“Oh dear Lord,” Margaret whined in embarrassment. She was floating about ten feet above the heads of everyone on the street, farting with every pull of the string tied around her ankle. Everyone stared at the Asian girl turned gas filled balloon, and inwardly Margaret was dying.
“You don’t have to call me that, you silly thing. “Elizabeth” really will do,” Elizabeth informed her with a turned up nose. “You really are the best, reeking-of-farts surprise I could have ever hoped for.”
The voice that Margaret had heard calling out to her was obviously Elizabeth, and it was upon her discovery by Elizabeth that Margaret learned that the woman she had been in lust with was secretly a “looner”, a woman sexually aroused by balloons. And Margaret had turned her self into a human balloon. And because Elizabeth also enjoyed the humiliation of others, it figure she would be a fart filled balloon. So upon her discovery Elizabeth squealed in delight and quickly scrounged up a piece of rope to tie her balloon to her arm, because she was here to show the world the perfect lover that she had found for herself.
“Elizabeth,” Margaret squealed at the haughty British girl, “Please bring me home, I don’t want to be a freak on display! Please!”
Elizabeth chuckled the way a Disney villain does when hearing the final plea before breaking the main character at the en of the second act of the movie. “It makes me laugh Margaret, it really does. Pretending to act like you didn’t use that musty book of yours to try and become the perfect lover for me,” she gave a series of tugs on the rope, jarring Margaret and forcing rancid farts to rain down on the people below her. “If you didn’t want to be my balloon then you would never had read that spell book that lay at the base of your bed,” Elizabeth laughed hurtfully at Margaret.
A single tear fell from above, having travelled down Margaret’s face in a desperate attempt to appeal to Elizabeth and jumped from the balloon woman to the cheek of her tormentor. “Please Elizabeth, please!”
“I don’t know why you are so dead set on complaining dear?” Elizabeth’s voice rose in annoyance and her foot stomped in anger. “I hear your complaints, I listen to your whines, yet I smell you!”
“I can’t help the farts,” Margaret said meekly.
“My dear! If I was talking of your farts I would have named your farts!” Elizabeth raged. “What I am talking about is that little inflated split between your legs, which has decided to forever occasionally drizzle a few drops down to Earth. And thus I smell you dear, I smell your true feelings about your current conditions, and I smell you desires for me, and I most definitely smell what you wish would happen between us!”
Margaret squeaked in an attempt to answer, but was so emotionally shattered that she hug her head in shame, and allowed herself to be led around by Elizabeth with nary a protest.
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