Night Ride

Male, Inflation, Violence, Bursting


Lean and fit, mid twenties, he walked along in the night. Something in the road had poked through his bike tire, though thankfully he’d had a patch kit on him. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a means to re-inflate the repaired wheel, and with a few miles yet to go, stopping briefly at a nearby gas station to fill it back up was all he could do, even at this hour.

Dropping the kickstand, he walked to the compressor and popped in a couple of quarters, the machine ticking to life, the hose hissing on its holster. Pulling it free, he yanked it toward his bike, tossing it to the ground as he knelt down to unscrew the wheel cap. Filling the tire until it was solid as a rock, he set the hose down beside him and replaced that cap. A sudden scuff of feet caught his ears, the hissing of the hose suddenly shifting locations, a hand grabbing a tuft of his short hair and yanking on it, pulling his head back.

Forced into his mouth as he shouted a curse, his teeth scraped the rubber hose. His cheeks bulged from the rushing air, the pressure making him gag as it hit the back of his throat. Another shove sent it deeper, the tip painfully scraping his esophagus. His lungs took the brunt of the air, spreading his ribs to their limit before it began to rush to its intended target. The fleshy balloon of his stomach swelled with air, lifting his shirt and exposing his formerly slim belly. 

Protruding awkwardly, his upper abs pushed outward around his stomach, the white line between them growing less defined as they spread. A light cracking emanated from his chest, his lower ribs pushed farther apart, his sternum begin forced to flex beyond its ability. His mind repeatedly told him to reach up, to fight, but his hands refused to move away from his sides, afraid of what might happen if his chest lost the added support.

An odd mix of belching crossed with a low whistle escaped his mouth as the pressure hit its utmost within him. His throat bulged, the mass of air flowing back up and out of his mouth. Yanking the hose from him, he was release to fall to the ground, belching and vomiting air as he clutched his taught belly. Tears streamed down his face, he gasped, his engorged stomach lodged against his diaphragm, substantially shortening his breath.

Too distracted with pain, he couldn’t hear the ‘click’ of the pen knife. A firm hand grabbed his belt from behind, pulling his pants tight as the blade slid down the back seam. Rough fingers slid into the cut, and ripped the seat of his pants wide. He tried to stand, to run, but a thick arm caught him in a headlock before he even got to his knees.

The sharp edge of the hose was as forgiving to his rump as it was his mouth. The feeling of the hose being forced deep into him quickly faded as his colon filled, further stretching his taught belly. Sputtering and belching, his bloated internal organs fighting for precious space inside him, he could almost make out the sound of his belt straining over his own wails and pained squeaks.

Scratching his belly, the blade slid between him and the thick leather, slicing it apart, letting his flesh stretch freely once again, if only briefly. Gritting his teeth, he tightened his abs as much as he could to try and contain himself, but his strength was fading all too quickly. Little by little his belly pushed forward, until the last of his strength left him. 

Round and tight, his belly looked ready to tear, yet as his muscles gave out, he was granted a small salvation. The hose, being thinner than most objects that had been in his tail in the past, allowed air to flow freely out of him as he relaxed. It wasn’t the most dignified of things, but propriety goes out the window in matters of survival.

Strong and rough as sandpaper, a thick hand slid with the hose between its fingers and firmly cupped his pucker, sealing it closed with an unceremonious squeal. Immediately he felt it, the pressure rapidly increasing inside him. The thin knife cut from a moment ago stung painfully as it spread wide. Choking, the feeling of knives runs up his abdomen, his skin beginning to tear, forming long, red marks. 

He wanted struggle, to cry out, anything, but it was all he could do just to breathe, and with every passing moment that became a greater struggle. Despite having his head locked staring straight onward, he could faintly see his grotesquely marred belly slowly creeping into view. So taught was his skin that it glistened in what little light reached here from the road. So large and round it had become, the nerves so damaged that he’d lost feeling. 

It was hard for him to fully comprehend what had happened when his body suddenly jolted, in the blink of an eye, and it was no longer there. The arm dropped him to the ground, the dark, crimson puddle splashing about him. Rapidly his mind flickered between trying to comprehend what had just happened, and finding help. Hands rummaged through his pockets, a dark figure hopped onto his bike, and rolled off. Within moments, however, it no longer mattered.

… he stared into the mirror, gasping as the air continued to flow. Not a single stretch mark had yet marred his silky flesh, yet he knew that wouldn’t hold true much longer. ‘What will it feel like?’  he wondered as he stood motionless, awaiting the answer…

GAK! I didn’t realize it wouldn’t allow full view of the drawings if I replied like that. Here’s a better view.

Q

cartoonmeat asked:

I've always had a fantasy idea involving someone using a pump on a webcam show and the pump being controlled by the viewers rather than the pump user. As for pump designs. what about the old steam piston thing but in reverse. connect a bike pump to a wheel so as it rotates it slowly, steadily, relentlessly works the pump.

A

image

Then you’re going to enjoy my show! Every ten dollars spins the wheel one complete rotation. To make sure you all get the most for your money, I’ve fitted in a double action pump, and to keep it all from going to waste, I’ve made sure to plug myself good and tight; not a single bit of air is going to get out! Now, let’s… 

*ding*

Oh, I can feel the donations coming in already! One, two… three… oh, a Fifty dollar donation already, I see, couldn’t even wait for me to sit down… 

*ding*

another… hundred!?

image

*ding*

Three hundred… 

*ding*

F-FIVE HUNDRED!? Guys, take it easy, I have to stream for at least half an hour- 

*ding*

A thous- A THOUSAND DOLLARS!?!? Are you INSANE!? I appreciate this so much, but… ooh, my stomach… I can’t accept that, even if I wanted… 

*ding*

Another thousand? Stop! If you all keep this up all of these funds are going to be spent putting me back together!!!

*ding*

*ding*

*ding*

Q

the-sl1 asked:

Not sure how to reply to your post, so using the ask thing. Would be awesome to see more bursting/ready to burst Krystal or Renamon?

     Like any other city, Icarus is filled with its share of erotic entertainment venues, and for the fetish types, “Popshows” are a constant draw. Patrons can sit by and watch performers swell and even explode for their viewing pleasure. Of course it’s all fake, with the quality of the props being dependant entirely on how much the owners are willing to spend on simple fronts for their real businesses, usually whoring out the employees.
However, look deep enough and you will eventually find the exceptions. These locations are well hidden, guarded, and more often than not require a handsome fee to gain entry, with the exception of one. Free of any sort of monetary fees, upon entry, whether as a patron or employee, entrants are given a number. All patrons then remove their clothes and are invited at their leisure to join in on the various sexual festivities throughout the establishment.
As evening draws to night, the real show begins. Guards lock down the building, and two numbers are drawn at random, one to put on the show, and the other to be sacrificed in the name of entertainment. Some freeze in shock, others try to run or hide, rarely do they go willingly, but ultimately all are brought to the stage to take their place.
A wide array of toys and tools are provided, giving the duo plenty of ways to put on the best show they can muster, and of course home built contraptions are always welcome. In return for putting on a great show, the presenter is granted free entry for up to a month, and a portion of the nights gains- a deal well worth the risk for those that frequent the establishment.

Tonight, an older, chubby gent was chosen, showcasing an invention of his own on an unfortunate employee. The show began humbly enough, the lithe former erotic dancer being forced to swallow some small, round contraption, then told to perform as usual. The audience stared eagerly as he demonstrated his skills, a bit clumsier than usual, though he was understandably distracted. He bowed and spun, waving his luscious tail at the audience, his body shaking in uncertain anticipation. The other patrons sat mesmerized, enjoying the feline’s final show, as his belly grew thicker before their eyes.
Moving to demonstrate his flexibility, he finally learned just how swollen he had become, tumbling to the ground and landing flat on his back. The pudgy presenter helped him up and motioned for him to continue with a grin, patting him on his bulged gut and assuring him that it would be worse if he didn’t.
Gritting his teeth the feline begrudgingly continued, performing moves requiring far less dexterity than usual for the drooling crowd. Despite the increasing pressure in his stomach, he was beginning to enjoy having everyone’s hungry eyes on him, and for the moment he had forgotten what awaited him in the near future. Another clumsy misstep on behalf of his engorged torso sent him tumbling to the ground again, this time landing him on all fours, or more accurately, all five.
His back painfully arched, he could feel his belly brushing the ground. He shook his head in confusion, wondering how he could have missed his stomach growing to such an impossible size. Whatever had been fed into him had been blocking the feeling up until this point, and his desire to show off had kept his mind occupied, but now the show was coming to and end.
Massive, round belly quaking, shaking his entire body, he gagged and wretched trying to relieve any of the pressure, to no avail; he was thoroughly plugged. A heavy foot pushed down on his back, pressing his belly hard into the ground, forcing the pressure to painfully shift through his body. His legs spread against his will, the joints in his hip aching from the strain. At the other end, his sternum loudly cracked, the increased pressure under his ribs pressing against his lungs leaving him gasping for air.
He stared out through tear filled eyes at the crowd as they sucked and stroked in their orgy, enamored by the display before them. A small part of him was pleased at least that all this attention was for him, the cracking and popping coming from inside of him sounding as sweet as an applause as his curtain closed.

In the aftermath of that night, the pudgy old gent was granted a liftetime pass, in part because of a unanimous agreement that nobody wanted to see him naked again, and because the integration of his inventions tripled the average nightly draw thereafter.

“Do you enjoy getting covered in hot, steaming jizz?”

“Y-yeah.”

“That’s good. I do as well. Let me show you something…”

Say what? Bun can draw anime babes as well? You damn right I can.

I spent a lot more time on this than I meant to, so I’m posting it all over the place so I can earn that time back in attention.