Prose That Blows

The Factory, by The Unknown


by The Unknown

She awoke with a start, her dream of weightless frolicking interrupted by the sickening feeling of free fall.  Down she fell from her pleasant dreamscape back into the cradling arms of her real world bed, the illusion of clouds being replaced by her comforter and the soft red glow of the clock.

2:34 AM.

Wide-awake, she sat up to take stock of her surroundings.  The spacious, cushioned room that she now called home was quite bare.  It had been less than a week since she had accepted a position at the plant.  The nature of her work precluded any travel outside the manufacturing area, and the staff were taking their sweet time in emptying her old apartment.

The staff.  She looked up and to her left to the observation area, where the staff could monitor her performance.  Beyond the glass she could see a microphone and a couple chairs, but all signs of humanity were absent at this hour, replaced by the glow of a single monitor full of digital fish.

Thoughts turned inward to the dream interrupted.  Floating.  Gliding effortlessly from cloud to cloud, arms stretched to either side and a toothy grin stretched impossibly wider.  The rush of cool air over her skin, through her shoulder-length auburn hair, it did not merely engulf her, but rather it petted her, caressed her, made her shiver with excitement.

She was torn away from the dream world yet again as she was gripped by an all too real shiver of excitement.  Only this time it was accompanied by the tickle of tiny bubbles within her chest.  The room was filled with an almost distant sound of a hundred glistening glasses of soda.  Slowly and steadily her breasts advanced and spread from her chest, increasing in the smallest of sizes, only to stop within a matter of moments, bubbling giving way to the unnatural stillness of her subterranean home once again.

Feelings of pleasant relaxation swam through her body, while thoughts began to press at the back of her mind.  Memories of the first day swam back.  Rules returned quickly to the front of her mind, rules designed to protect the factory and its workers.  The rules, however, were lax in many ways.  Whatever was not in the rules, as she remembered, were not necessarily forbidden.  So long as none were put at harm, management cared not what she and her fellow workers did.  Perhaps, she thought, there would even be a bonus for going above and beyond the call of duty.

A muffled chuckle escaped her lips as she contemplated her previous thought.  She didn’t care about any bonus.  All she cared about at that moment was the little piece of heaven she would soon savor.

Gently, she laid her fingertips across her breasts and slowly drew them across, the light fabric of her top only serving to heighten the feelings of erotic pleasure.  The fizzing within her chest began again, amplified two, perhaps threefold.  Toes were curled and bedsheets clutched as more than just gas built up within her lithe frame.

The effervescent fizzing moved downward, seemingly dripping through her trunk and pooling within her seat.  Cheeks and thighs plumped beneath her.  Taught, gassy legs pressed together, and were soon rubbed together, throwing her into greater heights of ecstasy.  A faux fullness pervaded her stomach, becoming taught and dome-like yet hollow and empty, filled with nothing but the persistent bubbles.  Burgeoning breasts, impossibly round, filled her nightgown, gently rubbing against the light fabric, bringing about further sensations of pneumatically enhanced pleasure.

With wild abandon she rubbed and caressed every inch of skin she could reach.  She felt the levity of her bubbly body gently pulling, lifting, reducing gravity’s dream-crushing hold upon her.  Her gas filled derriere lifted from her bed, her body drifting upward of its own accord, her only grip being the carpet clutched tightly between her toes.  Fibers broke, and all that supported her was air.  Silently, the building pressure gave way to a climatic flow of intense feelings.  The buoyancy, the tight flesh, the pressure of a million bubbles, drove her upward upon a sea of pleasure, leaving her to rest upon the vaulted ceiling.

The bubbles slowed, and then stopped.  The padded ceiling pressed gently into her back as the land of dreams beckoned once again.  The crutch of weightless dreams, however, were no longer needed.

“Another job well done,” she murmured, as Morpheus took her into his arms once again.


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