Dino Blimpin'

(Disclaimer: Any acts of transformation, expansion, or mental altercation have been consented to by the owners of the characters affected. Any acts depicted are meant as explorations of the fetishistic psyche, hold artistic merit, and are compliant with the TOS of Patreon).

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Speedwrite commission for Broadsword!

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Summer is unrelenting at the best of times. A hot, sweaty chain of months where the sun glares, ice cream machines break inconveniently, and everyone thinks it’s a fantastic idea to strip down. Regardless of whether they think it’s a good idea or not.

Cloudy Valley is no exception. Its namesake was nowhere to be found in the sky, leaving a yawning azure sky that looked lovely on a postcard, but did nothing to assuage the sun’s onslaught. Kids busted fire hydrants, driving up the city’s water bill in order to find relief and entertain themselves; the richer folks stayed indoors with their air conditioners running cold enough to preserve them in ice until the Fall; everyone else was left to the Cloudy Valley holy trinity of being broke, being in the middle of nowhere, and having nothing to do.

“It’s too hot,” Nero whined. “Can’t we just... pretend we’re TV install guys, and find some rich gullible old lady’s house. We can sit inside and tell her we’re scoping out her load bearing wall. Even if she catches us out and we get the boot, we’ll get to cool down. Might even get some lemonade out of the deal.”

The raptor was average height for a raptor. He had a lean body with the tight, striding muscles of a high speed predator. He didn’t use his agility for anything violent. The most dangerous thing he sprinted at top speed for was the ice cream truck, a sale on designer sports-tech leggings, and to dive headfirst into the arms of his husband. Nero had a bright color scheme for a raptor, soft teal skin erring towards green, bright orange patterns which ran down his torso like identical rivers on either side, and a head full of sun kissed red-orange feathers. He fanned himself and groaned loud enough for his husband to hear and take notice of him.

“Whinin’ bout the heat aint gonna make it any cooler,” Caesar responded. He was seated on the steps in front of their apartment complex, while Nero stood closer to the road to catch the wind from a passing car in hopes of cooling off.

“But I like whining, I’m good at it,” Nero raised both arms like he was in the arms of Leonardo DiCaprio at the head of the titanic. He embraced the rush from a passing van and sighed, grateful for the momentary windchill.

Caesar growled, and raised his truckers cap. His locs were fried from the heat, more than usual. He was a simple rex, with a simple hair care routine. Nero always said he should try to take better care of them, Caesar always replied with ‘how, with all the money we don’t make?’

“What month is it?” Caesar asked.

Nero made a show of pretending to check his wrist. Which didn’t make sense, since it wasn’t the time Caesar wanted. “Mid July, we have another fourty days of this, at least.”

“I’d rather go extinct.”

Nero’s plumage rose.

“... what,” Caesar gave his spouse a wary look. Like the look you gave a dog, right before it tried to eat something it wasn’t supposed to. “You’ve got yer schemin’ face on.”

“That’s because I’m scheming,” Nero walked jauntily to the steps and bent forward, and clapped his claws on Caesar’s broad shoulders. “Caesar, king of my life, beautiful beauty of uh, the beauty mountains, and whatever and all that stuff.”

Caesar snorted. “Spit it out, what’s on your mind?”

“Well you know how you’re just about one of the biggest dudes this side of the valley?”

Ignoring the residents who had a penchant for ending up skybound, or immobilized by their half-cocked plans - like the one Nero was mixing in his brain-cauldron - Caesar ‘was’ one of the more intimidating men to live in Cloudy Valley.

He was just over seven feet tall. His skin was rougher than Nero’s, made coarse by a life of heavy lifting and odd jobs that required long, back breaking hours lifting things from A to B. Patches of his hide were dark grey, giving him the appearance of a rock garden with desert sand. He worked out habitually, giving him thick, powerful limbs. His pecs and stomach, in particular, were incredibly pronounced. Being a t-rex meant eating a lot to maintain his mass, and that came with a complimentary lifter’s belly and breasts.

Caesar looked at Nero, unimpressed, and gestured for him to continue.

“So you said you wished you were extinct. That reminded me of the last time you, y’know...” Nero blushed. Modern dinosaurs could blush, Nero in particular went a cool shade of blue in the cheeks.

Caesar knew immediately what the raptor meant. “When I took that bet and shoved my ass on top of a fire hydrant. I blew up like a heckin’ water balloon, and flooded like, three houses. Yeah I remember, we just paid off the damages for that.”

“Well when you were blowing up, one of the onlookers said ‘damn, maybe THIS is how the ancient dinosaurs went extinct,’ and y’know that was funny and all. But it got me thinking about meteors, and you all round, and... the shadows that big things cast.”

Caesar took his cap off and fanned himself with it. “Okay now you’ve got my attention.”

“Now hear me out,” Nero smirked and put his hands on his stomach. Then he started to pull them back, as if he were holding a sphere that was continuing to expand in his claws. “What if you pumped yourself up, bigger, and bigger, and BIGGER,” Nero had a slight bulge in his sports tights. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Until you cast a heck of a lot of shade, and we charged people to stay under you, like a portable... shade business?”

Nero was smiling like a child asking for permission to get ice cream. This plan was downright stupid, but Caesar had a hard time saying no to his hubby. He rose to his full height and ruffled the raptor’s feathers with a toothy grin.

“So all I gots to do is stick a hose somewhere, and float, and we rake in the cash eh?” He pretended as if there weren’t a million things that could go wrong. “Alright, where we doing this?”

The two of them went around to the communal garden behind the apartment complex. Nero rushed inside to procure a length of hose, and a compressor which had seen better days.

“Careful with that thing! I’ve had that pump since college, bought it off a shady lookin’ dude with a pink moustache. It’s rusting apart but damn can it BLOW.”

“I could probably puff you up better than this old thing,” Nero said with a hint of jealousy as he pulled down Caesar’s baggy sweatpants and wedged the hose between his cheeks. He stared at that ass, damn it was a good ass, ass ass ass. He was fixated by the ass. “...wish I was that hose.”

“NERO.”

“Ahah sorry C.”

The compressor came to life with a whirr that belied its diminutive size. A creepy pink rune burned on the copper exterior, but it was probably fine, weird stuff happened all the time in Cloudy Valley. The ghost hunting couple had exploded into goo last week, they’re fine now. They were at Nero’s yoga class.

Bulges of compressed air snaked towards Caesar, over the ridge of his pants, and disappeared into the crack of his ass. He let out a long, undignified moan in response to the first deposits making their way up, into his belly. He cradled his inflating gut, licking his snout in anticipation for the coming enormity.

“Oh I should have just done this to start with Nero, pumpin’ always makes me feel good.”

Nero just responded with an “uh huh,” and rubbed his crotch while his husband lost his muscular definition and thickened up from head to toe like the inflatable mascot of some B-Tier football league. It was weird, it was cartoony, it was the hottest thing in the world to both of them.

Caesar’s clothes held tight. He’d chosen a Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers shirt, themed after the T-Rex Zord, and the golden emblem of the show was now skin-tight against his chest. He watched his pecs graduate from hard boulders, to puffy beanbags. He teetered around the garden and eventually lost his footing, landing on his curved-out back, just as his upper body became semi-spherical.

He bounced and began to float gradually upwards. The silhouette of an upright, two-legged man, slowly disappeared into the sphere he was becoming. His calves and thighs blew out to the same width, becoming a squat, ballooning pillow that accepted his open-clawed shoes. He thanked Nero mentally for telling him to spring for the expando-spray the couple had applied to all of Caesar’s clothes.

After an incident with a bike pump, and the destruction of his favourite shirt, he vowed never to lose an article of clothing to his fetish for blowing up like a balloon, ever again!

Nero stared up at his inflatable husband. Who was more balloon than rex at this point. Some of his sandy red-orange flesh peaked out where his shirt rode up, and his baggy pants receded in making way for his belly. But without an up-close and personal view like Nero had from the grass below, it was hard to perceive the stubby sunk-in limbs; or the salacious, eye-rolling expression that Caesar was making. The tautness of his sweatpants must have stopped his dick from inflating freely, but a phallic bulge was easily discerned if you looked close enough at the taut fabric around his crotch.

“I think you’re big enough, this’ll be plenty shade to get us a few bucks. We might even be able to replace the TV!”

Caesar was the size of a fancy art installation, like that big mirror bean, or a similarly orb shaped fancy-pants piece that tourists took selfies with. He was beginning to cross that threshold to the size of their whole apartment, which made Nero worry. Caesar was usually able to hold his urges close to his chest, and not let them cloud his judgement. But once he started...

“I’m so... big,” Caesar rotated in the air. He bobbed downward whenever he floated too high, and the hose wedged in his ass snagged. He felt the pressure welling up inside of him. It was a stream of pressure and pleasure, but that wasn’t enough. He felt the air leak out from between his cheeks with a long, tooting squeal. He felt his cheeks puff up, right before he unleashed a belch loud enough to knock someone over.

He didn’t just want a stream of air inside of him. He wanted a storm. So he opened up his mouth, which was made difficult by his neck sinking into the rubbery divot for his head between the masses which used to be his shoulders, and started to inhale. Two sources of air-intake blew him up like the big ole balloon he wanted to be, surpassing the size of his apartment, and encroaching on the size of the building itself.

“Uh, Caesar?”

“Bigguh...”

One of Caesar’s curves pushed into the apple tree growing in the neighbour’s garden. Another part of him started pressing into the corner of the apartment building. Both made his rubbery hide squeal, warning him to stop. He ignored it. He was a T-Rex, a king, a king of balloons.

“BIIIIGGGGGUUUUUUUH! AH WANNA BE A BEEEEEEEEG, FAT, BALLLOOOON!”

Nero recognized the madness in his voice. He was close to reaching a few things. One was orgasm, which was perfectly natural for someone indulging in their prime fetish. Two was something which made the raptor duck for cover, and put his claws in his ear-holes. He could still hear the thunder of Caesar’s skin, and the rising whine of that skin coming to the end of its elasticity.

Pinprick leaks sprung up all over Caesar’s body, expunging pressure in a vain attempt to keep the whole together. “I’M DA KING OF BALLOONS, I’M GONNA PUMP’AN’PUMP’AN’BLIMP AND STRETCH TIL--”

Caesar exploded with meteoric force. Orange and grey confetti erupted in every direction, leaving a cloud of his scraps to flutter back to terra firma. All that remained of the ‘king of balloons’ was a pair of smoking open-clawed sneakers, a power rangers shirt stretched to the size of a thanksgiving float, and a pair of sweatpants big enough to canvas a blimp.

Nero sighed. “Man, I should have recorded that. Could have made good money on pumpr...” he went about collecting the scraps, and hoped the reformation services office was open on Sundays. If they weren’t, he really hoped the local warlock would take an I.O.U for putting his husband back together.