."
She pulls out a sharp knife and begins to cut the laces above the glued-in hose. Each time she cuts though one there is a loud bang or pop and the gathering crowd responds with increased amusement.
"What I'll never understand," says Wendy, sawing away at the lacings, "is why a woman would think she's such a big [pop!] deal just because she squeezes her dainty little butt [pop!] into some rubber contraption [pop-bang!] and then prances around on these wobbly stilt boots with her body laced up like a football!"
And with that, there is a series of rapid-fire pops and bangs as the corset flies into space to the jeers of the crowd, and the gas in the lower part of the suit immediately billows upwards into the rest of it. Catwoman's fingers leap instantly for the zipper at her throat. But as Wendy has intelligently foreseen, a combination of panic and super-long nails has made it all but impossible for the frantic feline to unzip herself quickly. In a few desperate moments, the window of opportunity is gone as the suit inflates so much that catwoman's elbow's straighten out, forcing her claws away from the zipper.
The formerly lithe catwoman now looks like a gross caricature of Mae West. With every passing second she gets bigger and rounder and her now obvious panic increases.
"Help! Somebody please help me! I'm stuck in my suit!" The crowd only laughs uproariously at her grasp of the all too obvious. As she calls out pathetically and begins to rise slowly from the ground, Wendy unscrews the hose from the tank. With catwoman now floating 20 feet in the air, tethered only by the hose in Wendy's hand, Wendy takes her new black balloon for a walk across the street to her own booth. The crowd applauds.
Wendy then hauls her new toy down (with a wicked, lustful look on her face) and stuffs it into the booth. She cranks the awning down from inside, concealing the both of them from sight. Knowing that the show is over, the crowd then slowly disperses, wandering this way and that for new pleasures at the Mardi Gras.
But a few minutes later, not surprisingly, a huge bang ensues. There is then no crowd to witness as the now tender Wendy takes the shocked and humbled face of catwoman and plants a kiss on her forehead. Unclothed now but for her leather boots and a few scraps of rubber, catwoman sinks into the warm and loving nakedness of Wendy's large breasts.