I got my purple letter a week ago. Secretly I hoped that this would never happen. Two years have passed since approval of the bill #327  (which is the end of abuse and sexual violence against women). I got used to the thought that it was always some other guy going down.
At first there were many men who volunteered. Leftists, politicians, “feminist allies” were all too eager to declare themselves as potential rapists no more. Frankly speaking, these new bodies they got have benefits - no flu, no cancer, no aging at all, always looking fresh, young and sexy. On the other hand they were light, weak, vulnerable and generally easy to deal with. Even a teenage girl could handle the adult man despite all the difference in size.
Of course, elderly men lined up for the transformation - for them it was the cheapest chance to cheat death. On the other hand grannies preferred the genetic therapy to revert aging, slightly more expensive but the government sponsored it for women.

When they were out of volunteers, prisoners were next. Unemployment and crime were appalling, especially among men. That’s one of the reasons these radical progresists were voted in. Two decades ago their ideas were fringe, but as the general social situation deteriorated and traditionally male jobs vanished, there was a growing backlash of antisocial men ... so jails were full. And this solution was more humane - transformation is much better than electrocuting an excessive prison population. An inflatable detainee doesn’t need a top security prison, just a cardboard box. Oh, didn’t I mention it? They really turn men into inflatables. Sometimes women too, if they so wish. I thought this was nonsense when I heard about Selena radiation, but it is possible indeed! Like they say, advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Transformed people retain their consciousness, memory, are able to talk, move and look just like ordinary people, yet their shapes are augmented for extra sex appeal. The only visible difference is the inflation valve.

These measures were questioned at first and caused a major fuss, but crime went down indeed and critics had to shut up, so this modern matriarchy prevailed.
I even thought this might be a change for the better, but lately my life went seriously south. I lost my job and my girlfriend dumped me, declaring herself lesbian. I thought I'd eventually found a new job, since my coding skills were good enough, but I was running out of money walking from one interview to another. Either my luck left me, or being flesh and bone male was a negative factor.

So, when I got the instructions to appear at the hospital for the mandatory procedures, I was both scared and relieved. Actually, I considered fleeing the country, but I hadn’t money to pay for the services of the smugglers. Ironically, it is much easier to bypass the border guards, when you can be deflated...

I spent last week chilling, and postponed or canceled all my job interviews. On the weekend I arranged a small reunion with my old friends at the cafe, like we used to in the merry old days. A trio of my college mates happened to be married; two of them have already undergone the transformation. So I was a single single in their company. And of course they brought their wives with them, or, strictly speaking, it is the girls who brought their boys. Brittany did so literally: she came alone, threw her coat on the rack and went to the bathroom. Two minutes later she returned with her husband Bob. Apparently, she brought him in her purse and inflated him just on the spot. I really don’t understand why some women treat their men this way for no practical reason. Although, there were no complaints from these men -- my old friend Bob looked genuinely happy.
I imagined the scene behind the bathroom doors and found it quite amusing: Brittany, who is a petite blonde smartass, takes her tightly folded hubby out, sticks a portable pump into his nozzle, then fssshhhh he unwraps, expands and grows until he’s practically twice her size. Bob always used to be a big, sturdy guy. After the flip, his wife tends to overinflate him slightly, further emphasizing their contrast.

A faint smile was on my lips, because of these thoughts. Melissa, she’s the wife of Alex, noticed and asked me: “So, Chris, are you glad to finally join the party?” -  She winked.

“Not sure they are accepting men to the Party. Even inflatable ones,” - chuckled Brittany.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that Party, just the fun of being a balloon and stuff. Alex says his life is much better after the change. Am I right, Alex?” - Melissa shook her platinum curls casting a glance at her husband. He nodded readily. Like Bob, he looked totally content with his fate.

A waiter, who of course was inflatable too, brought us coffee and cakes - for the girls, me and Dan. pneumatic guys got special cocktails, as unfortunately normal human food is not suitable for them.

Melissa continued our chat when the waiter left: “I always wondered, which one of you guys will be the last to flip. My bets were on you, Chris, but no luck... Unless someone will talk Dan into volunteering for the transformation, and he joins you tomorrow, then it will be a draw. Maya, care to help?”

Maya is an auburn beauty, sporting long lashes and a wasp’s waist. She is stylish and exquisite - got to say, her type is getting extremely rare nowadays. And she is Dan’s wife, he’s a lucky bastard. So she didn’t approve of their excitement about turning her man into a balloon: “Thanks, but no thanks. I like Dan as he is now. Able to carry me with his strong arms.”

Dan is indeed quite strong. An absolute majority of the pumped muscles you see today are pumped with air. Which looks hot, but isn’t particularly useful. So Dan is an exception. He was also cautious enough to never get negative social scoring for marginal political views, suspicious subscriptions, taxes, labor relationships and so on - hence he wasn’t prioritized for conversion and had a few years of relative safety.
My downfall was in losing a job, then a girlfriend. Artificial intelligence on government servers quickly processed all the big data: employment records, updates in social networks, my bills and concluded that I’m on my way to the social bottom. Men at the bottom are potentially dangerous material. That’s how I got my purple letter.

To our surprise Dan spoke: “How about asking me whether I want it or not?” He glared at Melissa. “Talking to Maya about me as if I'm not there,” - He cut his rant off, but it had already caused some effects.
An awkward silence hung in the air - he mentioned the You-know-what topic, something everyone is aware of, but pretends it doesn’t exist.

Melissa swallowed her bite of a cake and tried to defuse the situation: “Look, Dan, I was just kidding, no offense. No one here is really pushing you...”
Her words didn't help in containing his suppressed anger. He barked: “Not you, of course. Government, media, party, and police - they do push. While people like you are trying to think positively. It is all for the greater good, they take only criminals and machists. They aren't coming after me or other good guys. At least not today, not tomorrow ... Meanwhile, they already came after Bob, Alex. Tomorrow they will get Chris. You pretend that everything is okay, life is a joy, when you are a balloon and have your right to agree with the women, because they know better what is better for you, or they just fear to accidentally say some thoughtcrime themselves.”
We stared at him in shock. More worryingly, other folks at the cafe turned their heads towards us. Dan realized that he can talk himself into trouble and continued in a lower voice: “But of course, who am I to blame you? I was always doing exactly the same thing - nothing. And now I can't help Chris. I don't have a spare million at hand to pay the right people for smuggling him to Mexico. All I can do is to grumble and spoil this evening for you.”

“Oh, no more drama, please.” - interrupted Brittany - “I understand your emotions, boy, but they are of no use here. You aren’t helping any of them by stirring up all this hopeless anger. Men should accept their new place in the modern world, get used to it and see the positive sides of the deal. Well, you just mentioned fleeing to Mexico. Are you aware that the very same legislation is being passed in their congress? Most European countries did it ahead of us. Japan, of course. China has its own variant of this law. Even the Russians are considering it. Yeah, I know, this thing looks very unfair to you guys, but do you know why everyone is doing it? It works. Less crime, growing economies, this is even better for ecology. Running is useless, law 327 will be everywhere sooner or later. So, just throw it all out of your mind and enjoy our love, cause you are cute whether filled with meat or air... ”  She hugged Bob by his waist, making his pneumatic body squeak faintly.

“Speaking of love, where’s your Gina, Chris?” - Melissa voiced a question about my ex.

“Sadly we parted a month ago. She's now officially switched and may soon marry her new girlfriend,” - I said.

“I suspected that might happen. So now you’re out of time to date a new lady to pick you up from the hospital. How about your manager at work? I suppose that your direct superior is a woman, right?” - she continued.

“I'm unemployed now... Why are you asking? What do you mean by that: 'picking up'?” - I asked.

“Well, they just gave me my Alex in a box, deflated and packaged. It looked like a common practice. Women come and pick up their relatives after TF, no one is going out on his own legs,” explained Melissa.

“Not so sure about that, Melissa. I didn't pick Bob up, after he flipped,” - argued Brittany.

“That’s because I volunteered for the transformation. Yes, yes, I didn’t get any purple letters. Just one day they made it clear that my organic white male privilege was standing between me and my promotion to senior manager. Of course, I had to pay the full fee for the transformation, but as a responsible and cooperative male I didn’t need to have a female guarantor,” he explained. “This actually worked like a charm -- got me promoted and eventually opened the way for me to my office of a vice president.”

“So, do you mean, that I need such a guarantor, but as I lack a girlfriend and work ... am I screwed?”  I started to realize my problem.

“What about your mum? I know it’s sort of embarrassing for a grown-up boy like you, but it’s still better than the other options,” proposed Brittany.

I frowned: “My parents are not in the state. And what are the other options?”

“So you don’t know, seriously? Never heard about boy shops, have you?” Brittany raised a brow. Judging by the expressions of the other guys, they didn’t hear about this as well.

“Well. Officially these shops are called adoption centers, a nice euphemism because selling and buying people, even if they are male, has a smell. Instead we pay the guarantor’s fee, which goes to the hospital, government and shop owners. And then the purchased guy becomes the subject of the lady. She’s responsible for him and his actions, and he can't leave until she officially releases him. Cops would return him if he dared to escape, when she sleeps,” explained Melissa.

“That's bad. My mum won't bother, I’m unemployed and I just canceled all my job interviews since they’re pointless and, well, I guess, I can call Gina and beg her to do me one last favor.” I said in a low voice.

Everyone wished me luck and promised to look around for some girls for me, who were not in relationships and could help me as guarantors. Then we finished our drinks, and spoke about kids. Yeah, Melissa and Maya are mothers, while Brittany is considering extracorporeal fertilization with Bob's genetic material. When they were out of cute photos of their offspring, Alex shared selfies of him piloting his new glider, these photos looked impressive indeed. Melissa was clearly proud of him. I ought to be happy for them, for their apparent joyful life, but instead felt bitter and neglected.

At half past seven I left my friends at the cafe, with an excuse that I needed to settle some remaining issues before tomorrow.

Of course, I tried to call Gina. Not that I didn’t attempt it before. Well, in short, she just blacklisted my number. Maybe her phone was outside of the network coverage, sunken at a river bottom or stomped upon by an elephant, though blacklist was the most likely option. I tried not to panic, but prepared for the worst.

At home I quickly packed my belongings into two cardboard boxes - everything except one set of clothes and my notebook. I googled and quickly found entire sites dedicated to the search for guarantors, advice for desperate men, hefty prices for the services of professional guarantors. This entire business looked like a filthy scam and fraud.
So I browsed dating sites, since I already had accounts here and there, with moderately photoshopped photos and witty descriptions. Unfortunately I hadn’t any time for dates, and proper romantic rituals. Too bad, cute and lovely girls I chatted with, called me a pathetic jerk when I mentioned the purple letter. In just three hours I got banned on all the dating services. That was game over for me. But I was too tired to give a fuck about my life going down the drain and just fell asleep.

That night was the last time I slept and dreamed. Inflatable folks don’t sleep like organics. We just deflate and then inflate. Five minutes or five centuries spent in hibernation pass equally unnoticed.
Sadly I couldn't recall these dreams: they dissolved like a morning fog when my alarm clock woke me up that Monday.

After taking a shower and gulping my last cup of coffee, I grabbed my cardboard boxes and visited my landlady. She was quite surprised, when I gave her my keys and asked her to keep my stuff for a while. But showed some compassion, when I explained the reason.

The hospital used to be a real medical center for sick people, but today it was dedicated for transformations. The entrance was guarded by two girls armed with automatic rifles. I went through a metal detector and got my id scanned. It was 8:38, just twenty minutes ahead of my deadline. A boy at the reception desk guided me to the eastern wing of the building, where a queue of men was awaiting their turn.
I landed on a bench next to a short slim guy. He had a somewhat nerdy look, bangs dyed blond and a lizard tattoo climbing out of the right sleeve of his shirt.

He stared at the metal clad door in front of us. Waiting for my doom in silence would be both boring and mentally exhausting, so I said: “Hello there, I'm Chris.”

My neighbor was surprised and twitched nervously at the sound of my voice. “Eddie. That's my name. Good morning,” he said, smiling. I had expected to see a gloomy grimace of despair on his face. Meeting someone amiable and outgoing here was a pleasant surprise indeed.
His attention soon switched back to the muffled sounds heard through the door. I tried to listen and heard voices, but couldn't grasp the words. Then there was a barely audible hissing sound.

“Here he goes,” said Eddie. He showed no signs of fear. Maybe some anxiety or even excitement.

The hissing got louder: now there was more than one source of the sound. Soon it became a chorus. “Two, three, four, ” Ed counted,  “Five, Six!”

“What are they doing?” I asked.

“Guys are getting deflated and packaged once ready,” he said, confirming my suspicions.

“You’re talking about it as if it's something good - like packaging gifts for Christmas,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to flipping already.”  Seeing my bemused face he explained.  “Look, all the happy men I met in the last year were inflatable. Yeah, they can treat you like a blowup doll, but if you don’t flip they treat you like shit. Being a sextoy is a major improvement over that.
Unlike the majority of guys I didn't drop out of college, didn't join any gang. I studied arts, design, I can draw pretty well and I’m quite good at making 3D art. So what? I can't find any work, just freelance on the web marketplaces, where no one cares if you are a boy or a girl. I'm still virgin, by the way, most of the gals at my classes were lesbians and frowned upon me. And unfortunately I'm not gay. So how can things get any worse? The more I thought about flipping, the more I liked the idea. No more struggle, working, responsibility, playing this game rigged against us. Instead of this - become a plaything for a nice girl, inflated, fucked, deflated by her. Maybe I’ll be doing some chores at her house, or do other work, that’s not a big deal. So hell yeah, I want to be inflatable!”

His speech was interrupted when one of the white doors opened. A nurse with a cute blonde ponytail stood in the door frame and invited the next batch of six men to enter. They just rose and went in, the last of the six looking back at us as he stood in the doorway, and sighed. Ed gave him a thumbs up. Then the door closed behind him. Needless to say, we never saw them again.

Then I heard a metal clanging and another door opened. A tall swarthy nurse rolled a cart out of it. I sneaked a peek and counted six cardboard boxes.

“Are these packaged guys?” I asked in a low voice leaning to Ed's ear. He nodded. Then he added, speaking even lower, “Nice ass.”

I looked at the hips of the nurse clad in her snug medical coat. Ed was right. Though I said a different thing. “They usually call it harassment.”

“Only if they hear my words,” chuckled Ed.  “Anyway, what can they do? Hit my social score with more penalties and send me to the conversion? That's scary, but wait, it’s a bit too late in my case.”

“By the way, there's only six of us left,” I noticed.

“Ah yeah, finally! We’re next. Adventure awaits!” Ed exclaimed.
Guys in our batch gave him an “Are you nuts?” look, but Ed clearly didn't care.

Indeed, a pretty girl with ponytails invited us soon. Actually, I expected hospital staff to be man-eating witches, with the Party insignia tattoos - well indoctrinated zealots of “the future is female”. In the first room there were two doctors, and both didn't fit into that schema.
The nurse smiled and giggled. Probably she was new to the job and as excited as Ed. Her senior colleague had short cut curly hair, neatly combed and tied with a ribbon. A bit on the plump side, though her coat concealed her curves. She tried to be professional - avoiding eye contact and giving her orders in a dull voice. No emotion, no compassion, but not the coldness of superiority either.
“Gentlemen, please undress, place your clothes into boxes, and enter the capsules.” The doctor gestured in the direction of six glass cabinets, somewhat resembling standing showers.
She used the word gentlemen. Today it's getting extinct. Usually girls call us men, boys, guys, dudes. If the girl is in the Party, she'd call us males instead. Never gentlemen. Probably, she was just sarcastic beneath her professional poker face.

While I pondered, our nurse handed out boxes for our possessions. So we put our shoes, coats and vests in. I wasn't used to undressing in front of women, but the others didn't seem to mind, so after some hesitation I undressed to - my pants and underwear quickly followed the same route.
I heard a sharp whooshing sound as the glass door of a capsule slid open before the first guy. Clearly, there was an airlock - quite predictable, female employees here weren't going to taste their own medicine or breathe the transformation agents.
 Our nurse slapped the ass of the second dude, as his capsule opened and he stepped in. He was toned and had an athletic build - clearly a gym frequenter. He turned to say something, but we didn’t hear his words - the glass door shut swiftly behind him. Nurse just waved him a goodbye and gently pushed the next guy toward his door. No one tried to fight or resist, even though we still had enough physical strength. The charms of the flirtatious blonde cutie were stronger. Maybe that was her real duty here -- to make sure we don't cause trouble. She was certainly the right person for that job. I entered the door with a smile, thinking about her ample bosom, not my doom. She blew me an air kiss, when I looked back over my shoulder through the glass barrier.

After the airlock, I entered a small cylindrical chamber. From inside it resembled a vertical tanning machine. Though instead of UV lamps there were small nozzles, which started to pour some milky mist into the air. It had a medical scent and immediately soaked my entire skin. I instinctively closed my eyes, but this chemical crept into every pore of my skin and under my closed eyelids. I felt no pain, just a tingling and tickling of small bubbles foaming and popping over my skin.

A few minutes passed rather uneventfully. Then I saw light, it was coming through the veins of my eyelids as neon purple, though it turned to be blue, when I opened my eyes. Of course it was the notorious Selena radiation. This phenomenon was discovered by Selena Hoedberg just twenty years ago.
Ironically, originally it was mostly applied to women working in the shady brothels. Turning them into living inflatable dolls virtually cemented their status of sex slaves. No aging, no STDs, no chance to escape as they were simply deflated after their clients left. This entire business was frowned upon and considered illegal in many countries, but still very profitable.
Everything changed when one of them managed to escape. A client smuggled a former Latino girl out of the brothel. A few days later he was found dead, obviously thugs traced him and made an example. But they couldn't retrieve the girl.
Next weekend Gabriella, the girl who escaped, was on TV. Oh boy, what a drama it was. She told about being drugged, raped many times, then forcibly converted. For two years she was a sex slave. Her original owners had sold her to a brothel in LA, where she eventually met Joshua - a young and nerdy college student, to whom she told her story. He was brave enough to try and steal her from the slavers. He had to jump out of the window on the second floor to flee with her. He paid the ultimate price, but saved Gabriella and started a shit-storm of truly epic scale.
Of course, there was a police campaign of zero tolerance to the brothels. Basically all the organized prostitution in the US was hunted down and terminated in mere months. So many inflatable girls were released from captivity and each told their stories, mostly similar to Gabriella’s.  
Owners, as well as their thugs and pimps fled the country or got triple lifetime terms in jail - so the very bad guys were out of the picture. The hottest topic of talk shows become the experiences of saved girls and the repentance of the brothels’ clients. Media thrived on the scandal, exaggerating the scale of the problem. So people got used to thinking that the majority of men were at some point clients of inflatable hookers, while millions of women were transformed against their will. Nobody cared about real numbers and real data.
By that time, the third wave of feminism was out of steam, bogged down in the conundrums of intersectionality and trans folk’s rights. The case of Gabriella gave a new life to the old ideas. The fourth wave was born and the Party founded, they just blitzed to power after that.
Men in power didn't oppose them, those who intended to stay in politics or on the boards of directors tried to position themselves as feminist allies. Of course, they were the first to volunteer for transformation. This was an affordable indulgence for the original sin of being born male .

“Oh, it’s started!” My thoughts about events of the distant past were swept away when I realized my transformation had begun. I felt dizzy, lightheaded and tense like a shaken bottle of cola - with all that dissolved gas within struggling to expand my shell. My body hair vanished, as I felt my skin gradually covered by a foam of tiny bubbles. A strange liquid oozed out of me, it boiled and evaporated. Although it was extremely creepy, I felt no pain even though my insides were literally dissolving.
My legs bent like rubber and couldn't support my weight anymore, so I flopped on the floor and blacked out. My last thought was about the little mermaid story, not the adapted Hollywood version with the happy end, but the original one, penned by Anderson. Poor girl didn't kiss the prince, so when her three days ran out, she turned into sea foam...

When I woke up, foam was everywhere, literally filling the entire capsule. The last bits of the liquid went down the drain in the floor. I could stand up again and practically sprang up on my feet, I was so light, taut and bouncy. My weight had gone along with my bones, muscles, blood - all replaced by pressurized air.
At first I was clumsy and had to learn how to walk and move without tumbling and bouncing.
Selena rays dried up the foam, which quickly receded and withered. The blue lights faded. But it wasn't over. I heard a whooshing sound going from above and looked up. On the ceiling of the chamber there were four concealed air vents.
I didn't realize what was going on at first, but then I felt my new skin stretching and expanding, because my inner pressure wasn't balanced by the outside force. Air was sucked out of the room, so I was expanding. If I were still breathing, I'd probably suffocate. Instead I ballooned: my chest, arms, hips grew, and a potbelly formed which quickly inflated into a round ball. When I was about to panic, the whooshing stopped abruptly. That was timely, my new stretchy skin was so distended I felt it testing its limits. It would be a huge loss to become a balloon and burst right away.
Actually, the opposite thing happened. Airlock opened and air rushed, my body shrank back to its normal size rapidly. A gust of wind threw me into the opposite wall of the chamber, which I bounced from.

We all stepped out of the glass doors of the capsules, doing our best not to flop on the floor, because it takes time to get used to a new body. Still six men. Same but different. Of course we were now air-filled, yet could easily pass as just toned, pumped hunks. Ed particularly became taller and manlier. Two elderly gentlemen lost their baldness, wrinkles and twenty years of their apparent age. We were officially hot! Last but not least we got some upgrade in size of our equipment. I tried not to look at the blonde nurse to suppress all the frisky thoughts, getting a hard on would only exacerbate my embarrassment.

The Doctor invited us to sit on a chair next to her and answer a few questions. She beckoned a red headed dude, who was a bald grandpa just half an hour ago - I could barely recognize him.
He radiated enthusiasm while answering questions about his new feelings.
"My name is Anthony, miss."

"No, miss, no painful sensations. Just tightness all over the body."
...
"Yeah, I can bend my arms and legs. A bit difficult to coordinate, is that normal?"
...
"My emotional state? Well, good. Very good. Feel young again, and hungry like a teenage boy. You are very attractive, miss."
...
"Ah, that's true. I'm married. My Martha said she'll pick me up from the hospital tonight, after work."  This red-haired dude was really lucky, unlike me and Ed.

While his attention was on the doctor, the nurse approached him from behind and slapped his back. When she removed her hand, we could see a valve in the small of his back. A small plastic tube quickly fused into his skin, becoming an integral part of his body.
That was a surprise, especially for Anthony. He couldn’t see it, of course, and tried to reach the spot with his hand, but failed - his air-filled arms couldn’t bend to wrap around his torso, so his fingers stopped an inch from the valve.  “What is it? Is it my ... my air plug?”

“That’s correct,” confirmed the nurse.

“Couldn’t it be located in a more convenient place?” he asked, still fruitlessly trying to reach the small of his back.

“No. You aren’t going to inflate or deflate yourself, your wife will decide it.”

“But.... What if it opens accidentally?”  Anthony still didn't get it.

"In this case you will deflate, sorry. Just try to avoid such unfortunate situations. If you are unplugged, you can't do anything but lose your air and collapse on the floor," the nurse explained, I could see a grin on her lips as she spoke.

Anthony was still bemused, when the next guy -- the former gym dude -- took the place in the chair. Same script repeated, questions asked, valves installed. Two were married, one had a girlfriend, one will be picked up by his sister. I guess, that's less of an embarrassment than asking mum.

I started to think that I was the only sorry loser, without a guarantor, but I had a company. When it was Eddie’s turn he confessed his lack of mate, his virginity and the fact that his mother didn’t care. His tirade caused a glimmer of compassion in the doctor’s eyes. Then she returned to her usual flegmatic air and put down a tick in Eddie's form - to the adoption center. Meanwhile our nurse installed his valve.

I was the last. The questions were the same, and I answered mechanically, anticipating the sensation on my back rather than listening to her voice. The doctor dismissed me to the boy shop, like Eddie. And what else could she do? Take me home?
The valve fused into my skin with no pain, or outstandingly pleasurable feelings. I felt a touch in the small of my back and a second later I could feel the fingers of the blonde nurse gently holding the cap of my new valve. The valve happened to be quite sensitive, but her touch lasted a fraction of second, then she removed her hand.

The nurse guided us to the doors, still nude, our clothes and other stuff were packaged, papers with our names pinned to the boxes, which she put into a cart.

In the next room we saw that swarthy girl in the hospital uniform. Her bottom had impressed Eddie last time, now we saw her face -- she looked gorgeous! On the other hand, after flipping, all women I see look hot and attractive, as if I am eighteen again, hungry for sex and high on testosterone.

With an annoyed grimace she put down her tablet, where some heated online battle was going on and looked at us.

“Lily, six more for packaging. These two” - the blonde nurse pointed at Ed and me - “for adoption.”

Lily, apparently that was the name of brunette, nodded, dismissing her blonde colleague.

When we were alone, the brunette said: “Let’s do it quickly, boys.”

She handed us our cardboard boxes. Our names were written on them with a black marker pen. I think they could let us have some dignity and not toss us next to our own shoes.
I opened my mouth to protest, but was interrupted by a popping sound, followed by a loud hissing. Gym guy gasped in total surprise, his pumped muscles starting to shrink.
Lily quickly approached the red-haired guy and another kid from the rear, yanking their plugs simultaneously with both her hands. The hissing sound tripled. Then she made a step towards me, grabbed my shoulder and turned me around unceremoniously. Next moment I felt her fingers on my plug. "Pop, shhhh," it said.

*Oh, you are damn fast." gym guy said, realizing what just happened.

"Sorry, boys. When I was new, I used to do my job in a classier way," she said, while uncorking Eddie with a quick, precise move.  "But I’ve seen so many men deflating I got bored eventually."  With these words she popped open the last guy.

Deflation actually feels good, like relaxing on a soft sofa after a long day. But in the same moment it’s scary -- a loss of control exacerbated by complete helplessness. I felt a growing weakness in my limbs and could see my immediate future: gym guy lost his balance as his legs sagged, and fell on his knees. His hands hung limp and were almost useless, even though he tried to flail them to stay upright.

Flop. Flop. Two more men on the floor. Before following them, I saw Lily picking gym guy up. She hugged him, pressing his shape against her buxom chest. In her embrace his hissing got louder. Lily squeezed him really hard, forcing his air out.

"No time for much cuddling, cutie," she said, proceeding to fold his knees against his chest - "My clan is in the middle of some ass-kicking right now."

I collapsed on the floor face down and didn't see the rest. Just more hissing and faint squeaks.

I still had some air left when she pulled me from the ground and squeezed.

My purple letter day was over, but the finale was quite pleasant - my face pressed between two female breasts. Unfortunately, it didn't last long, my mind faded out when my head was smothered in her cleavage.