The Inflation Memoirs: The Fat Girl
Have you ever tried inflating a fat girl? If you haven't you should try it, I assure you, they blow up in quite a different way to thin girls.
A normal sized girl, once you get a bit of air in her, will go from a flat tummy to a pot belly and then to looking pregnant. It doesn’t take much to blow her clothes of, if she’s wearing any. She’s barely gotten past bloated before her buttons begin to pop and her underwear starts to give out. Her boobs pump up a bit to the size of melons and she gets a nice bubble butt, before you know it, rip pop, her clothes are shredded and she’s butt naked, sitting there like a tasty pink balloon animal, all smooth and tight. Don’t get me wrong, I cant get enough of the sight of a cute little hottie marvelling at how her tanned athletic body has gotten so round. It's such a delightful contrast seeing her suddenly pinned down by a pair of gigantic tits and thunder thighs.
But girls who are big to begin with, that’s a whole other sport.
It reminds me of a girl I had last summer. The wife and I had picked her up at a cocktail bar and managed to talk her in to coming back to the house for a spot of ‘ménage’. You could tell she didn’t have much experience in being picked up at bars, she just seemed flattered that someone had that someone had taken an interest. It's not like she wasn’t pretty, she’d put a lot of effort into her appearance and her outfit, but she was definitely on the large side. Big belly, round hips, smoking hot dress. Anyway, the wife and I just took one look at her and we could tell we were both thinking the same thing, how good she would look with a hose in her mouth. I guess we’re just able to see the potential in people that’s so often overlooked by others.
We get home and go through the usual routine, open a moderately expensive wine, a bit of chat, some light petting on the sofa and then seamlessly relocate to the bedroom. She’s sweet, clearly open to the idea of experimentation, happy to take the lead from me. I’ve gotten so good at talking girls into exploring my … tastes, particularly when the wife is there, it’s hard for them to say no to two people.
Once we’re on the bed I start to drop suggestions, toying with the idea of balloons and air and the sensuality of ‘fullness’, all while stroking her ample curves. She’s a little shocked at first, they always are.
“You want to inflate me? Like a balloon?”
Yes my dear, the feeling is so exquisite, why don’t we try, we can always stop if you don’t like it. Here, I’ve got a little pump I keep by the bed for this very purpose.
And just like that I'm sliding the hose into her curvaceous rear. The smoking hot dress is draped over a chair, but she was still wearing a very fetching bra and thong. I can see the wife is getting excited. That first pump, the first rush of air into a virgin balloon. It's such a thrill.
She takes it like a champ, only gasping slightly as gas invades her insides, swirling and coursing into her empty belly. I place my hand on the deflated curve, feeling the air starting to push back against my palm. She’s growing. It’s almost imperceptible, just tiny shifts here and there.
And this, this is what’s so special about inflation in a big girl. A skinny girl would already be tight, she would already be complaining that she’s full, having never seen her belly bigger than when she’s had a large meal. Just a small, taut mound between her breasts and thighs. But a fat girl...it's like pumping up a bouncy castle. Her folds gradually start to fill out and rise, shapes appear where there were none. A heavy, soft belly becomes firmer and smoother, with the loose skin able to stretch out much more comfortably than a skinny girl could achieve. And she’s no stranger to fullness. She’s used stuffing herself to the brim, it’s no shock to feel herself being stretched from within.
I’m amazed at how much air she’s letting me pump into her. I stop for a second to examine my handiwork. Only a trace of her heavy rolls remain, her smooth belly is domed high above her as she coos and arches her back to relieve the pressure. I poke her experimentally. Shes firm but not full. There’s pressure in her belly and her breasts and thighs. Her outsized underwear is still holding on, she’ll be huge before it blows off.
My wife enjoys her too, stroking and kissing her curves. It’s hard to tell how our obliging blimp is taking it. Often after the initial exploration, girls often become reluctant to continue and I have to adopt more forceful methods to achieve my goals. But this one lays completely still, her eyes closed and her pudgy hands resting on the sides of her belly.
I ask her, “How do you feel my dear?", running my fingertips over the very top of her belly.
“Full” she eventually whispers back.
“Oh sweetie, you're no way near full yet.” the wife replies, and then leaning over, she locks lips with our delicious blimp before puffing air into her mouth like she was blowing up a pool toy. I love it when she does that. I can feel my wife’s breath pushing out against my fingers and she inflates the poor helpless thing.
With each forceful puff, she gets rounder, her domed belly gets taller, her beachball breasts sliding out of her bra cups and pressing against my wife’s chest. The blimp-girl protests, flapping her chubby limbs and moaning but she’s far too full to break free from the relentless flow of hot breath.
I watch for a while, enjoying of the spectacle of the two women embracing, their naked flesh brushing together, one looking miniscule in comparison to the other. The smell of sweat and sex and rubber lingering in the air, it’s intoxicating.
Suddenly I find I just can’t resist any more. I move round to the foot of the bed, my wife obscured from view by the rising mound of inflated flesh. Between those two thick, conical thighs, wrapped in tortured lace, my balloon’s delicious pumped-up pussy. It’s soft and springy beneath my fingers, filled with just the right amount of air. The thong snaps off easily and there it is, practically begging me to enter. I dive in greedily.
My wife has stopped puffing. I know she is looking for the automatic pump so that she can watch us. I grip the sides of the balloon’s heaving belly as I thrust. I can still feel a layer of fat stretched thinly over the surface. A remnant of the person she used to be. I wonder if she sees the irony in being considered fat before. Compared to the size she is now, she was practically anorexic.
“One or two hoses?” my wife asks.
I squeeze gently, trying to gauge the pressure inside our inflated toy.
Two. I stop thrusting and take the hose, feeling blindly for my balloon’s rear entrace and inserting it. My wife does the same at the front, squeezing her puffy cheeks so that the blimp’s puckered lips open wide enough to accept the hose. I can hear muffled protests, but she’s far too full to speak now.
The pump whirs to life and I'm in heaven. She’s swelling like mad, hooked up at both ends, fast becoming a taut ball in the middle of the bed. Her pussy getting tighter and firmer as I thrust into her. The wife watches from the side, pleasuring herself to the sight of her husband fucking a human balloon. My bestial grunts mixing with the balloon’s helpless wails and the wife’s mewls of ecstasy and the increasingly ominous sound of stretching skin.
I struggle for a handhold, a glistening layer of sweat prevents me from gripping the sides of the taut sphere I am humping. My fingers claw against her skin with a sound reminiscent of wiping condensation from a mirror. Nevertheless, I can feel myself start to climax. My balloon’s overinflated pussy is like a vice around my cock. I can feel all that pneumatic pressure gripping me. I can't begin to imagine how full she must be feeling. Her overtaxed skin groans long and hard, protesting against the insistent flow of air. I can tell from experience she is seconds away from bursting into scraps...
It’s that mental image that makes me cum. I grunt as a third hose pumps the poor, wretched balloon to the brim with a torrent of semen, filling every last available cubic centimetre in her blimped-out body. Even now I'm amazed she took it. I was afraid she would split apart right there when I was still inside her. To the side I heard my wife finish too, screaming my name as she climaxed.
I pulled out and we both toppled into a heap on the bed, barely flinching as our balloon-girl finally exploded into scraps of wet, rubbery skin, which rained down on us where we lay panting. Her heavy-duty bra dangled from the lampshade and the plus-sized dress on the back of a chair was covered with sticky pink rubber. The air compressor was still humming away.
I guess we lay there for about a minute getting out breath back and savouring the lingering smells, then I rolled over to look at my wife and said “We have got to pick up fat ones more often”.