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zin-fan-del · 5 months

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Orange Inflation Afterparty

2,500 word story written over the course of a day. Features two men startled by an expansive beginning to their lazy morning after a huge house party.

“Hey, dude,” I nudged the husky boy asleep on my couch. He tossed and turned as my prodding continued throughout the minute, lulled into drowsiness by its gentle suede texture. I sighed, pulling myself back to admire the snoring slob: his short but stocky frame curled admirably into the loveseat, strange wine stains dribbled down the white wife-beater stretched across his chest and tucked into red track pants. Still seemingly asleep, he lifted his shirt with a slow hand and scratched at his happy trail. My eyebrows raised.

“Yo, Austin.” I pressed harder against his arm, and the thick eyelashes hooded by dark furrowed brows parted lightly. “Oh, shit, man. It’s even worse.” “What’s worse?” His hoarse, deep voice creaked out as the man gradually climbed out of slumber. His body jolted before he erupted into a belch loud enough I was forced to wait for it to end. After he recovered with a deep breath, I launched into my explanation:

“There’s some stuff spreading on your face.” It was succinct but accurate; the sweaty athlete hunkered down on this chair in the middle of the sofa and went basically comatose. I could smell alcohol on his breath as the burp pervaded my general area, which explained his roaring gut—but orange…?

“Stuff? The fuck?” Austin, ever the wordsmith, quickly leapt into action with a curious arm, shuffling his digits all over that sleepy freckled visage. “I don’t feel anything. But man, what a party, right?” Beneath the discoloration, I could tell that my eyes burning holes in our star player brought a lively rosiness to his slender pale face. Between burps, he tried to give me a reassuring grin.

My brows furrowed as I watched him sit up, dipping his face down as he pulled his center of mass upward. When he raised it, I gasped: his entire head was bright orange, minus the worried hazel eyes that darted about and those pearly whites. “You look like… well, like an orange?!” My arms crossed and my mouth fell open as I guffawed at the deeply discolored athlete surveying his body on my couch. By now, whatever this effect was had slid down his thick trunk enough to be noticeable even by him.

“What in the hell…?” His muscular arms stuck out as he watched the hue spread down them as though someone had taken an airbrush to his skin. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow as his breath began to quicken and the rumbling of his belly churned even louder. The confident smile on his face mutated into a surprised, inquisitive glare as every last inch of his skin was doused in what looked like beaming neon orange paint.

It would seem that things were at a head to the two of them: this transformation alone was bizarre enough to be simply inexplicable. How did this man, who has been sleeping for hours, just get turned into a walking orange highlighter? If it wasn’t for the clothes wrapped around his nearly fluorescent body, the beaming glow amplified the luster of his rough skin. I was pinned to the spot, admiring this abnormality as he lifted up his arm and took a heavy whiff of the hair in his armpit. At first, he pulled back as though reacting to the pungent body odor he expected; but he froze, lulled into a sense of curiosity, and went back to sniffing himself.

“This is insane, man. What just happened?” I asked him, finally composed enough to assemble a functional question.

“I smell so fucking good,” he muttered. “Good God,” he reclined into the cushion and closed his eyes, ignoring my inquiry outright. He puffed out his gut with a heavy breath in, his hands sliding down the front of his torso to gently dig his fingers in his abdomen. Austin’s pot belly was the talk of the fraternity after he ballooned up 50 pounds in weight within a year, fattening himself up with an insane diet that expanded him seemingly faster than pregnancy could have. He would slim down considerably as years passed, but beneath the wrinkles of his sleeveless shirt I could spot the plump paunch that time left behind.

“Are you… are you okay?” I began to wonder what merit these questions of mine even held at this point, since he seemed preoccupied by moaning and groaning. “You’re not in pain, are you?” I stepped towards the human nightlight, concerned his writhing was out of pain.

“M-Mitch,” he gasped between breaths and deep belches. “I’m gonna pop… H-help…” From that belly beneath the off-white tank, sounds of gurgling as vicious as boiling water erupted.

“Pop?! What, what, are you horny or--?!” My question would get answered not with words but with yet another astonishing sight. At first, I thought Austin’s heavy breaths were causing his body to expand with air. But as he rumbled away, moaning uncontrollably, he seemed to fatten up at an insane rate. What remained of his Adonis belt melted as every last pound he lost over the years were immediately reverted.

Austin must have been stunned speechless, because the only thing coming out of his mouth was dribble seeping from the corners of his pursed lips. He ballooned up as though someone shoved an air compressor up his rear and cranked it up without warning: the little belly Mitch noticed before swelled round and tight, pushing out over the lap between his spread legs. The front of his shirt was pulled out from under his sweatpants, unable to remain tucked as the hunky man’s gut filled it out in seconds. The deep voice he spoke with seemed to quiet as his cheeks filled up, puckering his bright red lips and forcing his pitiful moans up an octave.

Mitch could only watch in shock as his friend’s dramatic growth spiraled out of control. It appeared as though his belly was growing into a nice, fat orange all on its own up until the expansion began to spread. Whatever was pumping him up seemed to have no intention of letting up anytime soon and this world-record-sized ball gut surely couldn’t fit much more in it? Austin groped at it with his hands vigorously, pressing against himself to try and empty his growing body before he loses all control.

He felt a heavy surge of liquid fill his bottom and stretched his neck out to confirm it by sight. His thin but nimble legs had puffed up into ridiculous water balloons in his pants, stretching the seams of his pants to their limits. The bubbling had spread throughout him wherever he seemed to swell; as his wide breasts fattened like beach balls, his head sunk behind them and his moaning drowned in the orchestra of noises his huge body was letting off. Periodically, gas would release from either end of the humongous boy’s body at a rapturous volume but the pressure filling him tight refused to ease whatsoever.

I watched him widen, his wide butt ballooning up enough to spill out from behind his thick legs. Any slack in those track pants had stretched out to its limit, struggling to contain the burgeoning fat within. Before my very eyes, his expanding body transformed like a balloon animal, filling up with girth enough to shove his limbs out. Austin grumbled and groaned as he strained against his own frame, appearing to be drowning in the expanding pool of weight centered around his waist.

His groin lifted his belly up like an auto lift as it grew, twisting the seams of his pants and fully pulling his stained tank out from under their waistband. His furry gut bulged out from beneath his shirt enough to reveal a dense happy trail leading up to his belly button. Surely, his weight had doubled in an instant. The growth appeared to crawl to a stop, leaving the quarter-ton balloon pinned to the couch in a resigned starfish pose.

I strained my ears as the vicious roiling subsided somewhat, having stepped forward and placed the side of my head against his swollen paunch. Were it not for the rough touch of his skin, which sent shivers up his spine when pressed into, there could have been a weather balloon puffed up under that raggedy top or some other exaggerated inflatable costume. He even sounded like a water balloon, the surge of growth from earlier having quieted into a gentle glug, glug, glug…

That explains the ripe orange smell tickling my nostrils, and the syrupy citrus flavor his skin imparted on my curious tongue. The pool of liquid building up beneath him, the bright blotchy stains around his nipples and groin, the relentless bubbling and gurgling… it suddenly all made sense. But, this has to be a dream, Mitch rubbed his own belly, concerned that the effect might be contagious only after tasting his friend’s engorged belly. He could see the orange stain left behind on his tongue but otherwise felt normal; what did Austin do to turn into a fat piece of fruit all of a sudden?

As that thought crossed my mind, I realized that my focus had been lost. Somehow, in the instant I looked away, the rapid expansion that seemed to have been quelled resumed in full force. If there was a hose up the vivid athlete’s rear as Mitch once hypothesized, whoever was its cruel master dialed its pump up to the max. With a troubled yell, muffled by the juice filling his face, Austin’s growth exploded in rate. The boy rocked back and forth as his ass, swelling with the rest of his waist, raised him out of the relaxed pose he assumed on the couch. Buuuuurp! With a splatter of juice raining over his breast down upon my head, the overblown blob of a man belched, likely in response to the rumbling of gas bubbles rising within his distended stomach.

I barely recognized Austin in the mass that bellowed like a fluorescent hot-air balloon. I could see the top of his freshly-shaven head, the floral tattoo running down his right arm, the clothes he’s been wearing all night. But this was barely a human any longer: his skin stretched beyond its natural limits to contain the juice being crammed into it. The lower half of his body grew from a bloated pear-like shape into that of a teardrop as his midsection ballooned out around his waist and sucked in the thick legs beneath it. His socked feet, dirtied by an evening of partying, pressed tight against the flesh that swallowed them up. The overblown remnants of his legs shoved were apart by the mass expanding between them and filled with enough juice to bring them flush with the curvature of his fat waist.

“No, no!” I could barely recognize the words beneath the goop sealing his trap. Austin’s growth refused to slow as his chest similarly forced his arms out to the side and swallowed them up. Slap, slap. His bare hands struck what little they could reach, immobilized and enveloped in big fat arms fit for a nice, round orange.

“What the fuck,” was all I could say as I scanned the human blimp. Just moments ago, I expected the nimble athlete to slink off the couch and crack open a beer like usual. In fact, I came here to ask if he wanted my lunch leftovers, since he slept uninterrupted straight through midday. “Um.” Needless to say, I was shocked into speechlessness throughout almost the entirety of Austin’s sudden inflation. But surveying his new plump body was exhilarating both to the eyes and to my curious digits.

At the base of his shirt and near the fattest area of his waist, the seams of his clothes lost their valiant weight against his girth. But shockingly, the orange was still wrapped in clearly undersized apparel where it counted: juice spurted from his wide nipples gently, the fountains of liquid pushing through the cotton tank squeezing into his torso. The imprint of a penis sprayed it to the side as though his polyester track pants were hardly present, right where it should be at the base of his groin. Wordlessly, I sated my curiosity by pressing my upper body into the blimp, marveling at its immense heft and soft texture.

“Mmmph!” Austin’s eyes rolled as he moaned, the streams surging from his round frame intensified only slightly by my prodding.

“Shit, Jesus, man,” I stumbled back, winded. “You’re gonna fucking blow.”

The boy before me clocked in at least several tons. The couch beneath him began to fold as juice pumped him ever fuller with each passing second. Despite having fattened into a nearly perfect sphere, his extremities only sunk deeper into the hyperventilating athlete’s zeppelin of a belly. The flapping of his hands and feet grew even more rapid until he was too plump to even be mistakable for a living being any further.

Ten feet, I guessed he must have grown to in both height and width. Folds formed where his arms and legs ballooned up around smothered hands and feet. His face pointed straight up at the ceiling yet his yellow eyes still darted from point to point as though searching for help. I could hear his periodic cries for help beneath the surging, bubbling, straining orchestra unleashed by his impossible growth. Juice gushed from every orifice on his body, dribbling on the furniture and floor messily beneath him.

Boom. Preemptively, I must have plugged my ears and forced my eyes shut, because the earth-shattering bang I was expecting sounded like a distant sound effect. A tsunami of warm liquid showered over me in an instant, forcing me to hold my breath in the heavy deluge for several seconds. But as the dripping of drops transitioned from intense rainfall into a gentle shower, I creaked one eye open toward the scraps of the man once known as--

Austin? My eye took some time to adjust to the brand new paint job the late athlete provided us with during his explosive end. At least, during what I assumed was an explosive end, prior to finally focusing on the camouflaged orange figure lackadaisically louging on a sofa stained the same color as him. Instead of anguish, his flushed face sported closed eyes and a hearty smile, alongside a militia of sweat drops. He, too, opened an eye and spent a moment getting his bearings on the situation; his belly rose and fell with heavy breaths and the arms and legs I watched rise like dough in an oven had reverted to their slender forms.

“Guh…” I guffawed eloquently at my slim friend, whose fate I feared was sealed by his own unending girth.

“G-gotcha.” Austin’s shit-eating grin grew wider.

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