This is a spin-off of the Purple Letter Day series. Same universe, different characters. Involves a lot of inflation and some explosive endings. Again as in other Purple stories, men are inflatable and women are in charge... You have been warned.
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Autopilot stopped in front of an unremarkable garage door covered with graffiti. A second later the door started to pull up with a low humming sound.
Sally switched to manual mode and drove us in. Ahead was a tunnel diving underground. When the automatic door closed behind us, lights turned on.
“So there is no coming back now,” I said melancholically.
“Today is a big day, James,” said Sally, my girlfriend. “I think we are both ready because we trained a lot and I don’t have much money left, so we need a win. Anyway I promise we both will leave this place in one piece. I know where your limits are and if you get close to bursting, we stop even if it means we lose.”
Sally was visibly nervous before our first match, of course she tried to reassure me, but other girls in this sport probably tell the same story to their team-mates. Sally has bills to pay...
She lost her job two months ago. I was unemployed for a little longer, but at least I was in a relationship, that’s why I didn’t get a purple letter. Instead I went to the hospital voluntarily. That was our crazy plan - to join the officially outlawed Pop Сhallenge and get rich. I was an even bigger idiot than Sally, because it was me who proposed it first.
We both were gym frequenters. So she was quite strong for a girl, while I was well-pumped even before I became inflatable. The majority of men had to pass the Selena transformation and turn into harmless balloon versions of their former selves. Now it is pretty easy for everyone to look pumped. But I had an important perk - I was naturally pumped at normal pressure, while most guys had to overinflate to match my size. So we were better than the average pop-challenger couple. At least that’s how I rationalized it.
Next day I really regretted coming up with this stupid idea, but Sally liked it, so I didn’t want to chicken out. Soon I got my meat and bones replaced with air. We trained a lot, she inflated me big and round, till I felt my skin was too thin and distended to contain any more air. Then she deflated me completely to let my skin contract and heal all the micro ruptures. Next day I could take one or two more pumps... This way two months passed pretty quickly for me, because I spent most of the day time as a deflated heap after our training sessions. So, fast forward to the present day.
Sally parked our car on the minus third floor. A clerk met us in the underground parking station and led us through a series of doors and walkways. I carried a backpack and followed Sally. I must admit, I really like watching her from behind - that perfect pumped butt of hers clad in tight white yoga pants, her long blonde tresses braided and bumping against her back as she walked.
The walkway ended in a luxuriously furnished lobby, and there was a guy at the reception. Of course, he was inflatable too. He looked at me briefly, then switched his attention to my girlfriend.
“Miss Selma Snow?”
“Yes, that’s my alias,” nodded Sally.
“Please sign here and there. Yes, aha, everything is okay. Your match is in twenty minutes. Your changing room is number twenty, down by this corridor. Good luck.”
“Selma Snow? Really?” I asked. “You didn’t tell me.”
“No one competes under her real name. This is a show and my image is part of our success. By the way, your name here is James Bulk.”
“Oh come on, it sounds vulgar.”
“My manager says that name is fine for the arena. Anyway, it’s better than James Boom.”
We stripped down to our arena uniforms. Selma Snow wore a white one piece swimsuit - stylish but not revealing, yet very flexible and complementing her toned ass. I had just boxers, in a matching milky white color made of fabric so stretchy they could outlast me. Going kaboom is nasty enough, but being nude before bursting is extra embarrassment.
Through the closed door on the other end of the changing room we could hear the muffled cries of the patrons of the show. Those voices got louder and louder, more excited and then a thundering boom made me jump.
“Damn, Sally. Tell me it’s not going to end here...”
“Selma. I’m Selma, don’t forget. Of course, I won’t let them pop you today, James,” she said and put her hand on my back, stroking my sensitive inflation valve. That feeling is, well, it is difficult to compare, but I assure you - it is worth flipping, to feel your girlfriend’s fingers caressing your air plug. It is pleasant of course, but there’s something deeper to it than that - being at her mercy, merely a gentle move of her hand and you are deflating, collapsing helplessly. She can do it to you so easily, but decides to spare you. Oh, I was carried away with my thoughts.
The arena doors opened for us. I went hand in hand with my Sal, err, Selma. Selma Snow.
This place was pretty spacious. I guess it was a repurposed underground hangar. The stage was lit by bright spotlights, while the spectators sat in relative darkness. This entire show was illegal, so hiding the patrons was a necessary precaution. Only relatively rich people could afford attending live shows, the rest had to watch video streams. Of course there were loud fans of particular teams and betting on the outcome of matches.
The floor was smooth and warm, pleasant to walk on. Here and there I saw tiny pieces of rubber, a team of inflatable janitors just finishing scooping up bigger scraps of the loser and leaving the scene as we entered.
The winning girl was still busy rolling her deflating teammate, pushing air out of him. It takes time for our skin to shrink back after serious stretching, so this dude was still huge, even reduced to a heap of bioplastic on the floor. By the way, his green swimmers remained in their proper place, protecting dignity and decency.
"Kudos to the fantastic Victoria Vertigo and Hugo Hulk, we hope to see you two soon again in the arena," announced a sultry voice flowing from hidden speakers. I couldn’t see anyone with a microphone though.
Spectators responded with enthusiastic clapping and whistles. Victoria waved to the audience, bowed, and blew a kiss to her fans. She returned to squeezing her Hulk, until he was wrapped into a tight roll.
I noticed a small podium with two hand pumps fixed to the floor, just upright cylinders with levers and air hoses. Quite minimalistic design. Judging by the size of the levers, these would require a lot of physical strength to pull and push with both hands. We approached the center of the arena and got some attention.
“Now let's cheer and welcome our new team of challengers. Selma Snow and James Bulk,” said the same sultry voice. Some applause greeted us.
This time I could see the hostess of the show. Pale face framed by a mane of red hair flowing down to her chest. She sat in a glass capsule located above the scene just behind that small central podium where the pumps were placed. I had little time to examine her looks before another door opened, letting in the second team. They were met with a much louder ovation even before the hostess announced their names. “Welcome to our magnificent veteran Fiona Flames and her companion Alfred Giant. Tonight we’ll see who is stronger, ice or fire”.
Of course Fiona and Alfred were dressed in red swimsuits with painted flames. Some custom design. Alfred was a giant indeed, either already inflated above his normal size, or he was even bigger than me. If so, he had the advantage over me. There was worse news - Fiona, too, was bigger than Selma. My Sally exercised a lot and was pretty buff, yet she was no match for her opponent. Fiona was taller, wider, her hands swollen with bulging muscles. “Is she on steroids?” I wondered.
Fiona smiled confidently and just nodded in response to the hails.
Her partner decided to taunt me, “James Bang, was it? A nice name. Fiona and I’ve won six matches in a row in this season. You are going to be our balloon zero zero seven.”
I understood my chances, yet my fear vanished, giving place to the excitement. “I’ll pop another day. Do you know that red giants usually explode as supernovas?” I said.
“Oh yes. One day I’ll go with an epic bang. Too bad you won’t see it,” replied Alfred.
“Enough bragging, Alf. Time to get you ready for the challenge.” said Fiona, putting her hand on his back. Next moment she yanked his air plug out. I couldn’t see it, but I heard that loud hissing of air escaping out of him. Alfred quickly started to lose his intimidating appearance as he deflated. His height, round shoulders and pecs - all shrank.
But most amusingly his hips were constricted and squeezed thin by his red swimmers. That fabric was designed to stretch under pressure, but also to contract to stay in place when a man deflates. Losing underpants in front of a crowd when you deflate is just as embarrassing as shredding them when you blimp.
Soon poor Alfred started to fold in half, his ass flattened so he just couldn’t stay upright, his upper body started to tilt left, then my foe lost balance and flopped on the floor. I’d rather watch him collapsing into a useless heap of plastic, but I was distracted by my girl. She put her hand on the small of my back with a very clear intention.
“Sal... Selma, but why do you need to deflate us now?” I complained.
She just pulled my plug unceremoniously, I started to hiss immediately - what else could I do? “Look, honey,” she explained, “if he’s empty and you start inflated, they’ll have a head start. We must be on even ground.”
I nodded - because she was right, as always, but also my head started to droop. She held me by the arm and then gave me a hug. Air started to wheeze faster out of my valve.
Again the show hostess spoke, "While the teams prepare both their males for the start of our competition, I'd like to briefly remind you of the rules. Fiona and Selma will race against each other inflating James and Alfred respectively. Simply put, you girls inflate the other team’s boy till he pops, and try to do it before your opponent does the same to your mate. The game ends when one of the boys reaches his limit and bursts. The winning team gets the prize and a share of bets put on them, the loser girl gets two percent of bets put on her, as a consolation and compensation. Alternatively any team can give up. To do that any girl can press the red button on the pump. It immediately blocks both pumps and releases air sparing your boy, but of course in this case the loser gets no money at all and may be disqualified if they have given up two times in a row, or in the first match. Our patrons are here to watch a good show, a tight competition undecided till the very explosive end. Don’t be afraid or too sentimental, girls.”
I certainly didn’t like the subtext of her words. Sally tried to reassure me, while I slowly lost definition in her embrace, “Don’t listen to that bullshit, I will never let them burst you.”
"Then if we lose, you'll be broke, honey."
"But we won’t lose," she said.
I didn't share her optimism, but had not enough air left in me to argue.
***
A powerful blast of air flowing inside me, straightened my wrinkled shell and returned me to life. Usually this process is more delicate and gentle: Sally inflates me slower even when we train and she intends to blow me up to my limit. This time was different: in three powerful blows I reached my normal capacity. I rose from the floor and looked around. In front of me lay Alfred, still meek and half inflated. I traced the hose inserted into his back to the podium where both girls stood. A fourth pump made my muscles blow up instantly making me oversized. Fiona didn’t waste any time, pushing and pulling her lever furiously. To her left my girlfriend was doing the same thing, yet she certainly couldn’t keep up the pace. By the time Alfred reached his normal size, I got two more puffs, my abs vanished to be replaced by a rounding sphere of a growing beer gut, my ass inflated, stretching my boxers. Hips and shoulders fattened with air. With every mighty blow my mobility diminished, as my arms and legs widened, my chest starting to merge with my belly into a big round ball.
“Fiona is clearly showing who is the boss. Excellent start!” said the hostess.
While I still could move, I turned a little to have a better view, so I could see Alfred, the girls and the show’s hostess in her glass booth. Just above that booth was a large screen showing useful stats. Volume, pressure and the bet multiplier for each team. We were on par in terms of pressure: about one point one atmospheres. This is normal pressure which makes us pleasantly taut, pliable to touch and moderately strong, just enough to cook breakfast, bring it to your girl's bedroom without folding under the weight of the dishes, yet unable to beat a girl or do any other harm. So, at first, pressure doesn't mean much. It grows slowly while your skin still can stretch safely and only starts to increase when there is almost no room for expanding. One point two is the danger mark. The typical pump you can purchase for your blowup boyfriend has a safety limitation at this pressure. Reaching one point three is game over, this means it's going to be loud and messy very soon. Time to close your ears.
Sally always stops when we get slightly past the danger mark. Twice I got to one point twenty five, felt like I was going to pop at any moment. The danger zone is where your skin trains to stretch more, pushing the limit a bit further. Last but not least, overstretched skin doesn't contract to normal. So when you deflate after being on the brink of destruction, your body doesn't return to the normal human shape, you become an empty flat blimp on the floor. It takes one or two days to fully recover after serious overinflation.
As I said, pressure is not that important at first, but volume is. It grew rapidly, our girls pumping us really fast. Alfred was at the 900 litres mark, starting to get round and fat with all the air, with a beach ball sized belly accompanied by hips and ass swelling. Sally did a good job inflating him, but Fiona was faster. I passed 1200 litres, my swollen arms and legs now completely useless, as they started to pull apart. I couldn’t see anything below the equator of my quickly expanding belly. I even grew a kind of pair of boobs, small in size relative to the rest of me, yet blocking my sight additionally.
Probably now it was time for me to panic. Bets on our team went from twelve to thirty. Few people still believed in our chances but I was one of them, because I knew Sally very well. Certainly she had a plan, I couldn’t do much to help her, and any expression of fear could only distract her. I tried to calm down, be a good boy, inflate and not pop too soon. Basically it was all I could do.
Sally wasn’t slow, she certainly pumped at a very good speed, steadily pushing the lever down every ten seconds. It was Fiona who rushed things. She used all her strength, height and weight to pull and push the lever as fast as possible. Fiona panted from all the effort, her raven black hair ruffled. "How long can she maintain such a fast pace?" I thought.
Soon my useless legs failed me. I fell forward, bounced and rolled back and forth on my round belly. Fortunately in this position I still could see everyone. Alf was almost as round, but smaller than me, his fat arms starting to sink into the orb of his body, while his legs were sucked into his huge ass clad in those red swimmers. He was just as helpless as me, but despite his precarious situation Alfred smiled with confidence.
Strain built up. My skin started to squeak ominously with every whoosh of air forced into me by Fiona. Numbers on the screen confirmed my fears. Pressure inside me climbed up to one point fifteen.
"Does it hurt? Relax, all your troubles will be over soon. Just a little patience," taunted Alfred sardonically.
Still, there was some good news. The hollow whooshing of air pumped into me grew slower, while the intervals between consequent pumps became longer. Fiona had burnt through all the stamina she had and now showed signs of fatigue. Her forehead was red from all the strain and covered with beads of sweat. Fiona pumped passionately. Despite all the physical stress she endured, she smiled, obviously admiring her work, turning me into an enormous ball of belly and round ass cheeks. The perfect roundness of my geometric shape had few exceptions for the useless stubs of fat hands, feet and my head. Fiona noticed my look and winked at me. She appeared tired, enthusiastic, but not mean or arrogant, unlike her boytoy Alfred.
My volume reached four thousand, while Alfred was just a little above three. However, this gap started to shrink, because Fiona had burned through her stamina even before reaching the hardest part, where the pressure started to mount. No doubt Alfred noticed that too. For the first time in the match his confidence sprang a leak.
Sally continued to pump like a machine. I couldn’t help admiring her pretty face. She looks so cute when she is concentrating on something. Sally caught my eye and looked back with tenderness.
“I guess she’s your girl?” asked Alfred. I didn’t reply, so he continued. “It is a common thing to fuck a teammate, but you two are not just fuckbuddies, you are lovers, aren't you?"
"None of your business."
"Will your beloved Selma, or whatever her real name is, let you go...," Alfred puffed his cheeks, "boom? That would be a tragedy."
"Not today."
"Oh, you are still clinging to hope? Maybe she's more reasonable than you." He turned to Sally, with the little mobility he still had in his neck, “Hey, Selma, he’s your boyfriend, am I right? You didn’t just buy him in a boyshop, maybe you were close even before. That’s a very romantic story indeed.” His saccharine voice couldn’t veil the sarcasm.
Sally gave him a piercing gaze that would have instantly burst that overinflated troll if it was physical. His words distracted her, just as he’d intended.
“I wonder, is he good in the bedroom? Oh, my apologies, I didn’t want to insult you. I’m so sorry, you two make a beautiful couple! Such a pity your love story ends today. Life is so cruel. All the best romantic lines end in tragedy: Romeo and Juliet, Marc Antony and Cleopatra, James and you. I can imagine your feeling and sorrow when he bursts, which is going to happen quite soon. But your life will not end and I of course can offer my help to comfort you in the lonely nights, you know, to get over all the pain and live on.”
Now this all made some sense. Fiona rushed in the beginning to make it look like we were going to lose, to make Sally panic, give up or do something stupid. A cunning plan and it started to work. Sally broke the rhythm and skipped a pump.
I had to say something. "Honey, just ignore this idiot, don't waste your breath, the best way to shut him up is to pop him. He's trying to troll you."
Sally just nodded, a frown on her pretty face, and started to pump again, even faster than before. Anger is a good motivation.
The audience noted that. I heard some cries from the spectators’ lounge and people cheered us -- or maybe they anticipated some interesting competition instead of an easy win for Fiona and Alfred.
"Ouch," said Alfred, finally losing balance and falling forward on his bouncy belly, just like I did a couple minutes ago. He bounced on the floor and then bumped into me with a hollow boom sound. Initially we stood at a distance, but after all the pumping up and rolling on the floor Alfred and I happened to be close enough for an awkward collision of our boobs. Of course, men have no breasts, but when we are insanely overinflated we usually grow smaller spheres in the upper parts of our round bodies.
After the bump we both bounced off each other, rocked and rolled a little doing two more smaller bumps before stopping. I could see him only with my peripheral vision, because my head was fixed looking forward half way merged with the rest of my body. But we still could speak.
"Did you really think your bluff would work?" I said.
"No bluffing. You are still bigger than me, at this pace you're going to pop quite soon, three minutes, maybe four. No chance for you to win. She could give up and spare you in the name of all the love and stuff. But you two are stubborn idiots. Why do you even play this cruel game?" - In his words I heard a glimpse of compassion under that troll attitude.
"She knows when to stop, I trust her", I said rather uncertainly. "Decent money if we win, you know, it’s hard to find a good job nowadays. As to the risk, it all started not so seriously, I proposed it as a joke, Selma played along and talked me into flipping voluntarily. After some giggles and goofing I ended up being inflated. I was terrified the first time, when I got round and helpless. She could just pump me up until I exploded and I could do nothing to stop her. That was the most thrilling experience. Then she let me deflate, which was a relief. Three days later she returned to the topic and asked me if I liked being a balloon. I confessed my feelings to her. It turned out that she enjoyed her part too. Then we started to train regularly."
Obviously, it was my mistake to confess all these feelings to him.
"Ah, what a pity. You really love and trust her, don't you? I bet she's got hooked up to that sport and secretly fantasized about bursting you every time she inflated you, otherwise she wouldn't come here with you for the real challenge. I want to see your face when you realize, she isn't going to stop." - Alfred tried to sting me with his tongue, as of course all the rest of him was too round, taut, distended and harmless.
While we chatted Fiona and Sally continued to feverishly pump. My girlfriend certainly had some reserves for the final spurt, forcing more air against the pressure growing inside Alfred. He rounded, expanded and grew until his distended skin started to rub against the orb of my belly. As we both inflated, the space between our bodies shrank until it was gone. I could feel his skin stretching a bit every time Sally pumped some air into him. Alfred became a huge sphere lacking any features, his skin started to become slightly translucent - a dangerous sign.
Of course, the same was happening to me. I felt so tense, so strained. My skin pleaded for mercy and squeaked ominously, rubbing against the equally round body of Alfred. Sally and I usually stopped our exercises, when I felt close to popping.
I took a glance at the screen with the stats, these numbers made me nervous: I had passed the 3500 litres mark, Sally caught up eliminating the lag, so Alfred was at 3400. Fiona’s pumps became shallow, she was positively exhausted by the race to pop. Given a little bit of time my girl could beat her, but our time was over. Because three and a half cubes of volume was our record. She never inflated me that big before. Pressure inside us grew to the critical level - flashing red numbers 1.29 under our names. Our girls couldn’t see these warning signs, the screen hung above and behind them, it was visible to us, the audience, virtually anyone but Fiona and Sally.
The hostess was still there commenting on the match, “Now we are reaching the culmination of this unexpectedly thrilling pop challenge, to my surprise this newbie Selma is putting up a good fight against such a seasoned veteran as Fiona. But can her boyfriend stay one piece long enough? Don’t miss the final opportunity to make your bets!”
Indeed, we got an influx of money - people started to view our chances a little bit more favourably - four to one against us, instead of fourteen to one.
"Three, two, one. No more bets, they are close to popping!" - said the hostess.
Indeed we were, I felt it. Every bit of my mercilessly stretched skin cried for mercy. I tried to relax and not panic, to spread the strain evenly. Keep calm and try to handle a couple more pumps.
Certainly Sally heard it too, for a split second she looked up into my eyes, then returned to pumping. She knew, I'm on my limit, she could save me, yet she had to win. We had to win. If I have to burst for her - so be it. I realized that I'm just an overinflated balloon connected to a pump, this simplified things for me a lot.
"Oh yes, I love this moment, when you guys realize it!" - Alfred reveled. - "Your chick doesn't care if you pop. What a surprise. Who could know that would happen?”
I looked at this laughing bastard, huge, round, absolutely helpless yet having fun at my expense, his skin was getting more and more transparent, yet Alfred couldn't care less - he was enjoying his triumph.
"Ah ha ha Ha HA HAAA" - time slowed down, a translucent patch on his distended belly grew larger and larger, spreading forth like a snake - "BOOOOOM" - time returned with a wave of pressurized air and a torrent of smaller rubbery shreds bombarding me. Too light and soft too pierce me, yet enough to throw me up and away from the epicenter of Alfred's explosion. I tumbled in the air, bumped into the cool smooth surface of the glass separating the scene from the spectators.
"Fuck, No!" - yelled Fiona hammering her pump’s handle. Yet it was blocked automatically, when Alfred exploded. Which was very good, because the other end of the hose was still inside my valve.
I slowly descended back on the floor. Sally looked at me with relief: "Hun, looks like we won!"
"Congratulations to Selma Snow and her lovely boyfriend James! That was a spectacular beginning for their career in the professional Pop challenge. I hope it will be a long one, at least for Selma. Thanks to Fiona and Alfred for this fantastic show. Sometimes even renowned veterans lose - with a great, delicious bang! My ears are still ringing from the explosion," announced the hostess.
Sally left the podium and approached me, so I couldn't see her in the blind zone under my blimp of a belly. Yet I felt her hands on me, she rolled me gently to reach my back and yanked the air hose out of my valve. My deflation came with a great sense of relief, relaxation and a loud whooshing sound.
"Thanks goodness! But it was so damn close. Couple pumps more and I'd have burst," I said.
"I wouldn't let that happen, hun," reassured Sally. I used to believe her before.
Fiona also approached us and she looked furious. Her wild red hair fell on her boobs that were jumping and bouncing on the run. I noticed her high heeled boots. A thought made me shiver: one of her boots could easily pierce my distended skin. I'd certainly burst in that case, my deflation was too slow to bring me out of the danger zone before Fiona could reach me. I found this combination of beauty and menace surprisingly attractive.
She had no intention to take out her wrath on me, though. Fiona picked up from the ground a large piece of torn plastic left from her exploded teammate. Judging by the shape of it - there were Alfred's face, shoulders, part of his back and his left arm. I saw the remnants of Alfred from inside and it looked kind of weird.
"What an idiot you were. We could easily win, your part was really easy - concentrate and not pop too early. Yet you were too dumb to do even this," ranted Fiona. Of course, Alfred couldn't reply.
Quite unexpectedly the hostess defended him:
"But Fiona, his bragging and psychological tricks won you a couple matches and entertained us a lot. Now your mate is gone, you get two percent of the bets, which is a hefty sum, let me check ... eight thousand, three hundred ninety-seven bucks. Enough to buy a replacement for Alfred in a boyshop. Well, I mean, maybe he deserves some dignity and good memory, doesn't he?
Fiona replied: "No. He doesn't. Alf was stupid and had quite an inflated ego for a male. As for his replacement, I'm already training a new boy, bought him three weeks ago. He inflates quite nicely and is ready for real action." - she threw piece of Alfred on the ground and walked over him in her beautiful red boots towards the exit. "So I'll be back soon with a new balloon."
I shrank a bit while watching Fiona's sexy rear, but even before she left the stage my sight moved up because I started to collapse, losing my spherical shape.
"Time to package you, hun," said Sally. She climbed on top of me, and tried to hug me. That made the air hiss out of me much faster.
"See you soon, honey," said I.
"Not so soon. You'll need at least three days of recovery. I won't inflate you until Tuesday."
Of course, she was right. My overstretched skin didn’t want to contract back and regain shape. My girlfriend practically sank into my back, as my skin collapsed under her weight. She then shifted the pressure towards my butt, squeezed it and started to fold me into the tight roll. Needless to say it felt delicious.
"Congratulations to Selma and her boyfriend with their first win. Hope we'll see them again soon. Last but not least they win some good money..." the hostess continued.
My mind slowly faded away in the middle of her sentence, when Sally squished enough air out of my flat head.