Cindairella

This is a piece I’ve been working on in the background for a while now (as those who watch the livestreams will know 

;p

). It’s my interpretation of a story I read a long long time ago written by Inflate123 which is a slightly different take on the Cinderella story. I recommend you go and read it if this image interests you: Airy Tales: Cindairella

This is a short excerpt from the story that this image is an attempt to capture:

“Her godmother–oh, did we mention she’s got a godmother?–her godmother, who saw her all in tears, asked her what was the matter. “I wish I could…I wish I could…” was all she managed to stammer before she fell a crying again. Her godmother–oh, did we mention her godmother was a fairy, too?–her godmother, who was a fairy, said to her, “You wish you could go to the ball? Spit it out, dearie.” “Y-yes,” said Cindairella, with a great sob that almost made her fall a crying again, but it turned out that it was less a fall and more of a stumble. “Well,” said her godmother–oh, did we mention that her godmother has enormous breasts? I mean, we’re talking massive mammaries, the size of varying sports equipment–“Well,” she said, “be a good girl and stop being a victim, and we’ll see what we can arrange. Beer?” The fairy godmother thrust a glass-encased malt beverage in Cindairella’s direction, which the girl politely declined. “More for me,” the older woman laughed, opening the bottle with her teeth. 

Then she took Cindy into her chamber and said to her, “Go into the garden and bring me a pompion.” Cindairella ran to the garden but realized she had no fucking idea what a pompion was, so she headed to the fireplace instead and brought back the bellows–it was, after all, the only thing that brought her pleasure, and the only item in the house she was allowed to touch without prior permission anyway. When she returned, her godmother–who, with breasts so huge, could more appropriately be called a dairy godmother–saw the bellows and realized that Cindairella didn’t know what a pompion was either. “I said a pompion, not a pump–but whatever, we’ll improvise,” she muttered. Taking a few gulps from her beer for courage, she struck the bellows with her wand. 

A golden, magical sparkle–or was it a sparkly, golden magic?–encircled the object, and the bellows were overcome with gilt. The godmother grabbed the handles of the bellows and started pumping forcefully. Within moments an object began to emerge from the tip; as she continued to pump, the object swelled larger and larger, slowly taking the shape of a beautiful rounded carriage. It sparkled like a white pearlized party balloon–which, of course, it was. “These inflated spheroid transports are much easier to create than the vegetable variety I used to use,” she mused, as Cindairella looked on in awe. 

Realizing that there were no horses to draw the carriage, the fairy quickly pumped out a few long, sausage-style balloons and, a few twists and squeaks later, had created six horses to draw the carriage. “Balloon animals, of course!” beamed the godmother, and with a whiff from the bellows, brought them all to animated life. “This carriage will do the job,” she announced, “but I would ditch the stiletto heels if I were you.” 

Upon mentioning this, the now-airy godmother realized that Cindy wore no footwear at all and looked a shambles (not to be confused with a crying). With a wave of her wand, the godmother transformed Cindairella’s tattered rags to a glistening gown, bedeck’d with rubies and sapphires. On her feet were sensible flats. “I tried the ‘glass slippers’ bit once,” her godmother explained, “but believe me–one jitterbug and you’d be picking shards outta your feet for days,” 

The secular fairy, opening a Foster’s, then said to Cindairella, “Well, you’ve got the dress, the transport, safe shoes…you’re equipped. Are we cool?” “Oh yes,” said she, “but for one exceedingly small equipage problem…” Her voice trailed off as she glanced downward, for as her stepsisters had predicted, her breasts could not possibly fill the bust of the gown created for her. “Fear not,” the godmother smiled. “You’ll like this.” 

The godmother waved her wand and Cindairella’s petticoats lifted as if by a strong and very determined breeze. The bellows then sprang to life, flying as if a bird, swooping beneath the layers and burrowing between Cindy’s legs. As Cindy’s face reflected her shock, the bellows began to work themselves back and forth, as they had so many times before. The feeling Cindairella was not accustomed to, however, was the sense of movement within her body, the feeling that she was herself a changing shape. As she glanced down, her breasts began to grow, pumping larger and larger with the air from the bellows, causing Cindairella to gasp just slightly and shudder quite noticeably. A tingle filled her body as the air filled her bosom. Larger she grew, surprised to see her own body inflating like a balloon, her chest growing larger with each moment. After some minutes, the bellows stopped their magic and Cindairella had been transformed into a busty hussy in waiting. The dress fit perfectly, and her breasts were perfectly enormous. She looked damned good.”