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A tiger goes to a balloon-based travel agency and learns about different methods of exploiting inflatability for transporting goods and people. Contains both deflation and inflation.
This is the txt version, but the RTF version contains an illustration by the delightfully devious
...and it contains only half the mercury.
This story is © Balloonie-cat Inflated (AKA Lord Balloonie-cat Inflated).
Federal law prohibits the use of this product at any shindig, hootenanny, or hoedown. Violators will be sentenced to no less than 100 hours of extreme Twister™.
Note: I’m well aware of the ridiculousness of the phrase “blow-and-tow”.
Enough mumbo-jumbo, on with the show:
“Need any help?”
The tiger started, nearly dropping his bag, and the uniformed vixen stifled a giggle.
“Sorry,” the latex fox said, steadying him on his feet again, “but you looked a little lost.”
“I…well I’ve never used the BTA before.”
“Ah, well, in that case, welcome to the offices of the Balloonie Transit Association,” and, with a squeak from her rubbery skin, she spread her arms wide to indicate the grand atrium, which was marble floored and glass all around.
He gaped, for until now, he had not noticed the huge globes of fur, latex, and vinyl floating overhead. Some of the huge spheres were being harnessed together, while others were being fitted with cargo nets. All of them were being guided, harnessed, and otherwise tended to by BTA workers; though these workers were bloated to twice normal size in order to fly, they were still dwarfed by their massive charges.
A furry ball covered with orange and black stripes on one hemisphere and white fur on the other waved at him with a chubby paw as it was guided overhead. He had reflexively waved back before realizing that the ball was actually a vastly inflated tigress, her hands, feet, and head dwarfed by her 50ft body. His eyes widened as he realized the orbs overhead must be more balloonies blown up to gigantic size.
“It’s a lot to take in, if you’ve never seen it before,” the vixen said, understanding in her tone.
The tiger worked his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Are you traveling in-city or long distance?”
“Uh, Honolulu,” the tiger replied, giving his head a shake to clear it, “so I guess that’s long distance.”
“Good. That opens up more options,” she said, taking up the data slate that had been hanging off her shoulder. “In-city is strictly deflate-and-freight”
He looked mystified.
“Look,” she said, tapping the slate with her stylus and showing him what appeared to be a live video feed. In it, he could see a BTA attendant, as well as a vinyl lion, a very pregnant vinyl lioness, and three vinyl cubs. As he watched, the prancing cubs were corralled by their parents so the attendant could poke a short rod into each of their bellies. No sooner had he poked the last one than all three opened their mouths wide as if to yawn. There was no sound with the video feed, so it wasn’t until he saw the cubs slumping and wrinkling that the tiger realized they were gassing out; their air was escaping through their open jaws.
The three cubs were flat in seconds, and the attendant was poking the lion (the tiger understood now that the “rod” was a hypo-spray loaded with some sort of fast acting leak inducer). As the lion’s mouth opened and he started to slump, another attendant came into view and neatly folded the flaccid cubs into small parcels. The lion was likewise folded, and then the lioness was receiving her dose of the leak-inducing drug. She took rather longer to gas out than her husband, having such a large belly on her, but when she was flat, they folded her neatly.
The tiger would have liked to have seen more, but the vixen was taking the slate back.
“What happens to them?”
“They get strapped to their luggage –the lioness will probably be strapped to the same bag as her cubs- tagged with their destination, and pushed down a shoot that’s off-camera. At the bottom, they’ll be loaded onto busses or trucks or planes and shipped to wherever they’re going, where they’ll be re-inflated. That’s why it’s called ‘deflate-and-freight”
“Ah…and that’s the only option for local transit?”
“Of course, blow-and-tow would be too impractical. Can’t have loads of those things” and she gestured to the balloons overhead “drifting all over the city.”
“So they,” the tiger also pointed up, “chose…blow-and-tow?”
“Yep. We blow ‘em up with helium and tow ‘em to wherever they’re going. There’s sub-options to that one. Some people prefer to be given a shot of sleeping gas with their helium, so they just wake up when they get where they’re going.”
“Well, I don’t like the idea of being freighted around, and I’ve never liked sleeping gasses…the thought of being drugged to sleep gives me the willies.”
“Then you should take the blow-and-tow option. I recommend a headset, unless you can sleep through that.” She gestured up again.
“Headset?”
“They cost extra, but they’re handy if the sight-seeing gets dull.”
“I’ll take one.”
“Excellent.” She tapped the data slate a few times, then passed it to him again. “Just put your thump print here,” she said, indicating the input square with one rubber claw. He did as she asked, then shouldered his bag.
“Hold still,” she said, taking a thin tube from her breast pocket. She pushed the tip of the tube to his palm. There was a slight sting, and when she removed the tube, there was a small black square of material stuck to his hand. “Transponder chip,” she said, anticipating his question. “It tells them where to route you and what tug to harness you to.” Another tag was affixed to his bag, and then she steered him toward the left side of the atrium.
“Blow-and-tow, officially known as hyper-inflated travel, by the way, is over there. Have a nice trip.”
“Thanks for your help,” he said, heading for the queue she had indicated.
The line, one of several, moved slowly toward a row of large, roofless rooms along the wall. Every so often, there would be a loud hiss of gas and a naked furry or balloonie would rise slowly out of one of the rooms, already huge and growing larger as they rose. From what the tiger could see, luggage took the more mundane route upward, being lifted by elevator to the point where its owner had developed enough lift to be harnessed to it without sinking.
In no time, the tiger found himself stepping into the roofless room, where two rubber skunkettes waited. They asked him to set his bag on a scale, and then to strip, both of which he did, trying not to be too bashful in front of these imposing rubber females. They smiled impassively, affecting not to notice anything; they almost managed to make him feel at ease in his bare fur.
The next thing he knew, there was a slight sting in his belly as one of them pressed a hypo-spray there. At once, he began to feel pleasantly overfull. Cocking his ears, he could hear a growing hiss coming from his tummy, and a second later, it swelled outward in a gentle curve.
Moment by moment, the tiger grew fatter on helium. At first, it just pushed out his furry belly into a growing bulge, but as his tummy became a weather balloon, his sides began to round, and his limbs started to plump up. He began to purr softly, enjoying the mounting pressure pushing against the inside of his hide.
With an ever-louder hiss of building gas, the tiger bloated, swelling at the hips and around the sides, his belly growing larger and larger. He started to feel pleasantly light-headed as the gas began to make him buoyant.
Fatter and fatter he grew, his body rounding into first a barrel and then a sphere which began to greedily eat up his limbs. It was at this point that he began to rise ponderously into the air. He gasped and waved his stiffening arms for balance, but one of the skunks gently pushed him as he rose, and he tumbled sluggishly onto his belly in midair.
Still bloating steadily, he rose higher. He had never been this pumped up before, and felt so good, so full. If his limbs had not been consumed by his distending body, he would have caressed his swelling flesh in pleasure. He expected his growth to stop when his limbs disappeared, but he kept getting fatter as he ascended, and soon, he could feel his tail was gone, absorbed by his inflation. Now he was just a ball with a head, hands, and feet.
Purring like a chainsaw, he watched two wolves and a cow swim lazily toward him. All three of them were vinyl, and filled with helium so their bellies were vast, their hips broad, and their limbs comically puffy. Around and around him they moved, gently touching his taut and still-stretching skin, pushing and pulling and nudging him toward the right group of balloonies.
Along the way, he finally stopped growing; he couldn’t see himself, but he felt absolutely stuffed to the gills with helium, and guessed he must be at least 60 feet in diameter, if not fatter. He was distracted from considering his size by the touch of the harness, which the wolves and cow laced around his bloated body. There was a slight sinking sensation as his luggage (and what felt like several other bags besides) was loaded into the net beneath him, and then a series of tugs as he was roped in with the other swollen passengers on his flight. The headset, which he discovered had mini-screens for his eyes and small speakers for his ears, was fitted in place; the cow explained the headset’s control glove as she fitted this device over his chubby right paw.
Looking over the eye-screens, he could see that he was rubbing flanks with a hippo on his left and a tigress on his right. Feeling the press of her gas-bloated side against his gave him tingles, and he would have talked to her, except that the cow gave her a hypo shortly after she was roped in beside him, and a moment later she yawned loudly and fell asleep; apparently, she’d ordered a shot of sleeping gas for her trip. Staring at her vastly inflated form, he was disappointed.
It was very warm this high up in the atrium, and in spite of his strange situation, the tiger was starting to feel rather dozy himself when there was suddenly a sharp tug on his harness. Looking ahead, he saw a vinyl lioness, fattened into a pear-shape like her fellow employees, but also proportionally enlarged by inflation so that her body was fifteen times its normal size. Unlike her passengers, she was clothed, garbed in a huge, stretchy version of the blue uniforms of the BTA. The harnesses of the various balloonies were attached to rings all over her suit, and strapped to her enormous sides were a pair of turbo-fans.
As these revved to full power, the huge bouquet of balloonies was towed forward, pulled through a gigantic door in the atrium wall, and drawn forth into the open air. For a while, as they first rose and then leveled off, the tiger watched the tiny scenery below and fiddled with his headset. Soon, however, the sun shining on his vast side and the cozy pressure within him lulled him into a gentle sleep.
This is the txt version, but the RTF version contains an illustration by the delightfully devious
...and it contains only half the mercury.This story is © Balloonie-cat Inflated (AKA Lord Balloonie-cat Inflated).
Federal law prohibits the use of this product at any shindig, hootenanny, or hoedown. Violators will be sentenced to no less than 100 hours of extreme Twister™.
Note: I’m well aware of the ridiculousness of the phrase “blow-and-tow”.
Enough mumbo-jumbo, on with the show:
“Need any help?”
The tiger started, nearly dropping his bag, and the uniformed vixen stifled a giggle.
“Sorry,” the latex fox said, steadying him on his feet again, “but you looked a little lost.”
“I…well I’ve never used the BTA before.”
“Ah, well, in that case, welcome to the offices of the Balloonie Transit Association,” and, with a squeak from her rubbery skin, she spread her arms wide to indicate the grand atrium, which was marble floored and glass all around.
He gaped, for until now, he had not noticed the huge globes of fur, latex, and vinyl floating overhead. Some of the huge spheres were being harnessed together, while others were being fitted with cargo nets. All of them were being guided, harnessed, and otherwise tended to by BTA workers; though these workers were bloated to twice normal size in order to fly, they were still dwarfed by their massive charges.
A furry ball covered with orange and black stripes on one hemisphere and white fur on the other waved at him with a chubby paw as it was guided overhead. He had reflexively waved back before realizing that the ball was actually a vastly inflated tigress, her hands, feet, and head dwarfed by her 50ft body. His eyes widened as he realized the orbs overhead must be more balloonies blown up to gigantic size.
“It’s a lot to take in, if you’ve never seen it before,” the vixen said, understanding in her tone.
The tiger worked his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Are you traveling in-city or long distance?”
“Uh, Honolulu,” the tiger replied, giving his head a shake to clear it, “so I guess that’s long distance.”
“Good. That opens up more options,” she said, taking up the data slate that had been hanging off her shoulder. “In-city is strictly deflate-and-freight”
He looked mystified.
“Look,” she said, tapping the slate with her stylus and showing him what appeared to be a live video feed. In it, he could see a BTA attendant, as well as a vinyl lion, a very pregnant vinyl lioness, and three vinyl cubs. As he watched, the prancing cubs were corralled by their parents so the attendant could poke a short rod into each of their bellies. No sooner had he poked the last one than all three opened their mouths wide as if to yawn. There was no sound with the video feed, so it wasn’t until he saw the cubs slumping and wrinkling that the tiger realized they were gassing out; their air was escaping through their open jaws.
The three cubs were flat in seconds, and the attendant was poking the lion (the tiger understood now that the “rod” was a hypo-spray loaded with some sort of fast acting leak inducer). As the lion’s mouth opened and he started to slump, another attendant came into view and neatly folded the flaccid cubs into small parcels. The lion was likewise folded, and then the lioness was receiving her dose of the leak-inducing drug. She took rather longer to gas out than her husband, having such a large belly on her, but when she was flat, they folded her neatly.
The tiger would have liked to have seen more, but the vixen was taking the slate back.
“What happens to them?”
“They get strapped to their luggage –the lioness will probably be strapped to the same bag as her cubs- tagged with their destination, and pushed down a shoot that’s off-camera. At the bottom, they’ll be loaded onto busses or trucks or planes and shipped to wherever they’re going, where they’ll be re-inflated. That’s why it’s called ‘deflate-and-freight”
“Ah…and that’s the only option for local transit?”
“Of course, blow-and-tow would be too impractical. Can’t have loads of those things” and she gestured to the balloons overhead “drifting all over the city.”
“So they,” the tiger also pointed up, “chose…blow-and-tow?”
“Yep. We blow ‘em up with helium and tow ‘em to wherever they’re going. There’s sub-options to that one. Some people prefer to be given a shot of sleeping gas with their helium, so they just wake up when they get where they’re going.”
“Well, I don’t like the idea of being freighted around, and I’ve never liked sleeping gasses…the thought of being drugged to sleep gives me the willies.”
“Then you should take the blow-and-tow option. I recommend a headset, unless you can sleep through that.” She gestured up again.
“Headset?”
“They cost extra, but they’re handy if the sight-seeing gets dull.”
“I’ll take one.”
“Excellent.” She tapped the data slate a few times, then passed it to him again. “Just put your thump print here,” she said, indicating the input square with one rubber claw. He did as she asked, then shouldered his bag.
“Hold still,” she said, taking a thin tube from her breast pocket. She pushed the tip of the tube to his palm. There was a slight sting, and when she removed the tube, there was a small black square of material stuck to his hand. “Transponder chip,” she said, anticipating his question. “It tells them where to route you and what tug to harness you to.” Another tag was affixed to his bag, and then she steered him toward the left side of the atrium.
“Blow-and-tow, officially known as hyper-inflated travel, by the way, is over there. Have a nice trip.”
“Thanks for your help,” he said, heading for the queue she had indicated.
The line, one of several, moved slowly toward a row of large, roofless rooms along the wall. Every so often, there would be a loud hiss of gas and a naked furry or balloonie would rise slowly out of one of the rooms, already huge and growing larger as they rose. From what the tiger could see, luggage took the more mundane route upward, being lifted by elevator to the point where its owner had developed enough lift to be harnessed to it without sinking.
In no time, the tiger found himself stepping into the roofless room, where two rubber skunkettes waited. They asked him to set his bag on a scale, and then to strip, both of which he did, trying not to be too bashful in front of these imposing rubber females. They smiled impassively, affecting not to notice anything; they almost managed to make him feel at ease in his bare fur.
The next thing he knew, there was a slight sting in his belly as one of them pressed a hypo-spray there. At once, he began to feel pleasantly overfull. Cocking his ears, he could hear a growing hiss coming from his tummy, and a second later, it swelled outward in a gentle curve.
Moment by moment, the tiger grew fatter on helium. At first, it just pushed out his furry belly into a growing bulge, but as his tummy became a weather balloon, his sides began to round, and his limbs started to plump up. He began to purr softly, enjoying the mounting pressure pushing against the inside of his hide.
With an ever-louder hiss of building gas, the tiger bloated, swelling at the hips and around the sides, his belly growing larger and larger. He started to feel pleasantly light-headed as the gas began to make him buoyant.
Fatter and fatter he grew, his body rounding into first a barrel and then a sphere which began to greedily eat up his limbs. It was at this point that he began to rise ponderously into the air. He gasped and waved his stiffening arms for balance, but one of the skunks gently pushed him as he rose, and he tumbled sluggishly onto his belly in midair.
Still bloating steadily, he rose higher. He had never been this pumped up before, and felt so good, so full. If his limbs had not been consumed by his distending body, he would have caressed his swelling flesh in pleasure. He expected his growth to stop when his limbs disappeared, but he kept getting fatter as he ascended, and soon, he could feel his tail was gone, absorbed by his inflation. Now he was just a ball with a head, hands, and feet.
Purring like a chainsaw, he watched two wolves and a cow swim lazily toward him. All three of them were vinyl, and filled with helium so their bellies were vast, their hips broad, and their limbs comically puffy. Around and around him they moved, gently touching his taut and still-stretching skin, pushing and pulling and nudging him toward the right group of balloonies.
Along the way, he finally stopped growing; he couldn’t see himself, but he felt absolutely stuffed to the gills with helium, and guessed he must be at least 60 feet in diameter, if not fatter. He was distracted from considering his size by the touch of the harness, which the wolves and cow laced around his bloated body. There was a slight sinking sensation as his luggage (and what felt like several other bags besides) was loaded into the net beneath him, and then a series of tugs as he was roped in with the other swollen passengers on his flight. The headset, which he discovered had mini-screens for his eyes and small speakers for his ears, was fitted in place; the cow explained the headset’s control glove as she fitted this device over his chubby right paw.
Looking over the eye-screens, he could see that he was rubbing flanks with a hippo on his left and a tigress on his right. Feeling the press of her gas-bloated side against his gave him tingles, and he would have talked to her, except that the cow gave her a hypo shortly after she was roped in beside him, and a moment later she yawned loudly and fell asleep; apparently, she’d ordered a shot of sleeping gas for her trip. Staring at her vastly inflated form, he was disappointed.
It was very warm this high up in the atrium, and in spite of his strange situation, the tiger was starting to feel rather dozy himself when there was suddenly a sharp tug on his harness. Looking ahead, he saw a vinyl lioness, fattened into a pear-shape like her fellow employees, but also proportionally enlarged by inflation so that her body was fifteen times its normal size. Unlike her passengers, she was clothed, garbed in a huge, stretchy version of the blue uniforms of the BTA. The harnesses of the various balloonies were attached to rings all over her suit, and strapped to her enormous sides were a pair of turbo-fans.
As these revved to full power, the huge bouquet of balloonies was towed forward, pulled through a gigantic door in the atrium wall, and drawn forth into the open air. For a while, as they first rose and then leveled off, the tiger watched the tiny scenery below and fiddled with his headset. Soon, however, the sun shining on his vast side and the cozy pressure within him lulled him into a gentle sleep.
Category Story / Inflation
Species Tiger
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 605.9 kB
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