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cyanocophrenic · 1 month ago

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Curiosity got the best of me, and I've been exploring this too. But wanted to ask, how do you imagine the skin-sensitivity while being a berry would feel?

Maybe wearing specific clothes or gear that tightens around spots, rubbing you while you grow in size. Fun concept, nothing new but you know :3

Fun concept, best concept! Concept that I'm sooo 🫐normal🫐 about! Observe my normality under the cut!

Skin sensitivity is such an essential part of the experience!

(side note: i was going to call it skinsitivity, but that sounds kinda gross tbh).

I think so many of us are the way we are because we can't help but crave the way our straining skin lights up at the slightest touch. It's effortlessly easy to tease a ripe berry; I know at least one woman who, if she's full enough, loses her juice if you just blow on her in the right spot. For me, personally, there's patch of skin on the lower half of my belly that's already kind of the most sensitive part of my body, and when I feel it start to stretch and magnify, I kind of lose my command of the english language 😵‍💫 (But that's okay, right? Berries don't need to talk.) And I definitely don't choose outfits based on how they dramatically reveal that area to my tormentors as I ripen, though. That's toootally a coincidence :x

I feel like this must be so obvious to anyone familiar with my propaganda smut, but clothes are, like, my favorite part of the experience. The tension of swelling out of control, straining against the fabric of my clothes, followed by the release as they tear away is just... addictive. Like, your whole body becomes one giant erogenous trigger, and there are so many ways that clothing can play with that:

Tight shirts riding up, exposing that wobbly blue belly to cool air!

Yoga pants miraculously stretching along with you, maintaining that constant, delicious pressure!

Belts constricting as if to cut you in half, and then snapping as your swelling body rockets outward!

And, of course, my beloved: lovely, coarse, denim jeans 😍 like, sure, sex is great... But have you ever popped the button on a really sturdy pair of jeans right as you hit full ripeness? Like the kind that somehow just hang on for dear life right up until the end, like they were almost designed to handle a spherical body? That little pop, like, lets me know that I'm finally me again.

And that's just the tip of the sensory iceberg. Don't get me started on the fashion aspects, or like, putting on a show for other people. I'll be here all night.

---

Fun fact 🤓🫐🫐🫐: both internal and external sensitivity have been conclusively shown to increase in direct proportion with juice pressure, rather than total volume! That means that growth restraints (like clothing, leather, rope, etc) can be a great way to enhance sensitivity without approaching your body's structural limits. These also work for fatty-berries and other folks who may not be able to achieve terminally-high pressures naturally. As a disclaimer, I should add that restrictive elements may be "dangerous" if they're too sturdy or lacking in fail-safe features like buttons, zippers, seams, or other frangible elements.

For some of us, though... danger can obviously be a feature, too.

#blueberry inflation #my words #ask #love using tumblr dot com to find out exactly how fucking rabid i can be about my special interests #thanks freud 🙄

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sometimeslapine · 5 months ago

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[…Store-Bought Is Fine]

(the part two to the previous story! things get a bit more intimate...)

Shutting the door, locking the door, testing the door.

Satisfied, she slung the car keys back on their wall-mounted hook, and loudly announced her arrival home to nobody in particular. It was almost midnight.

She knew her roommate was out for the weekend, off to some convention thing. She knew she still had the house to herself for at least a few more days, but it never hurt to check. A little peace of mind goes a long way, especially given the whole… y'know. She was pretty sure that they were pretty sure that they knew the nonsense stuff she was into, but, still.

She looked down at the brown bag of oddities picked up about an hour earlier. She's really going to go through with this, huh. It almost felt anticlimactic, in a weird way? She'd mentally ran through this scenario about a dozen times on the drive home, almost burning the novelty of the situation out. Still, though…

★ ★ ★ ☾ ★

The clock finally struck twelve, and she set to work, full of eager energy. She'd always been a bit of a night owl (partial consequence of her hobbies), so it wasn't long before most of the kitchen was an absolute mess. It's the saffron, you see. A nightmare to refine when all you've got is the kind of second-hand electric stove a a certain landlord would "so graciously" provide with the place. A few dozen croquaenen stigmas removed, drying out as best they can over the low heat of a burner.

Several of the other reagents had been prepped by the time she was starting to grind up the would-be saffron in a mortar. Most of it was ready-to-use from the get go. Wasn't a lot to extracting the lavender oil, normally, but the need for a dry environment limited her options a bit. No boiling water, no steam allowed tonight. Still, she managed.

One in the A.M. finally landed, and she was prepping the space in her bedroom. The new moon tonight gave no ambient light to work off of, but old habits and comforts kept her craft project close to an uncurtained window, regardless. Small heat-resistant tarp laid out, sigil carefully drawn with the saff powder, lavender oil spread thinly around the perimeter, incense lit to set the mood, gemstones and the elemental charm each placed at a focal point in the design, and, uh,

…Hm,

Sitting down on the edge of her bed, she held the unlabeled bottle of that ficus sap stuff in her hand, gently rocking it back and forth in contemplation, feeling the viscous weight slowly shift its center of gravity, watching it coat the inside walls. She honestly had no idea what to do with the this stuff. Not for consumption, obviously, but uh. Damn. Really regretting not asking for clarification now.

Well, she was nothing if not one to improvise.

Running back to the kitchen to grab a small cup, she dipped the air charm in by its band and spilled enough of the latexy sap in to completely coat the thing. That's basically what balloons are on a technical level, right? A latex coating encasing air? Or the representation of air, anyway. That makes sense conceptually, right?? Yeah. What's the worst that could happen.

She carefully laid the encased charm back down on the decorated tarp, its position on the sigil representative of one's body. For good measure, she gave the same treatment to several of the gemstones, carefully removing them all from the mixture with a small pair of tongs. Another moment to dry, then back into their place they go. Again, why not.

She had herself a mostly-complete alchemy circle. As a final precaution, she opened the bedroom window to that moonless sky (cautiously, only giving about 12 or so inches of an opening), aiming her tower fan to cycle air out. She didn't know how much smoke this thing was about to put off, and the last thing she needed was the fire alarm flipping this late at night.

A pause, to admire her handiwork. A photo taken, to document this setup in the off-chance it worked. Just one final reagent to go, and a comparatively big one at that.

She brought a section of the lavender oil to ignition with the still-burning incense, and carefully stepped onto the tarp, into the circle.

There was a blinding flash. The full span of the ring was now quickly ablaze with a low, luminous indigo flame. It was silent, bringing a radiance that almost felt cold. She felt a tingling sensation shoot up her spine; Either an effect of the ritual doing its work, or the nervousness of the situation as a whole. Playing with fire indoors was always a bit of a hazard, but she'd rather not risk doing this particular one outside, not with her fear of heights. Last thing she needed was an open sky without a safety harness.

That tingling eventually spread out across the rest of her body, slowly at first, and then rapidly down her limbs, with an intense heat that felt completely foreign to her. It wasn't the flames, but something more… internal? The closest association her brain could make was someone very gently running a lint roller across every square inch of her body. Weird, gentle prickling sensations, a light tug upwards as if some phantom adherence was being removed. Under any other situation, she'd have kicked back to enjoy the sensory show, but this was nothing but terse apprehension, a feeling that felt like it was going to drag on for eternity.

And then it stopped, just as quickly. The flames sputtered to an emberless ash, leaving a sweet honeyed scent throughout the now-darkened room. She collapsed on the floor, exhausted, panic finally over. Wow, did she ever feel light-headed. Probably should've had something to eat before this.

★ ★ ★ ☾ ★

She laid there on her back for quite some time, hazy attention focusing in and out on the ceiling. Slowly coming-to again, she braced herself for the fire alarm to kick off screaming. The window precaution seems to have done the trick in evacuating the smoke, at least. That's good. That's… good. Wow, did she ever feel light… ah… …light-everything? What… what the fuck.

Was that a sign it worked?

She lifted a hand upwards above her, as best as she could. It felt like her strength was sapped. She- "Holy shit." Involuntarily spoken. She could almost see right through it though, if she looked hard enough. "Holy shit. What the fuck." Propping herself up against the side of her bed, she pulled off her shirt as quickly as she could manage, pausing to lament the smudged ashen marks the sigil left on the backside. It was faint looking down, but sure enough, she saw the carpet underneath, no, directly /through/ her own chest. "Holy shit." It was literally all she could manage, rendered otherwise speechless.

She placed a hand against her belly, and gave a hesitant push. It squished down in, far more than it had any right to, before springing right back up when her pressure relented. "I- I'm a balloon. Rubber. I'm- This is- I- h-hah," before fully giving way to excited laughter. The absurdity of it all hit like a truck.

A beat passed, her taking time to fully come to terms with the changes that had taken place. Right. She did this to herself, intentionally, with purpose. There was only one thing on her mind.

She scrambled across the floor to her closet (as best she could, given the lack of any actual internals that would've helped with that,) and- "Where the /fuck/ is that air compressor." …and unburied the thing she kept hidden but never had a chance to use, covered in dust as it was.

It was by no means powerful, but it moved air around, into things, and that's all she cared about in the moment.

★ ★ ★ ☾ ★

Plugged in, Powered on, Airflow tested.

With her clothes now fully removed, she did her best to prop herself up against the bedroom wall, naked and reaching (blindly fumbling) around behind her. The still-running hose went it with no resistance at all, and she immediately felt a pressure begin to build around her pelvis before dispersing upwards. Everything quickly felt tight. There was a bubbly tingle. A slight belly bump made itself known, and she stared at it in amazement as she watched the rise and fall of her shallow breaths become more of a rise and rise, and rise, and rise.

The feeling, the experience left her even weaker in that moment. She slid back down to a seated position, grabbing at her own tummy, cradling it as it rounded out to something akin to a basketball, waistline slowly gaining an inch or two every minute, puffing out onto her lap. God, this felt fucking incredible. It was greater, unlike anything she could've imagined (and that imagination certainly wasn't devoid of attempts). The pressure buildup, the restricted movement, the taboo nonsense feeling of it all. It was like getting a really good stretch in that just kept going and going. The bonus vibrations she got from the air compressor's magnet-driven motor traveling through the hose certainly didn't help her feel in any way Normal about it.

it was a few minutes of bliss before a hit of clarity successfully broke through the obsession. she needed room to grow, and the corner of her room wouldn't be viable for long. get up. she should move to the bed, if she could manage.

Right. Okay. She attempted to stand. It was a little easier this time, the pressure keeping her body a bit more taut, less prone to collapse (is this what a pooltoy feels like?) but the vibrational waves of that motor reverberating through her core still kept her weak. It was all so much to feel. She almost looked like she'd swallowed a beachball at this point, and her sides were starting to round out just as much as her front was. Hell, she couldn't even see over the rising dome of her belly anymore.

Moving to the bed, she…

…

Well, She tried to, anyway. She practically fell face-and-tummy first onto the floor with a slight rebounding bounce, coming to a stop on all fours; A clumsy combination of the ever-shifting balance point, and a rough reminder that the hose kept her on a short leash about five feet long.

Y'know what, the floor was fine. She didn't care. She really could not care about anything else. She was suddenly in the perfect position to feel everything, every sensation, straddled over her own ballooning body, feeling the high-pile carpet gently brush across the increasing surface area of her expanding frontside, while her overall weight (or whatever fraction remained of it, this hollow) squished downwards, stretching and distorting her tummy outwards to the sides as much as it did the front.

With some hesitancy, she took the weight distribution off her palms, seeing just how well she could remain in this position without the added support. The shift in balance and the new restriction in room to grow gave a subtle redirection in airflow. A pressure in her chest built up, and she gave a questioning squeeze around her front-right. A squeak vocalized at the unexpected sensitivity, but she confirmed it, face reddening as expanding titflesh slowly billowed out around her grip. It was the first noise she'd made in a while, having been enjoying the experience in silent bliss. Boobs too, huh? God, what a fucking experience.

Minutes passed with the hum of the motor still whirring away in its duty, steadily blowing the girl rounder and rounder, pressure increasing bit by bit. Completely content, she thought back on that squeak she made; Embarrassing as it was, it was the kind of noise you'd expect from a balloon, and she held on to that thought almost in pride, nuzzling her face down in the unexpected cleavage she'd gained. She was more balloon then girl at this point after all, and balloons are meant to get round and squeaky. Balloons are designed for this. It's completely normal for a blimp to want these things, she reasoned with herself. Thi-

Train of thought cut short, her whole world suddenly flipped forward. Sheer size alone had outgrown her ability to retain traction, and her legs were now kicking skyward, hose and all in full display. Only thing that stopped her ending up face-first against the carpet as she tilted forward was her airbag of a chest.

Well, things were… a little more awkward, now.

Attempts at repositioning were challenging; It was a bit of trouble moving her arms around with all the boob in the way, but there was just this… odd resistance, on top of everything else? It's… stiff. Everything felt stiff.

Ah.

She slowly, hesitantly, relaxed as much as she could, taking note of how her arms now found natural resting positions straight out to the sides. They were tough to bend elsewise, and that stiffness was slowly giving way to a new, even-more-foreign feeling of pressure, like nervous butterflies flooding every cubic inch. The feeling was mirrored along her hips, down her legs. She didn't feel at-capacity yet, but the air was already searching for new places to go.

This… wasn't anticipated. Everything gently started to puff ever-so-noticeably rounder, and she was losing mobility fast. She tried to fight it, flailing a bit, trying to shift in any direction, but it only served as a reminder of how sensitive everything was, blown out like this. The air compressor was far too out of reach in this position, and she'd completely lost the mobility needed to pull the hose out. Alright. Fuck. stay calm. take stock of the situation. Okay. Yeah.

She was still mostly center-of-the-room, halfway between the closet and the bed, safe from the danger of pushing into anything sharp, but she really had no idea just how much give she had left in her. The pressure kept increasing in step with her size, and the square footage of this bedroom wasn't ever much to write home about. She could still feel the light reverberations from the compressor's motor, vibrations increasing in intensity, a whine crying out from the little device as it tried to fight PSI it almost definitely wasn't rated for.

Well, that's a potential solution, if she could manage that long. Outlast the motor. Hope it burns itself out. Prooooobably doable. And if she couldn't…

The threat of popping loomed overhead. Jeez… Hell of a way to go. She always knew she'd be done by one of her own spells, but it being something as dumb and air-headed as attempting to live out kink nonsense surprisingly wasn't high up on her list. It just.. didn't really seem all that dignified, to be honest. Hell, just thinking about how silly she looked, all blown up like some parade float mockery of herself, sensitive squeaking with every move, so round, so shiny, so huge, so very fucking huge, and tight, and full and stretching so thin you could see right through her, only moments away from total release like any good party blimp lovingly pushed to its limit and ready to explode, and god why was she so into this, this isn't helping her case, agh, focus, focus,

She was well past the point where internal pressure beat out features. Arms and legs swelling out comically conical, the valley dividing belly and underboob beginning to taper outwards, even her face felt a little bloated. She was over minutes away from being blown full-body spherical, and all she could do was ride it out. The pressure began to peak. Ah. This is it, then.

Closing her eyes, she waited.

Slow, calm breaths, trying to avoid adding any more tension to the body.

She waited, in intense anticipation.

★ ★ ★ ☾ ★

…Thirty seconds moved by without fanfare.

She… didn't feel any tighter? She was still really fucking tight, but… she didn't seem to be growing. The pump's still flowing, she can certainly feel that much, but the pressure wasn't increasing. Where's the bang.

Why was she almost disappointed…?

It was as if the compressor just couldn't move air anymore. Either that, or she sprung a leak somewhere. Airflow had normalized. She wasn't getting any bigger, but she wasn't getting any smaller, either.

She was just kinda… stuck like this. At least eight feet around, way too blown taut to do anything about the situation, almost completely unable to move (save for a slight rocking back and forth), and thanks to the motor of that hose gently buzzing away in a process she could still one-hundred-percent feel, she'd be stuck here for the foreseeable future, thoughts all but scrambled, with what amounted to a vibrator stuck between her legs. It still felt amazing, but, jeez, what a fucking scenario to be in. Her only possible release was still out at a con for the next few days, completely unaware they'd be coming home to a weather blimp for a roommate. (how on earth is she even going to explain this one.)

But, time still moved forward. She tried to let herself enjoy what she could of the situation. Occasional hushed moans broke through the silence of the night, intermingling with the white noise of the motor working diligently to ensure she'd always be topped off, like any good balloon should be.

…god. this was looking set to be a very, very long weekend.

#txt #writing #full-body inflation #thanks for readin!

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