Parchment, on the other hand, knows his tropes well enough to fear the dreaded Black Rubber Hose, and can give an educated guess what he’s getting pumped full of. This wasn’t the first time he’d been inflated, but this time it was a noticeably different experience. His belly, which swelled outward, pumped full and tight with helium, was a trim, feminine one. His rump, which rose in the air as his buttcheeks filled outward like balloons, was a round, female rump. He was a girl.
He got the uncanny feeling that if he were watching this, watching the cute girl struggle as she blew up, and up, and up into a blimp of her former self, hearing her voice whining and squealing as it pitched up higher and higher into a nearly inaudible squeaking, her blushing, chubby-cheeked face looking around bashfully, he would be getting super turned on. But actually BEING the cute girl getting blown up like a balloon is so, so much more embarrassing. If this is what he puts cute girls through, he thought, both in fiction and as ‘research’, then he definitely deserves this. It’s almost bad enough to make him vow to never do it again.
Almost.