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Prg gazed in awe at the planet that filled the view from his cockpit.  Water, in at least three of the fourteen known states of matter.  Plant life.  And that’s just what he could see with his own borp.  Turning his attention to his scan readouts, he also found the planet teeming with life in numerous forms.  Countless structures made of alloys and composite materials dotted the landscape in varying densities.  There were even thousands of artificial satellites in orbit.  Not just life, but intelligent life!  With primitive spacefaring capabilities!

The life of a planetary surveyor was one of boredom and monotony.  Prg catalogued tens of thousands of planets - almost always lifeless rocks or uninteresting balls of gas - every glumk, and this glumk was no exception.  He was also grossly under quota for finding planets such as the one staring him right in the fleeb.

There was just one problem.  Prg glanced at his chronometer and made an expression that most closely approximated a human frown.  It would take him about a hundred zytugs to complete his scans, then about thirty zytugs to get back to his home planet, ten zytugs to download his logs and clock out of work, and another five zytugs to get home.  “I’m going to be late for flarg,” he said to himself in a language that did not at all resemble English.  “Again.  Klrda will never let me hear the end of it.”  Prg could already hear his wife’s droning about how she works hard at home all glumk to have flarg ready when he gets home and he’s always late and never calls and then just lazes around watching grax until he goes to bed and never spends any quality time with her.

That weighed heavily on Prg’s mind.  But… this planet!  He hadn’t found a planet like this in at least a couple of aeqs.  Reaching a decision, Prg rattled off a quick message to Klrda (he could at least extend her that courtesy), then dusted off the controls to his biological testing suite and began moving into a lower orbit to better study the planet’s life forms, making sure to avoid the satellites in orbit.  At least he’d finally have something good to take back to the boss.


The moving image of a three-camera sitcom abruptly froze, became pixelated, then was replaced with a black screen and the words “WEAK OR NO SIGNAL.”

Alyssa groaned.  "Not again," she muttered in a language quite unlike Prg’s - English, in fact.

"What?" Katie called back, also in English, from another room.

"The dish just cut out again."

"It can't be raining, can it?" Katie said.  "I mean, the sun was shining a minute ago."

"No rain," Alyssa grumbled.  She got up from her recliner, walked to the patio door, and looked out.  About 30 feet away, on a pole in the middle of the yard, the two roommates' satellite dish pointed to the wild blue yonder.  And yet, instead of transmitting $60 per month worth of high-definition programming, it was transmitting $60 per month worth of nothing.  One could easily obtain such nothing for free simply by not owning a TV at all.

"Isn't this like the third time it's cut out today?" Katie asked.

"At least."

"Well, good thing I’m leaving town for a few days."  Katie appeared in the living room with a suitcase and garment bag.  “I gotta go catch my flight.”

Alyssa smiled, then walked over to Katie and hugged her.  “Have fun.  Hopefully you’ll be able to watch your DVR’ed shows when you get back.”

“Yeah, you’d better get that thing fixed.”  Katie smirked, then shuffled her way out the front door.

Alyssa turned back toward the patio door and put her hands on her hips.  “Maybe it’s something simple,” she thought, walking toward the door.  Stepping out into the warmth of the late spring day, she followed the coax cable from the side of the house out to the dish.  Everything looked okay, and the cable was snugly connected to the dish.  She reached up to fiddle with the connection.

Then her body fell apart.

It only took a split second for Alyssa’s limbs and head to separate from her torso.  There wasn’t even any pain to get her attention.  Her trunk hit the ground, bouncing her head a couple of feet forward while her body tipped backward.  Before she realized what had happened she was staring at a pile of her body parts, her torso face-up surrounded by her arms and legs while her head rested in the grass, surrounded by her long brown hair.  There was no blood or anything at her shoulders or in the leg holes of her shorts, just smooth skin.

“Oh my God!” she screamed.  “What the hell?!” Alyssa instinctively flailed her arms and the arms on the ground did the same, flopping around like fish.  She then noticed that her chest was heaving up and down within her halter top, still responding to her breathing.  Alyssa realized that she could still feel - and move - her body, even if it was in six different pieces.  “Somebody help me!” she shouted.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Alyssa’s body reassembled, all of the separate parts quickly snapping back and reattaching where they were supposed to be.  Now laying on her back in the grass, she scrambled to get off the ground, frantically checking herself over with her hands as she stood.  It felt like nothing had happened at all.  She massaged the base of her neck.  “What---”

In that instant her body dissolved into water and splashed toward the ground, her clothes falling loosely - and damply - to the ground.  Alyssa could no longer see, hear, or move, but she could feel the majority of her body absorbing into the soil while some of her remained in her soaked clothing.  Tiny ants crawled on top of her.  A worm wiggled its way through her thigh.  She could even feel herself begin to evaporate away slightly under the sun’s warm rays.

After what felt like an eternity, Alyssa suddenly found herself back to normal again, this time nude and standing upright with her now-dry clothes underfoot.  Alyssa yelped and reached to cover her groin and breasts, frantically looking around to see if anyone in a neighboring house was watching.  She almost wished someone were.  She randomly noticed that her hair was dry, and realized that she was somehow surprised by that.

She reached down to pick up her clothes, but a bright orange flash filled her field of vision as her body spontaneously combusted and turned to smoldering ash.  Her sight and hearing were gone again, but she could feel the embers of her body being carried on a light breeze, some settling into her yard while others were swept away.

And then she was back to normal again, still nude, still covering herself as best as possible.  “What is happening to me?!??!” Alyssa screamed, as if whoever or whatever was causing this would hear her.  A gentle breeze was the universe’s only reply.

Furious and scared, Alyssa bent over and pulled up her panties.  When she bent over again to reach for her halter top, she wasn’t able to bend as far.  Her stomach was in the way.  In just a few seconds her trim abdomen looked as if she had swallowed a basketball, and it was growing before her very eyes.  Ignoring whatever modesty she had intended for her breasts, she reached down with both hands and clutched her rounded midriff, feeling it grow, stretching her fingers apart.  It felt light and was painless.  After another few seconds she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the patio’s sliding glass door.  She was larger than any pregnant woman she had ever remembered seeing, and it wasn’t especially close.

The door!  Alyssa tried waddling toward it but understandably had trouble.  When she had made it a few wobbly steps the rest of her body began to grow.  Plump legs rubbed against one another, further complicated her gait; rapidly swelling breasts obscured her view of her stomach (not a small feat, she realized, given her unbelievable new waist size).  Her panties dug in between the globes of her enlarged buttocks; she reached plump arms down to try to mitigate the discomfort this caused but could not tug the waistband far enough to get them off.

Alyssa’s legs spread apart as she grew, becoming unable to move them at all.  Her arms, similarly, stuck out to her sides.  She had only made it halfway to the house.  Breathing hard from the effort to move her body, she cried for help again but not as loud, doubting it would do any good.  Her hips flared out, panties finally snapping as her body widened from side to side to match her dimensions from front to back.  Alyssa found that she couldn’t bend her knees or elbows; from what she could see, she didn’t even have knees or elbows, just puffy, conical arms and legs.

Her feet slid further apart along the grass as she grew, her body seeking a rounder shape all over.  Her view was still dominated by her colossal breasts, tight domes of flesh that stood out dramatically from her rounded chest.  She realized that she was very warm, almost uncomfortably so.  She figured it must have been because there was so much more of her to soak up the sun’s heat.

Another faint breeze kicked up.  Alyssa, with her decreasing density, caught it like a sail, gently rolling to one side.  But as she felt her body pitch she felt the grass fall away beneath her.  Realizing she was floating, she half-yelled, half-whimpered.  “No!  I don’t want to float away!”  She felt her long, flowing hair drag along the top of her rounded shoulders and back as she rotated in midair.  Her body fell gently, making a slight “bloomp” sound as she bounced off terra firma for the last time, then rising two feet off the ground, then three, then five, then ten.  She instinctively tried to reach out and grab the roof, but it was no use.  She had nothing to reach with; she could no longer feel her arms.

The wind nudged her still-growing body sideways, causing her to drift over the neighbor’s yard, the wind better able to grab hold of Alyssa and carry her away as she rose higher.  She felt herself growing faster, her body beginning to reshape her breasts.  As she spun on her axes, she would occasionally catch glimpses of the ground below.  She was very high up, and rising fast.  The air was cooler up here but she still felt quite warm inside, a dichotomy that she decided was strangely comforting, a sensation that soothed and calmed her.

When Alyssa’s breasts finally stretched out to the point of flattening, her body had become her own horizon.  She had no way of knowing exactly how huge she was; she only knew that everything she had left - her hands, her feet, her vagina - felt so, so very far away.  Despite this, and an unusual sensation of pressure building inside of her, she felt like she could continue like this for some time.  When she mentally asked herself how she knew that, she failed to come up with an adequate answer.  As her body claimed her neck, her tight skin swelling up around her head, she simply decided that since she had already grown this big, why couldn’t she keep swelling up?  

The air was starting to get pretty thin; at the right angle Alyssa could see the curvature of the earth.  Her brunette hair whipped about her face and slapped against her tight surface; Alyssa thought she sounded like a snare drum in a jazz trio.  The pressure continued building inside her, becoming first mildly annoying, then slightly uncomfortable.  Alyssa began to hear her heartbeat in her ears.  She felt her hands and feet ball up, then she felt nothing from them.  Something was happening behind her head; she realized her body had begun absorbing it.  The pressure pushed against her face and throat from within, making her feel an urge to gag.  She felt a dull, throbbing pain creep across her circumference somewhere in the distance... across her distance.  She wished the pressure would just go away so she could relax again.  But maybe she was wrong.  Maybe she couldn’t do this forever.

A deafening boom proved that Alyssa was indeed wrong.  Or right, depending on the timeframe upon which you judge her assumptions.


Prg grunted, then sighed.  He knew not every species in the galaxy could be bloomped, but it was a rare occasion indeed when a planet had such an infinitesimal success rate.  In testing one sample from each of the hundreds of thousands of species he found on the planet, only one biped species (the dominant intelligent race, he surmised) and a select few water-borne species tolerated it to any acceptable standard.

The success rate was too low, though.  With a gesture most closely resembling a human shrug, he summarized his report on the planet as “More evolution needed; reassess in 15,000 aeqs.”  He then closed the file, shut down his testing suite, and moved to a higher orbit before spinning up his Flurpf drive.  As was the case at the end of most glumks, a disappointed boss and disaffected wife awaited him.

Maybe he would have more luck tomorrow.
7 - Bloomp
This story embodies the quintessence of my long writing cycles.  I started writing this one around the same time I started writing "The Masterpiece Society" in early 2006, 12 (!) years ago.  It had no working title, and in typical fashion I wrote about 500-600 words and then left it alone to let my ideas stew.  Months later, I accidentally deleted its text file from my hard drive and was only able to recover half of it, in two separate parts.  A little while later I became less enamored with the idea anyway and was still demoralized at losing half of it, so I just abandoned it.  In fact, I have referenced this story on four separate occasions - here, here, here, and here.  "#6" became "The Masterpiece Society"; "#7" is this story.

I went nearly a decade without ever looking at the remaining fragments of the story.  Then I randomly thought about it again a couple days ago and decided to give it another look.  The idea became endearing to me again, so I pulled it into Google Docs today and rewrote the whole thing damn near from scratch.  Precisely four lines of dialogue between Alyssa and Katie remain from the original version I started in 2006.

It's far from my best work, but it was fun to write - it's not often that I find myself smiling while writing a story.  I actually LOL'd when I read the Prg parts aloud.

It's also the first time in a long time that I've written bursting into a story.  Alyssa was going to burst in the original version as well, although I had second thoughts about it this time, so I decided to make the ending ambiguous.  After all, Prg had no trouble returning her to normal several times before that.  If you prefer to think that Alyssa was safely reassembled after bursting, you're welcome to think that; if you prefer to think that Alyssa is gone, that's no less valid.  Personally, I actually don't know.

Excited about some stuff I'm planning to do here in 2018!
I liked :iconzumberge:'s idea enough to steal it, so rather than get off my ass and actually work on my writing I shall posit this:

I've been writing inflation stories for 15 years and have been lurking the community since 56k modems were the latest and greatest.  Ask me anything.

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“OSHA’s gonna have your ass for that.”

Andy looked up at Steve from the sidewalk, returning his large wrench into his tool box.  “OSHA can eat my ass for all I care.  It’s hot as hell out here.”

Steve shook his head.  “Yeah, but someone could trip on that.  And it’s a long way down that staircase to the subway terminal.”  He gestured toward the top step inches away, the first of 48 steps leading down below street level.  “And you and I both know that’s just gonna be an even bigger pain in the ass later.”

Andy sighed and put his face as close to the concrete as he could, studying the nut and washer rising through the steel plate holding a sign down.  “It’s only sticking out half an inch.”

“Still enough for someone to trip.”

“Enough for an idiot, maybe.  Do you wanna get down here and tighten this thing?”


“Why not?”

Steve put his hands on his hips and grinned.  “Because supervisors don’t have to do that shit anymore.”

Andy wiped the sweat off his face and wiped his hand on his pants.  “Fuck.”

Steve chuckled.  “Come on, let’s go get the drill out of the truck and do it right.”

“I think,” Andy grunted as he stood up, “that’s the first time I’ve ever heard a government employee say that.”


Navigating the busy downtown sidewalks at the end of the business day was tough anyway, but it was even tougher when trying to conduct a conversation over the phone.  Such was Alyssa’s plight.

“Did you make the reservation?” she asked, her heels clopping along the sidewalk.  She dodged someone walking in her direction, then dodged the person she had dodged into.  “Mmm, I can’t wait.”  She lowered her voice slightly and smiled.  “Because after we go back to my place I’ve got a sexy new negligee to show you.”  Her smile broke into a grin and she blushed slightly, pushing past a group of people obliviously standing still.  “Oh yeah, it fits me like… a… glove.  But I imagine I won’t be in it for long.”  Two city maintenance workers in orange vests crossed the sidewalk in front of her, just steps from the subway entrance.  “Well, I guess you’ll just have to---”

The toe of Alyssa’s right shoe caught Andy’s nut and bolt head on.  She instinctively stretched her left leg forward, but the pencil skirt she was wearing didn’t afford her the mobility she needed in that moment.  Her foot landed awkwardly, missed the heel of her shoe, and then rolled.  The process repeated with her right leg and foot.  She tried grabbing the handrail as a last ditch effort to save herself but it was just out of reach.

And down she went, head first.  The phone flew out of her right hand as she drew her arms in to shield her fall.  The concrete steps caught her on her stomach first.  Alyssa winced and cried out as her midsection swelled up, pulling her blouse and shirt tightly around its newly rounded shape.  Her left elbow and chest landed across the next step, causing her left arm to bloat up and both of her breasts to occupy any unoccupied space (and more) in her bra and blouse.  As she went head over heels for the first time her view was partially obstructed by brand new cleavage showing through wide gaps in her buttons and a pregnant looking stomach peeking out between her skirt and blouse.

Her back landed next, and as her back flared out behind her her bra and the buttons in front gave up, popping open and completely revealing her turgid torso.  The impact on her butt was particularly harsh, and in an instant her skirt was severely riding up over her massive buttocks, her petite panties disappearing into a chasm of butt cleavage.

The first landing was coming up.  Alyssa landed hard on her knees, and both of her legs inflated stiffly.  The force of her legs straightening out propelled her forward, and she reached her good arm out to break her fall to no avail.  Her arm puffed up an instant after her wrist came down, and then her stomach and breasts bounced and scraped across the landing.  As she pitched upside down her massive boobs and belly filled her field of view, unrestrained by shirt or bra this time.

Alyssa’s back was the first thing to go down the second flight of stairs.  After her butt followed the skirt decided it had had enough, exploding off of what just a few moments before had been her waistline.  She rolled sideways off her axis, the stairs beating up her arms and legs in the process and inflating them wider, stiffer, shorter.  Of course, between those impacts was a lot of contact with the rest of her body, quickly eliminating many of Alyssa’s feminine curves.  Her sides billowed outward, her stomach and back expanded eagerly in front and behind, and her breasts bulged and widened.

The second landing came and Alyssa was almost completely round when she bounced into it.  People below her on the stairs had heard and seen the commotion from above and were hurrying in the opposite direction.  Alyssa rolled over the two very slight bumps of her boobs which slowed her down slightly; there was nothing left of them when her chest came back up.  When she rolled onto her back she couldn’t feel her arms and legs, but she was rolling much slower.  She thought that she would finally stop at the second landing, but the rounded underside of her body tipped over the edge just slightly.

The third flight of stairs was akin to watching a beach ball bounce down the stairs.  Once Alyssa picked up a little speed she bounced violently off of one step, sending her careening into the downward sloping ceiling in front of her.  Then she bounced back and forth between the stairs and ceiling, blowing up larger with each bounce, involuntarily shedding her panties at some point.

At last Alyssa grew big enough to get stuck between the walls against the ceiling at the bottom of the stairs.  At nearly twelve feet wide she left only a small gap between herself and the stairs.  She was almost completely upside down, her face looking into the subway terminal.  “I made it,” she thought to herself as consolation.  Her body had swallowed up her neck.

Another young woman who had just run for her life came running back.  “My God!  Are you okay?!” she asked, placing a hand against Alyssa’s bruised and scraped skin.

“I… I think so,” Alyssa lied.  She felt pain inside and out and was doing the best she could to swallow the lump in her throat.  “Can you… get my phone please?  Near the top of the stairs.”

“Of course!” the woman said, then disappeared underneath Alyssa.  Alyssa felt her squeeze through and call out to someone above about the phone.  There was a shuffling of activity against her chest, and then the woman was back.  She held up the phone to Alyssa’s face; the call was still open.

“Hey sweetie,” Alyssa said, her voice wavering, “I don’t think I can wear that negligee tonight after all…”


At the top of the stairs, people had rushed into the stairwell to see what was happening.

A man stubbed his toe on his way in.

He fell forward into the woman in front of him.

She grabbed the man next to her and took him down with her.

They barreled into three women on their way to a bachelorette party...
Safety First (Inflation Day 2017)
Y'all made it really hard to pick just one winner for the Inflation Day story request contest, but I did.  I thought :icondewj:'s idea was the most interesting, so he wins a story!  And the rest of you get to read it, so in a sense everybody wins.

Truth be told, though, I wanted to write 3-4 of all of your ideas (particularly :iconemperornorton5: and :icontimebrain:) but simply ran out of time.  I'll get to them someday.

By the way, for any readers not from the US, OSHA is the US government's Occupational Safety and Health Administration who are responsible for enforcing safety regulations.
The community's National Inflation Day is coming up on August 18.  Since I didn't do shit for it last year, I'd like people to submit some story requests.  I'll write the one that's most interesting (probably 1500 words or so) and post it on National Inflation Day.

The only rules are:
- Must be inflation-related at its core but I'm willing to entertain incorporating other elements (both in and out of the expansion realm) as side dishes to the main course.  (If you don't know what "inflation-related" means, just look at any of my stories.)
- No fanfics or continuations of other stories/universes.  I'm looking for original characters in reasonably original settings.  I don't have the time to research franchises with which I'm not familiar, and I really don't want to be the 5,174th person to write a chocolate factory tour.

The winner shall be chosen no later than, say, July 31.  Reply or PM with your ideas.  Go!  Now!!

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Mark Prager loved Monopoly as a child.  Despite the game’s basic reliance on random chance - dice, shuffled decks of cards - he developed an inexplicable propensity for monetary success in the game.  He fell in love with Monopoly, and by the time he reached eight years old his older sister refused to play with him.  Over the years this affinity and affection for money turned into an accounting degree, a successful career as a certified public accountant, and admirable - if modest - success as a day trader.

Mark never showed much of an interest in aviation.  He routinely boarded airplanes as a passenger, of course, and he had heard once or twice that someone named Bernoulli was pretty important.  He knew next to nothing about the design, engineering, mechanics, or operation of an airplane.

Therefore, it stands to reason that despite an aerospace knowledge that barely qualified as basic, Mark Prager knew with a high degree of certainty that when a wing separates itself from its aircraft - as had just happened, right outside his window, on a small chartered jet 38,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean - it is often unplanned and just as often problematic.


The audible warning about the autopilot disengaging was lost in the chaos that ensued in the cockpit.  Captain Miranda Lester nearly lost her headset as the aircraft rolled wildly.  She could hear screams and commotion from the cabin, beyond the cockpit door.  She quickly ruled out a bomb or missile; there was no explosion, just a bit of a clunking sound before the plane lurched.  Plus, she knew what it was like to get shot at while flying missions in Afghanistan.

Miranda cursed loudly and fought with the yoke, trying to regain some kind of control.  After a few moments she had the plane tenuously level, and immediately her first officer, Richelle Durston, grabbed the emergency checklist.  “What the hell was that?” Richelle asked.

Miranda gritted her teeth as she struggled with the controls.  “Nothing good.  We’ve got a loss of thrust and the plane keeps wanting to roll to starboard.  I’m putting the nose down so we don’t stall.”

A few seconds later the intercom buzzed from the cabin.  “Flight deck,” Miranda answered.  “Is everyone okay back there?”

The flight attendant, Jessi Moloney, ignored Miranda’s inquiry and responded in a terse but calm voice.  “The port wing is gone.”

“You mean the port engine, right?”

“No.  The whole port wing.”  Wailing and loud chatter could be heard in the background.

Miranda and Richelle exchanged glances, the former still struggling to keep the plane close to level.  “To hell with the checklist, then,” Richelle said, scrambling to unbuckle her seat belts.

“Jessi, you have three minutes to get everybody ready to scram,” Miranda said, lowering the nose further, putting the plane into an aggressive descent.

“Understood.”  The cabin phone hung up.

Richelle had unbuttoned her uniform shirt and was shaking it off her arms, revealing the emergency harness underneath.  “You ever do live training for this?” she asked.

“Not on this scale.  Nobody has.”

“Right.”  She pulled a small card out of one of the pockets of the harness, examining a table of numerical data.  “Okay, we have 40 passengers on board, so that means two of us take thirteen and one takes fourteen.”

“No,” Miranda called out as a slight bit of turbulence, normally inconsequential, jarred the plane.  “I have to scram alone and maintain control.  You two will need to take everyone with you.”

Richelle’s eyes moved down the card, her eyes eventually settling on a row labeled “20”.  It was highlighted in yellow, as were several rows above it.  “That’s an extra 40 or 50 feet.  It’s past the yellow line.”

“This is not up for debate.  I may not even be able to scram before the plane dives.  You are not leaving any passengers with me.”  Miranda’s eyes stayed locked on her instruments, but she turned her head in Richelle’s direction.  “Two and a half minutes.”

Richelle sighed.  “Okay.”  She stuffed the card back in her harness pocket, then reached over Miranda’s shoulders from behind and unbuttoned her uniform shirt, then reached further down and unbuckled her seat belts.  She knew Miranda might not have the precious seconds she would need to do this herself.  Finally, Richelle grabbed the plane’s maintenance log and tucked it in her harness.  “Good luck,” she said before opening the cockpit door.

In the cabin, Jessi had also shed her shirt and was preparing people to scram.  Passengers were quickly donning harnesses of their own.  A cluster of people was forming at the front of the plane.  A man held a piece of cloth to a bleeding head wound; a young woman looked as if she were trying not to move her arm.  Richelle stood next to Jessi and put a hand on her shoulder.  “We’re taking everybody.  Just you and me.”

Jessi’s eyes widened only briefly.  She didn’t want to panic the passengers any more by showing too much emotion.  “That bad?”

“Miranda isn’t sure she’s going to make it off.”

Jessi nodded, then immediately continued the scram effort.  “Okay, listen up!  I need everyone in two groups of twenty.  Those of you closest to the front of the plane will go first with me.  Start clipping onto each other, then those of you on the ends of the line will both clip to me.  As soon as my group is away, Richelle’s group can come to the front.  We have about sixty seconds.  Go!”

Passengers began reaching for the sides of their harnesses and extending a bungee-like cable, clipping on to partners’ cables at both sides.  Jessi quickly counted heads as the passengers at the ends of her line were holding out their hooks to her, harried looks on their faces.  She pulled them close to her and allowed them to hook on, backing up to the cabin door.

Richelle spoke up to provide further instructions.  “The cables stretch up to thirty feet each, so a max of sixty feet between you and each of your partners.  My cables have 100 feet, so my partners have up to 130 feet.  Everyone jumps in pairs.”  She looked to her partners, the two closest to her.  “As soon as I jump, you two have two seconds to jump.”  She then looked up at everyone else.  “Each other pair only has one second before you get yanked out of the plane.  Got it?”

“13,000 feet!” Miranda shouted from the cockpit.  “Cabin depress!”

As soon as Jessi felt the pressure stop changing in her ears, she yanked the emergency lever on the door and it swung open inward, the sudden roar of air almost deafening.  Miranda was leveling the plane as best she could, but the floor still rocked and twisted underneath her and the plane was obviously still descending.  Jessi poked her head out of the doorway and was thankful that if they got to keep only one wing, it wasn’t on the same side of the plane as the door, lest they jump right into a jet engine.

Reaching into the top of her harness, Jessi grabbed the mouthguard and pulled it and its attached duct out.  Her heels inches from the great blue yonder, she shouted above the din of wind.  “Here we go!  Three… two… one…”

Jessi brought the mouthguard to her mouth, bit down, and leaned backward.


Still in the cabin, Richelle was practically shoving the first scram group out of the plane, and everyone made it out.  Crews had at least practiced the evacuation portion of a scram, and the many drills during training had certainly helped.  She wanted to look down but knew she didn’t have time.  Turning her back to the door just as Jessi had, she herded her group as close as possible and clipped onto her partners.

“Give us twenty seconds and we’re out!” Richelle called to the cockpit.

“Copy!” Miranda shouted between expletives as the plane buffeted.

“Three… two… one…”

Against her better judgment, Richelle had gone skydiving before and swore never to do it again.  She was sick for days afterward.  The few brief moments of free fall that she experienced now began to bring back the same unpleasant sensations.

After three seconds, the accelerometer in her harness kicked in.


At 7500 feet, Miranda looked over her shoulder.  Everyone was away; at least 42 people would survive.  The tricky part was getting that number up to 43.

She estimated that she could get to the door from her seat in about five seconds.  But what would the doomed plane do during those five seconds?  She let go of the yoke just slightly to gauge the aircraft’s response; it held for a second, then leaned violently.  Grabbing the yoke again, Miranda wrestled it back to something resembling level and tried to engage the autopilot just for grins.  It didn’t work, and she envisioned some line of code in the onboard computer laughing at her as if to say, “You think I’m going to fly this?!

The water below was steadily moving faster underneath.  Running out of time and ideas, Miranda reached behind her to see if her shoulder belt would reach around the yoke.  It did - barely - but it pulled the nose of the plane up.  She tried slipping the other shoulder belt around the yoke for stability.  The plane was surprisingly stable, if headed for an imminent stall, but she only needed five seconds.

5000 feet - no more time.  Miranda took control one last time, pushed the nose of the plane down to regain some air speed, then slipped one belt over the yoke as she slid out of her seat, then strapped the other belt back on and made a break for it.  Halfway to the door she could feel the plane tipping, but she already knew she’d made it.  She leapt through the door and into the open air.


Jessi’s first reaction was relief at seeing everyone make it out of the plane.  Her next reaction was shock at how forceful the deepest breath of her life was.

The skirt of her flight attendant uniform ripped away almost instantly as her torso began to rapidly grow outward in all directions.  In nearly the blink of an eye her view became obscured by expanding domes of cleavage, and only a split second after that could she see her stomach just beyond her breasts.  Her underwear was giving her a wedgie, but by the time Jessi tried to reach behind her back and fix it she had nothing to reach with; in little more than a second, her arms - and legs - had blown up, stiffened, and then stretched out across her body until they were simply gone.  And an instant after that she didn’t have to worry about the underwear anymore anyway.

The rush of wind at Jessi’s newly rounded back subsided as she continued to increase in size; the harness, stretching around her sides, was doing exactly what it was supposed to do, blowing her up to slow her down.  Her breasts grew wider, if not further out.  She finally felt something bump into her at the base of each breast, the first tethered passengers coming down for a smooth landing on top of her.  The sudden weight increase excited the accelerometer, and the air forced itself down Jessi’s throat with an increased vigor.  It increased again as more passengers landed on top of her.  What had been her shoulders began to bulge around her face as her neck disappeared.

Jessi had lost count of the number of passengers she now carried across her chest and stomach, and she hadn’t even noticed that she couldn’t move her hands and feet.  She was still compensating, still inflating at a wild pace, the passengers feeling so small on top of her.  But their descent was much calmer now, and she felt her growth begin to slow to a crawl, the wind tunnel in her esophagus reduced to a whisper.  When she was certain she could not feel her huge body stretching any longer, she pushed the mouth guard out of her mouth with her tongue.  The world was upside down to her, the water slowly rising to meet her at a safe, comfortable three meters per second while her blond hair gently bristled about her face.


Mark Prager was the last person from Richelle’s group out of the plane.  He barely had time to look down below him before he noticed that something very unusual was happening.  He was over a hundred feet above, so it wasn’t until Richelle’s skirt ripped away from her widening waist and hips that the reality of this solution became apparent.

He could see that Richelle was growing at an incredible pace, and the harness - with its straps stretching around her sides and between her shoulders and groin - was growing with her.  In one second she looked like some busty pregnant blow-up doll.  Just another second later the look was even more extreme, with breasts peeking out around all sides of the harness while her stomach became more prominent and her limbs began to bloat up.  Mark looked to his sides to double-check the cables on his own harness, and when he returned his gaze to Richelle she looked markedly less feminine; her breasts had become truly massive bulges, but the other curves that had so capably filled out Richelle’s pilot uniform just minutes prior had become much more simplified.

Mark realized that Richelle was rising up to meet him.  Another moment of observation convinced him to correct himself: she wasn’t rising,she was just decelerating as she grew.  He could see people starting to lay against her side, clinging to her stomach, a breast, anything they could get a hold of as her now-spherical body continued growing and drifting down.  He was worried that he would land on top of another passenger, unable to control his own fall, until someone looked up and grabbed his arm at the last second, guiding him in for a firm yet painless landing somewhere on Richelle’s stomach.

And then Richelle began to grow even faster, her stretching skin producing a tangible sensation beneath him as the stretchy cords held Mark and his fellow passengers snugly against her.  Mark picked his head up and noticed what he thought might have been Richelle’s navel next to him.  As his pilot grew he watched the shallow concave feature gradually widen and fill in until he couldn’t distinguish it from the surrounding skin.

Mark could tell they were falling more slowly now, but he had trouble seeing how far up they were since Richelle blocked his view of the horizon.  “Above” him he could still see the low hills of her breasts sprawling across her chest.  The stretching sensation beneath him subsided until he couldn’t tell whether he felt it or not.

And then, at long last, he felt the slightest bump and then a gentle rocking motion.  They had made it: Richelle had guided them to a soft landing in the Atlantic.

Mark picked up his head once again.  “Is everybody okay?” he shouted.  An indeterminate number of voices responded.  Reaching to his side, he unhooked one cable and, with considerable effort, stretched it to the cable on his other side and latched them together.  He then unhooked himself from them and squirmed his way out from underneath.  Crawling on his hands and knees, he tenderly traversed Richelle’s body laterally, checking on those still strapped in.  Then he went to check on her.

As he crawled between the bizarre sight of such absurdly distorted breasts, he tried as hard as he could not to touch them.  Despite their survival being the primary concern, he felt like Richelle still deserved at least some shred of dignity.  He followed the longitudinal straps toward her shoulders, the curve of her body gradually becoming steeper.  Fortunately Richelle had rolled forward a bit so the angle wasn’t too extreme.  He finally encountered the main assembly of her harness and found a hook there to latch onto.  Just a couple of feet below that was her face, surrounded by pressurized flesh, her rich black hair oozing out from between her head and body and fanning out below.  The hose and mouthguard dangled inches from her chin.

“Are you alright??” he asked.

Richelle’s eyes danced, trying to make eye contact with him.  He could tell she was trying to move her head, but it was firmly held in place.  “I… I think so,” she said.  “What about everybody else?”

“We’re fine.  We all made it.”

Richelle wept softly.

Mark reached down to gently hold her cheek, giving her a moment to process the news.  She had fulfilled her obligation with flying colors.  That might at least help her justify… this.

After what seemed like an appropriate amount of time, Mark finally spoke up.  “So what happens now?”

“My harness has an emergency transponder,” Richelle said.  “It activated as soon as I jumped, so they know exactly where we are.  It could be a few hours before a military ship or cruiseliner is diverted to help, though.”

“And what about…”  Mark debated finishing his question.

“Me?” Richelle interrupted, then sighed.  “I don’t know.  Nobody does.”


Richelle looked toward her harness even though she couldn’t see it.  “There’s a folded up card in the pocket there.  Pull it out.”

Mark fumbled with the pocket and found the card.  The word “SCRAM” was printed at the top, and then a table full of data in very small type filled the card below it.  “Okay.”

“You see the lines highlighted in yellow?”

“Yeah.”  Mark looked up and down the table; the first line in yellow was ‘15’.  He then noticed the header for that column: ‘# Pass’ - number of passengers.

“Anything above yellow is the number of passengers I can save and have a ‘good’ chance of returning to normal.”

Mark had remembered that they had split the plane into two groups of 20.  The applicable line on the table was well within the yellow area.  He held his breath a moment.  “What is a ‘good’ chance?”

Richelle sighed.  “Fifty percent or better.  And the chances decrease with each extra passenger.”

“Jesus.”  The number ‘277’ was listed next to ‘20’ on the table.  Mark followed the column up and identified that column as ‘Dia’.  “What is ‘dia?’”

Richelle sighed again.  “Diameter.  In feet.”

Mark’s face paled.  “So you’re 277 feet wide??”

“I don’t know,” Richelle replied, half annoyed, half dejected.  “Those are all based on averages.  I might be smaller or larger.  An accelerometer tells the harness to blow me up as big as I need to be for a three-meter-per-second landing.”

Mark didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.  His eyes wandered down the card a couple rows further, finding red highlighting instead of yellow.  “What do the red rows mean?”

“It means all bets are off at those sizes.”

Mark continued past the fold in the card, watching the diameters pass 300, then eventually 400 and 500.  “Goodness.  Can people really get that big?”

“You don’t understand,” Richelle responded with a cold tinge to her voice.  “It means all bets are off.”


The two sat silently for a couple minutes.  Mark wished there was something he could say, some way to thank her that didn’t sound trite or just terribly insufficient.  Richelle was still coming to grips with the entire ordeal; losing a plane would have been bad enough by itself.  They could both hear - and she could feel - the ocean waves lapping against her back far below.  Mark finally broke the silence.  “Well, I think I’m going to go back… uh… up?... and check on the-- ”

“No,” Richelle interjected, her voice wavering.  “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

Mark placed a hand on Richelle’s surface and patted her gently.  “Well, in a way, you’re not alone even if I do go back.”

Richelle chuckled and sniffled.  “Okay.  Just… please stay here.”

He did.


As it turned out, Miranda had fully inflated - for her, a mere 50 feet wide or so - by the time the plane lost control and entered a steep pitch and roll before falling out of view behind the globe of her body.  She cursed herself; she would have had the time to take passengers with her after all, and the additional burden that she forced upon Richelle and Jessi could be ruinous for them.

But as she gently floated down to the ocean, Miranda told herself that she couldn’t second-guess her decisions.  She may have had enough time to get them out of the plane, but she had no way to be sure that she would have had enough altitude.  She was probably at 4000 feet or even a little less by the time she bailed.  Her thoughts were too scrambled, her adrenaline still too ramped to do the rough math in her head, but she would have been cutting it very, very close.

She also tried to force herself not to second-guess the wing.  There may very well have been something they missed in pre-flight, but odds are it wasn’t anything they would have noticed from the cockpit.  There would be investigations, of course, scrutinizing every moment of her and Richelle’s flight, and as standard procedure she would be grounded for months.  “Actually,” she thought, “I’ll be grounded for months anyway.”

For now, though, Miranda just needed to wait, and hope that whoever showed up first would have enough aloe vera for the sunburn she was about to get.
If All Else Fails
Recently, while fretting about an air trip I had to make, I wondered why airplanes don't carry parachutes for passengers in case of a mid-flight disaster.  Turns out the answer is both practical and logistical: the parachutes would add a lot of weight, the percentage of disasters that happen in mid-flight is in the single digits, and skydivers require four hours of parachute training which is impossible to do for every passenger on every flight.  So then I thought, why not just train the crew and pack only a few parachutes large enough to support a crew member and several passengers?

And then that unexpected bolt of inflation inspiration (inspflation?) hit me again: make the crew the parachutes... so to speak.

Then I needed to figure out how big each crew member needed to be to make a soft landing.  So I scienced.


If Earth were a vacuum, its gravity would cause a falling object to continue accelerating at 9.8 m/s^2 all the way down until it landed.  However, Earth is not a vacuum, and the air applies drag forces on anything that travels through it.  In the cases of falling objects the drag creates a terminal velocity, which is the velocity at which the object will stop accelerating because the upward forces of drag and buoyancy equal the downward force of gravity.  It doesn't cause the object to stop falling, but it does prevent the object from falling faster.

On average, the terminal velocity for humans on Earth is about 53 m/s in a standard skydiving posture, and a skydiving parachute will slow a person down to a terminal velocity of 6 m/s.  That wasn't good enough; I wanted an even softer 3 m/s landing for the airline's paying customers.

The terminal velocity equation is as follows:

velocity = √( 2 * mass * force of gravity / ( drag coefficient * density of air * cross-sectional area of object ) )

And since our object is a sphere, a cross-section of a sphere is a circle, with area = pi
 * radius^2.  So the whole equation would be:

velocity = √( 2 * mass * force of gravity / ( drag coefficient * density of air * pi * radius^2 ) )

The above equation determines the velocity given all the other values, but in our case we knew the velocity (3 m/s) and wanted to determine radius.  Reworking the equation to solve for the radius is easy:

radius = 
√( 2 * mass * force of gravity / ( drag coefficient * density of air * pi * velocity^2 ) )

The values we know are:

mass = weight of female crew member (59kg / 130lbs) + (average weight of US citizen (80kg / 175lbs) * number of passengers carried)
force of gravity = 9.8 m/s^2
drag coefficient of a sphere = 0.5
density of air = 1.29 kg/m^3 (it's closer to 1.5 at sea level but thinner at higher altitudes)
pi = 3.14159265358...
velocity = 3 m/s

With all of that, I had a formula primed and ready for a spreadsheet to help me write the story:…

One thing I would've liked to do is calculate how long it would take (in seconds and in altitude) for the person to decelerate to 3 m/s while they are inflating, but that would've been much more difficult.  Since the radius would still be changing as she inflates, and even the mass would change as people land on top of her, that would've required a differential equation and it's been too damn long since I've even attempted one.  So I was intentionally vague on a lot of that, and we can just assume that they inflate very very quickly.

As for how they inflate, just assume that it's a combination of the force of air as they fall and a high-speed fan in the harness that adjusts the airflow as necessary.  I didn't think it was important so I didn't want to take up story space explaining it.

Hope you enjoyed it.


Double Integral
United States
Just an average guy trying to Make Body Inflation Great Again.
I liked :iconzumberge:'s idea enough to steal it, so rather than get off my ass and actually work on my writing I shall posit this:

I've been writing inflation stories for 15 years and have been lurking the community since 56k modems were the latest and greatest.  Ask me anything.


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havent-slept Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy birthday!
SkeletalBookeeper Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday! :) You're a long-time fave writer and inspiration! 
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Happy birthday!
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Happy Birthday!  Hopefully things turn out especially well for you today!
missbe11y Featured By Owner Jun 24, 2017
Actually found your page from a post you made on a forum ages ago about pregnant-belly implants! Would love to see a story about them!
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Thank you so much for the watch, I can't believe I have been watching you sooner, I love your stories!
doubleintegral Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2017
Much obliged!
InflatorGirl Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thx for the watch!
Timebrain Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2016
Happy birthday!
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Happy birthday!
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