It was her job as a flight attendant to remain calm during a crisis. So instead of screaming, Denise took several deep breaths. This calmed her briefly before she realized it was just aggravating her problem, and she panicked, started to hyperventilate. That's when she realized that her lungs were acting as organic bicycle pumps, filling her stomach with air. She steadied her breathing, but her belly was already distended alarmingly, dominating the confines of the airplane lavatory, threatening to imprison her behind the narrow door. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Her condition may be unusual and embarrassing in equal measure, but she needed to abandon the privacy of this sanctum. Quickly. Denise opened the door and tried squirming her way out, but her inflated midsection was too wide and firm. She pressed in with her hands, hoping to narrow it, but instead it surprised her by collapsing entirely. What a relief! She made her way out of the restroom. Well, halfway out. Wedged in the doorway was a navy blue sea of skirt clad hips and backside. Wiggling did no good, so timidly she tried what worked before, reaching back and pushing inwards on each cheek. Pear shape gone, Denise tumbled out of the doorway headfirst and was spared a concussion by twin airbags. Her newly pneumatic chest bounced off the opposite wall with a sound like a kickball striking asphalt. The impact transferred most of its volume back to her tummy.
Thankfully this was all taking place on an under booked flight on a small regional plane and her antics hadn't been heard over the whine of the turboprops. Denise smoothed out her taut uniform, pressing here and there to smooth out her pregnant-with-quadruplets look in favor of a more natural split between her three measurements. She looked down disapprovingly of the expanse of bosom jutting out in front of her, supported by a shelf of protruding paunch, glanced back and groaned at butt that would make Sir Mixalot blush. She was porky.
And she wasn't too thrilled about it. Something had went wrong during her rundown of the safety briefing. The oxygen mask from the overhead compartment had gone off in her face, flooding her airways with stale mystery gas that the demo station shouldn't have even been hooked up to. Later during takeoff she was forced to let out some slack in her lap belt. And then again five minutes later, and again soon afterwards. That's when she retreated to the restroom to diagnose her dilemma.
Whatever was happening, Denise couldn't allow it to continue. She needed to tell the pilots to turn the plane around or make an emergency landing. But first she had to walk all the way down the center aisle to the cockpit. Her hips brushed up against the hand rests on either side, gradually widening enough to halt her march near the half way mark. Several passengers were now watching her progress but shyness was no longer a luxury she could afford. She grabbed generous handfuls of ass and squeezed slowly to ensure the buttons of her blouse would hold just a little longer.
Silly pouty kissy face I guess. I've been drawing so many girls lately that otherwise I end up repeating expressions. I guess there won't be any repaints for a while since The Melon Stand is down.
Also, I'm not a huge inflation nut, but it presented some otherwise impossible comedic opportunities, and I couldn't resist the thematic connection with title.
"I like big butts and i can not lie" A very interesting and clever use of the oxygen masks on planes. And im loving all the big hips/butt girls your doing lately. Long may it continue :D
Her condition may be unusual and embarrassing in equal measure, but she needed to abandon the privacy of this sanctum. Quickly. Denise opened the door and tried squirming her way out, but her inflated midsection was too wide and firm. She pressed in with her hands, hoping to narrow it, but instead it surprised her by collapsing entirely. What a relief! She made her way out of the restroom. Well, halfway out. Wedged in the doorway was a navy blue sea of skirt clad hips and backside. Wiggling did no good, so timidly she tried what worked before, reaching back and pushing inwards on each cheek. Pear shape gone, Denise tumbled out of the doorway headfirst and was spared a concussion by twin airbags. Her newly pneumatic chest bounced off the opposite wall with a sound like a kickball striking asphalt. The impact transferred most of its volume back to her tummy.
Thankfully this was all taking place on an under booked flight on a small regional plane and her antics hadn't been heard over the whine of the turboprops. Denise smoothed out her taut uniform, pressing here and there to smooth out her pregnant-with-quadruplets look in favor of a more natural split between her three measurements. She looked down disapprovingly of the expanse of bosom jutting out in front of her, supported by a shelf of protruding paunch, glanced back and groaned at butt that would make Sir Mixalot blush. She was porky.
And she wasn't too thrilled about it. Something had went wrong during her rundown of the safety briefing. The oxygen mask from the overhead compartment had gone off in her face, flooding her airways with stale mystery gas that the demo station shouldn't have even been hooked up to. Later during takeoff she was forced to let out some slack in her lap belt. And then again five minutes later, and again soon afterwards. That's when she retreated to the restroom to diagnose her dilemma.
Whatever was happening, Denise couldn't allow it to continue. She needed to tell the pilots to turn the plane around or make an emergency landing. But first she had to walk all the way down the center aisle to the cockpit. Her hips brushed up against the hand rests on either side, gradually widening enough to halt her march near the half way mark. Several passengers were now watching her progress but shyness was no longer a luxury she could afford. She grabbed generous handfuls of ass and squeezed slowly to ensure the buttons of her blouse would hold just a little longer.