Tags: Breast Inflation, Female Inflation
Text: Sara cast an annoyed glance at her friend Lindsay, her view obstructed slightly by the pink swell of her own bulging cheeks. The slender blonde was giggling incessently as she held down the trigger on the miniature air compressor clutched in her hand, her wide, full-lipped mouth pulled into a gleeful, mischievious grin. Sara rolled her eyes and chomped irritably on the hose that Lindsay had thrust into her mouth, wincing as she felt the seams on her shirt start to give. The black Guinness t-shirt had always been one of the tougher articles of clothing in Sara's wardrobe, but as her massive breasts - now nearly as large as volleyballs - continued to pump-up and balloon with air, the stretchy black fabric of her favorite casual shirt was quickly being strained to the bursting point. At the rate she was inflating, it wouldn't be long before the entire garment was torn apart by her expanding assets.
Thanks a bunch Lindsay, thought Sara bitterly. Go ahead and blow me up without asking, why don't you? I don't mind. Hell, it's not like I actually LIKED this shirt or anything... She scowled down at her distended chest, trying to keep her breathing shallow in some vain hope that it might save the shirt of rupture. She was beginning to regret revealing her inflatable nature to Lindsay. It had felt so liberating at first - to share her secret with another human being and not have them freak-out on her. Lindsay had been so accepting and, indeed, intrigued by her talent that Sara had been unable to resist the urge to show-off, huffing and puffing and blowing herself up to her fullest, just so she could see the look of awe on her best friend's face. Unfortunately, ever since that day, Lindsay had developed an increasingly obssessive fascination with seeing Sara expand, often going as far as to forcibly inflate the buxom redhead whenever the opportunity presented itself. It wasn't that Sara minded being blown-up - what infuriated her was that Lindsay never bothered to ask before filling her up with air. It was always a surprise - a sneak-attack with an air hose or compressed-gas pellets - sprung on her like some sort of childish prank. It was as though the bubbly blonde had taken Sara's revelation as carte-blanche to turn her friend into her own personal blow-up toy.
Dammit Lindsay! I'm not a balloon! thought Sara indignantly, her beloved shirt creaking ominously under the strain of her relentlessly swelling bosom. Well, okay... I guess I AM, she admitted, after a moment's consideration, but I'm not some toy you can just inflate whenever you want! Did you ever stop to think how I might feel about this? I'm a human being dammit! You can't just go and pump me up without asking! It's humiliating! It's degrading! It's... it's...
So why don't you just pull out the hose? the little voice in the back of Sara's head demanded. After all, it wasn't as if Lindsay had tied her hands behind her back or anything. All she had to do was reach up and pluck the length of black plastic tubing from her mouth, and she would be able to save both her shirt and her dignity. So why didn't she?
Had there not been a steady stream of air surging down her throat, Sara would have sighed. She knew full well why she never tried to stop her friend from inflating her, even though she was loathe to admit it.
On some level, she rather enjoyed being Lindsay's balloon.
A soft popping sound filled the air as the left seam of Sara's shirt began to split, her almost beachball-sized breasts having finally pushed the garment past the breaking point. Sara closed her eyes in resignation, savoring the tingling sensation that suffused her colossal bust as it continued to stretch and swell, bigger and bigger. To hell with it, she thought. I can always get another shirt.