Chapter 11 fat fun with a Heliosphere
Hiccu had turned up an Internet picture of a girl high wire artist flying across the sky twisting
and turning under a heliosphere. "Now there's an idea for us," I said, "weightless freedom
from immobility for Doloreans who have blown it. Go and find out more." They turned out to
be an outfit based in LA and we used our American Cultural Ambassadors program to fly
them over, all expenses paid
It was simplicity itself, the girl arrived with boyfriend who was the helio fundi. They collected
their gear from the airport freight side and it stowed (firmly anchored down) in the back of a
hired Toyota 4WD pick-up. While Jello-O drove up and down the beach at Inn on the Sea,
the guy sat in back and wound his girl up and down in a harness suspended below the
helium filled balloon as she went through her high wire routine. Anchored firmly to the
surface of the earth by their own fat, poolside loungers felt secure enough to be quite critical.
"She's real skinny. She could blow away without needing all that gear. I bet it couldn't shift a
real woman."
Obviously the next thing was to try a with a local guinea pig. I volunteered myself, but of
course, I really wanted to get Jelia into the air. There were two problems: devising a harness
that didn't cut too much into soft heavy bodies, and how to create enough lift for a person of
size. A shlubber lined wide leather costume was constructed around me but with
considerable flexibility of adjustment in its strappings and lacings and the guy simply doubled
the lift by coupling his spare balloon to the existing - to make a kind of giant scrotum.
Attached to the twin spheres by a clip behind my back, I rose away exhilarated on the maiden
flight. I twisted around a bit aimlessly until I found I could control it and thereafter soared like
a sea gull. My breasts, belly, and thighs hung out of my leather gear and I looked down at a
map of Dolores City creek and the Palace complex beyond. All too soon I had to descend,
the view flattening back into familiar alignments as I splashed gently in the sea. Later that
evening, we strapped and folded a naked Jelia into the harness. I said it was for PR
purposes but I also wanted to get her acclimatized to the leather. She postured about the
pool at Inn on the Sea looking like a bondage heroine from a comic book, her anatomy
swelling suggestively out through the constraining leather strapwork.
The next evening we carefully greased up Jelia's sensitive parts to minimize chaffing and
eased her into the leather gear again, having adjusted and let it out further over night. We
persuaded her to try a brief ascent. Clipped onto the spheres, she was now suddenly far less
assured than when she had simply strutted around the pool posing. I gave the apprehensive
helio-maiden a hug as she began to lift from the ground. Once airborne I saw her register the
same exhilaration I had felt about floating weightless and she began to move herself around
and revel in the experience. She looked extraordinary, her abundance of bosom, belly and
haunch flesh pushing in globular swags through the restraining harness. Her outstretched
arms with the pendulous fat of her upper arms hanging beneath, had the semblance of
wings. She soared and glided up and down the beach as Jell-O slowly toured the jeep
around. She was winched down to a welcome like Amelia Erhart might have known. People
clustered around sticking their hands out to touch her leather costume reverently as if she
had acquired goddess status.
Next day we checked out a route around town free of overhanging wires or trees. That
evening she flew a circuit over Dolores City. Like an inflated Superwoman she glided along
the Strand, soared over Steamer point and back along the east side of town. Finally she
returned across the isthmus, floating out over the palace, sometimes quite low. Crowds
jammed the streets to ogle the supersize heliostar bursting out of her costume. Dolores TV
made a film of her flight, which they screened repeatedly afterwards. There were a great
many close-up shots of flesh and leather harnessing, and the director dwelt exhaustively with
the rituals of us greasing bulging areas of her flesh and strapping her into the bondage
leathers.
Before the original Helionauts returned to LA, Jell-O and Arpul had sat down and negotiated
rights with them to import the Helio equipment into Dolores. Our supersizers' harness of
bondage leather stayed behind in Dolores and our two local entrepreneurs planned a follow
up campaign.
They began by importing a single apparatus but with a more appropriately sized gasbag
large enough to lift ton. They followed this with a home made balloon of a similar capacity
but sculpted as a giant effigy of a superstacked Jelia in flight. When they substituted it
instead of the conventional sphere to raise Jelia into flight, this prompted a craze in toy
replicas and it tickled Jelia as she strolled out, to watch kids waddling along the Strand
trailing little balloon replicas of herself streaming out on lines tied to the ends of sticks.
More people wanted to emulate Jelia the Helionaut and within the year, Jell-O and Arpul had
sold about a dozen sets of imported equipment. Heliogliding became sufficiently
commonplace in the evenings along the Inn by the Sea beach, that a decree banning flights
over the Palace had to be promulgated to protect Royal privacy. Pretty soon a weird guy
called Mecco turned up on the beach with a battery electric anchor truck and could guide it
and the winch with a remote control zapper while he flew around above. This really started
something. Jello-O got Mecco started on making the gear at his dad's food processing plant
across the east side of town by the end of the Palace gardens. Soon there were all kinds of
wacky things going on. There were races and aerial duels and body contact contests of
various kinds; there was aerial dancing, and complex formation displays. Some experimented
on variants on the classic ancient positions for copulation, a bulky helionaut could be
infinitely delicate in weightless suspension.
They styled the company "Trans-Pacific Global Mobility ", the logo was a flying Jelia and the
kit was branded "Glomobe". Mecco proved a complete Petrolhead and worked out an airtaxi
with wing shaped gas bag around a classic Volks bug engine embedded in a duct. The driver
sat in a cage beneath the wing with a comfortable net hammock slung below the driver. The
beauty of this was that, in theory, we could now liberate the truly totally immobile. We
planned to demonstrate it at the Palace using one of the great Queens. The machine would
get in position over the Queen's pool and drop the net, the Queen is towed over the net and
the Helionaut jettisons enough water ballast to lift the Queen out of the pool in her hammock
for a refreshing whirl around her realm just above the palms.
None of us knew at the time but the personage who would eventually demonstrate these
capabilities would be Jelia herself - but in vastly enhanced form.
Chapter 12 The Pyecroft Plot
Mecco and his girlfriend Lella invited me over for a binge. He'd perfected a soothing oil that
eliminated the problem of cellulite for us big girls and Lella was keen that the two of us try it -
in the hope that I might recommend it to some outfit in the States. She said it was doing
wonders for her and said we'd spend a lazy evening wallowing around in a bath of the potion
while Mecco fed us tit bits from the edge.
I turned up at one of the tall food plant sheds used for the Glomobe work. Steps led down
into a big copper lined bowl from a surrounding wood platform. Mecco and Lella, two large
pear shaped figures, were fussing around putting the finishing touches to huge stockpiles of
food stacked ready around the platform. A bigger woman than me, Lella, I guess, weighed in
at about 400 lbs plus and if cellulite is a turn off for you, then boy did Lella need the
treatment. Her cream cheese thighs and butt, quivering about her whenever she moved,
were like the surface of a cratered and fissured moon. Personally I have never found cellulite
distasteful, but that is perhaps because I don't have a big problem myself.
Lella slipped me out of the loose robe I was wearing and Mecca carefully oiled me all over,
rubbing it gently in - to make the potion work quicker he explained. As he worked, Lella
jiggled through cheesy pirouettes in front of me to display how the treatment was working on
her. I followed Lella down the steps into the bath. The oil was at bodyheat and I enjoyed
feeling the gentle uplift on my fat as I descended. Standing at the centre of the bath my
breasts were covered, floating around in front of me, but the oil didn't quite reach my armpits.
Lella took my hand and encouraged me to move about in the oil; a pleasantly sensuous
experience.
Relaxing in a recliner, the attentive Mecco commenced feeding us a continuous stream of
seafoods, mayonnaise, stuffed pumpkin dishes, rice salads, and various delicious creamy
mashes. We certainly responded to the treatment and pigged ourselves, each wanting to
outdo the other in being ready for another poolside mouthful. Normally, at such a Dolorean
blow-out, we would massage one another to ease any discomfort but Mecco explained that
the oil would do this by allowing the stomach to swell naturally to accommodate the pressure.
After two or three hours of this, Lella and I now lay alongside each other, semi comatose, our
stomachs doming up in front of us from the feasting. So it was difficult to summon up enough
energy to nudge Lella gently and remark "is it my imagination or this bath getting warmer?"
Without opening her eyes Lella murmured "You've probably overdone on the eating. You
poor little waif. You haven't had as much practice as us over the years". We lay back, I
burped, easing the pressure a little, before shutting my eyes again.
I came to with Lella wobbling the loose fat on my upper arm. "Hey you're right Aunty Sam! It
is getting warmer and I can't see Mecco."
"So what does that mean?" As I asked the question, I already knew the answer. Here we
were, in a specialized food processing plant, being slow cooked. Add a few bay leaves and
we would be a deliciously tender pork dish by morning.
"No it doesn't work like that", said Lella, "as it heats up, the oil works in another way. Mecco
developed it for his flying."
"Flying?"
"Yes, he boasted that he could make pigs fly. He warms the oil up and whatever it contains
expands. The contents become so volatile that they swell into great blimps and float away"
Holy shit, we'll be out of the fat and into. . . ., I thought, as it was now getting noticeably hot
and currents of oil were beginning to move around us. Lella was on her feet, shouting for
Mecco to come. I said "look, its easy, all we do is move across to the steps and pull
ourselves out".
"Yes, of course. What a big silly girl I am!", said Lella, and we began working across to the
steps.
As she was about to grasp the step, it was pulled out of her reach. Mecco looked down and
grinned. As he yanked the steps out onto the platform, he exclaimed: "we can do with you a
bit bigger yet, my little pigs. Before you can fly, you need to be a lot more bigger!
"You can't have a lot more bigger - it isn't grammatical", I hissed, as Lella screeched.
She wasn't wailing at the prospect of turning into a great bag of gas, the bad news for her
had just stepped onto the platform. An extraordinarily bloated blonde in a flowing white dress
teetered across to Mecco. She put her arms round him and up under his tee shirt. She felt up
his tit fat and nuzzled his ear, while smiling down at us. Mecco was visibly aroused.
"What are you up to with Erika?" sobbed Lella, but we both knew. Lella had been dropped -
well and truly in the soup, along with me.
"I never trusted that cow", said Lella, "she's the chemist Mecco brought in from Switzerland to
help with the formula".
I looked up at Erika; from a duck's eye view she swelled in all the wrong places. They were
the tell tale fatty signs of someone recently arrived in Dolores and not yet up to speed. Slit up
high on the thigh, and tight where it shouldn't be, the bulging white frock revealed all. I leant
up out of the bath towards her for a closer look. Her response was to raise her foot and push
me back down the slope, I felt the tail of her dress brush my face.
Erika settled into the recliner, feeling up under the drooping overhang of Mecco's paunch into
his groin, as he stood alongside. She uncorked some bubbly Schlum and, pulling his bathing
shorts aside, stuffed it up foaming into his groin. Mecco stood there spluttering. She laughed
before reaching up to pull him down on top of her. We were obliged to watch as the ludicrous
pair wallowed around played at sucking Schlum out of pools formed in one another's fat.
They lost themselves, grasping and grunting, in Schlum lubricated passion.
Eventually Erika surfaced, having to struggle up to fetch fresh Schlum supplies. Her dress
now very much awry, she padded across to the chiller. Sensing an opportunity, I leant up out
of the bath and said, very sweetly, could we please have something to drink; it was thirsty
work lying in here waiting to expand.
Again she came across and pushed me in the face with her foot. This time I was ready. I
caught hold of the trailing part of her skirt in my teeth and pushed back from the edge - hard.
Erika shrieked as she lost her balance and slid into the oilbath between us. Lella, her belly
vast from overeating, rolled gleefully over onto Erika, swamping her completely. Chortling,
she bounced up and down upon her, the luckless Swiss maid engulfed under an excess of
cheesy cellulite.
Mecco struggled frantically out of the recliner. He reached down for the steps again and
moved them back over the edge of the bowl. I grasped the bottom of them and we
commenced a tug of war. Mecco, clad only in tee shirt, riding way high over his great paunch,
stood on the ladder to use his bulk in pinning it down. Once I spotted this, I swung up on the
end jutting out over the bath. My weight levered the ladder down like a sees-saw. As the
step ladder tipped, so Mecco slithered. He splashed-down into the oil on top of me and we
wrestled. He tried grabbing handfuls of me, but my oil soaked fat kept slipping out of his grip.
Now my navy unarmed combat training came into play. I trapped his head in a vice-like grip
between my thighs as I locked my legs together. I held him down under the oil which was
tingling now. All he could do was to continue feebly trying to grab at oily bits of me.
"Lella! Get out while you can", I called. Lella struggled up off the now virtually inert Erika and
hauled herself across and up the steps.
"Keep the steps there, I'm coming out after you" I grunted, trying to paddle myself through the
cauldron of oil; while still keeping a tight lock on our inventor friend down between my thighs.
I felt my arm touch the ladder behind me and I grabbed it tight. As I did so, I heard Erika gasp
and splutter as she surfaced. If I didn't act quick, I'd have both lovebirds to contend with.
I judged that Mecco's struggles were getting feebler; the oil was painfully hot. I swung round,
simultaneously releasing Mecco as I grabbed the ladder with my other hand. Now with both
hands on the rungs, I found the bottom rung with my foot and began to climb. But Mecco
wanted to come with me, I felt his arms fling around my waist. With huge effort I continued to
climb, my burden weighing me down. As I made each step at a time, the buoyancy of the oil
had less effect and the weight of Mecco around me increased.
At times like this it pays off to be a fat lady. First, I've never ever had a waist to speak of, and
second, I was so wide that Mecco couldn't effectively reach around to hang on tight enough.
Standing up on the ladder, I began a slow hoola hoop dance, gyrating my hips. Try as he
might, Mecco could not hold on. For the second time that night, he was on the slide. I felt him
starting to slither. He slipped slowly at first, little by little, as my hips moved. Once down over
the widest part of my hips he was lost. I felt his face slobbering down between my butt
globes. Again, as his hands met up once more under my butt, he tried desperately to cling
on. But his grip was no match for my oily thighs, my fat simply flowed through his arms as he
moved on down the back of my thighs and out over my calves. With a cry he slid under the
oil as I heaved myself up onto the platform.
Lella threw herself on me weeping with relief and we turned and looked back in the cauldron.
Clutching Erika, Mecco lunged again at the ladder, but the whole contraption toppled onto
him and sank. They were trapped. Mecco tried grabbing the edge to lever himself out but his
great bulk, plus Erika hanging onto him, kept dragging him back. I tried to come near to help
but all he wanted to do was to pull me in with them. I shouted "tell us how to turn the thing
off". "Its automatic" Erika sobbed and with an inventor's detachment, Mecco added that it had
already reached operational heat and would stop after about two hours.
I noticed Lella had swollen up quite a bit and, seeing her looking at me, glanced down at
myself. Wow! We were already blimping!
"Your cellulite's really vanished" I said, slapping her blown up butt.
We found a tap and some detergent and soaped ourselves repeatedly. As we scrubbed and
flushed the oil out of our pores, Lella, needing relief, got off on the soaping before turning to
titillate me with her newly sleek form. Afterwards we stretched out to recover, dozing on a
heap of balloon fabric. I reflected that although several sizes bigger than we were at the start
of the evening, at least we had stabilized. I also noted ruefully that whenever I got involved in
active service I always came out fatter.
Lella came to and said she was now ravenously hungry again after the ordeal and we both
remembered all the food left over from earlier. We returned to the platform and looked with
astonishment into the oilbath. Erika had largely burst out of her white gown, bobbing
helplessly against the gross avocado object that Mecco had become. But they were both
smiling and they were still swelling. We called to them but they appeared not to hear, nor
indeed to recognize any outside stimulus. They were in their own world aroused by the
proximity of one other's swelling bodies. We continued to watch as Erika, inflating with
rubbery balloon like noises, burst free from the last constraints of her dress and bobbed
higher against the filling gasbag of Mecco.
We ate out of relief, stuffing ourselves with the left over bowls of the sweet mashes and the
tropical fruits. I turned to offer some to the two love balloons but they were clearly beyond it.
They had blown up to about 10ft in diameter and were now floating on top of the oil. Other
strange things were apparent: they were beginning to have a slight transparency, I supposed
with the tension that their surface skins were under. And from inside there appeared to be a
slightly glow of gas. We talked while we ate. Lella said Mecco had been funded recently by some guys who
wanted to use his flying technology for Dolorean military purposes. They paid for Erika to be
brought in and she had been a demanding primadonna from the start. The volatility oil came
about through wanting a cheaper source of gas bags, by blimping pigs. The fact that such
bags were explosive also increased the military potential. The anti cellulite treatment was a
sideline they hoped to make money out of. It was one of Mecco's sponsors who'd had the
idea of duping human enemies into using it to bathe in.
Since Lella had been in the bath with me, I judged her innocent of the plot to blimp me at the
evening's anti-cellulite party. And she agreed with me that she would now be a target for
Mecco's associates. I said I would fly her out asap.
By the time we had eaten and made peace with one another, the balloon had risen up above
us. It was now quite transparent and glowed greenish floating up in the dark under the roof. I
guess it was about 40 ft in length and maybe 20 to 30 ft wide. "Erika always said she needed
to lose weight", said Lella.
Lella flew out to the States next day through Hawaii, carrying a small bottle. After the
inevitable Navy de-briefing, she adopted a new identity in Southern California and became
active in NAFA. The operation was tagged the Pyecroft Plot by US military after by US military after
short story about the weightless fat guy who could only lead a normal life by wearing lead
underwear.
Here in Dolores, two weeks later, the green blimp exploded in a mysterious fire that took out
the shed containing the volatility oil plant. I suspected the Gutbusters of venting their
frustration at the demise of Mecco and his weapons project. However, whether it was arson
or spontaneous combustion, was way beyond the motivation of the sleepy fat guys in the Fire
Corps to prove.
Thankfully the military applications of Glomobe went no further after our evening escapade,
but you can buy the cellulite potion at beauticians everywhere - just don't try heating it up.
To be continued
Most noticeable of all was how they were fusing into each other, their
heads were no longer visible, there was a single wall across between the short stubs their
arms had become, dividing them into a double cell single balloon. I found a rope and
attached it to the short stub that had been Mecco's leg.