Selph
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'My First Pop'
🕑 Added 2020-12-06 22:50:09 +0000 UTCWarning: Story contains scenes of an intense sexual nature, you've been warned!
Balloons are beautiful.
When I was younger, I would save any uninflated balloons I could. Stolen from birthdays, from special events, from school, just wherever I could. Then store them away like my own personal dragon’s hoard of assembled latex. Sometimes I would be caught by an adult and have to explain to them what I was doing. I was never a particularly good liar, but I managed to convince them it was some arts and crafts project, the specifics of which I left vague enough to be plausible. They would shake their heads and mumble something about me being a weird kid. They didn’t know the half of it, I would think to myself, waiting for the rare times I had the house to myself.
I waited until my parents would leave me alone for the evening. I was mature enough to be trusted without supervision. Then one by one, I would pluck the uninflated balloons from the drawer under my bed and fill them. I puffed them up, each grew bigger than the last as I learned to control their elasticity. Careful pushes of my excited breath and then a slow release before they popped, I made them bigger and bigger, electricity coursing through me for a purpose I was too young to understand.
Then, as I grew older, and my hormones took charge. I noticed myself being drawn less to the female form and more to the masculine, rounded shapes of my peers. By the time I was old enough to understand the concept of arousal, I was hopelessly caught staring at the large sweaty bellies of men. It wasn’t because the slightly salty smell of their skin stirred something primal in me, it wasn’t even the simple shock of bare skin to a meek, virginal mind. It was because, in those beautifully curvaceous forms, running with perspiration to the point they reflected light... I understood what they resembled.
They looked like balloons.
Years passed. I kept my fetish hidden to the best of my ability. I browsed kink-centric forums, became active on them when I turned eighteen. I began pleasuring myself with the balloons I was now free to keep in less clandestine conditions now that I had moved into a single bedroom flat for university. Popping them, especially after letting them grow to gigantic sizes, gave me the biggest jolt. I was even lucky enough to meet a few people in my area who, while not head over heels for balloons like I was, were at least agreeable or at least ambivalent to their use during sex. And the more I fucked with balloons and balloon like men, the more it must have fucked with my head, because my fetish transcended into a new realm of absurdity by the time I hit my mid-twenties.
That’s why I was here. At the door of a friend I had made four years prior, on what was ostensibly a dating site for fatter men and their admirers. He had the username ‘OsoGrande,’ I knew his real name, but I referred to him as Oso, and he referred to me - quite fondly - as his Balloon Buddy.
The openness which he lived his life as a balloon fetishist surprised me at first. My job was fairly customer facing and required something of a clean public image. Being outed as someone who wore spiked leather and rode cloudbusters, until they popped into cum stained tatters, might have been enough grounds for termination. Maybe I was attracted to Oso because he embodied the type of person, I wanted to be but had no means to become.
Actually, I was probably attracted to him because he was a tall, bearded man, with a fat balloon belly, moobs, and a book smart disposition that I had always been a sucker for. He greeted me at the door, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants that poorly hid his bulging erection, and a taut white shirt with ‘kaboom’ printed in a retro comic book style. “Hey Balloon Buddy,” he smiled kindly but with a glint of mischief behind his squared glasses.
“Hey Oso,” I said. This was the first time we were meeting in person, but we spoke with the cadence of old friends. I usually found that when I met my online friends in person, if they person was someone I connected with, it never felt like a first meeting. It felt more like a sharpening of an image. In a way it was, going from a still 2d image - or video, Oso was fond of recording his ‘play sessions’ - to a 3d experience. As Oso reached forward to crush me against his body with his bearish arms, I blushed. My own jeans trapped bulge pressing against his.
“Do you want something to drink, or do you want to just...”
I nodded. “I’m ready when you are,” I said. By the time he closed the door behind us he was helping me strip down. It all felt very natural, and I shuddered at the touch of his slightly rough palms on my bare, smooth skin. “I was watching some of your videos on the train.”
Oso laughed. “Risky.” He turned and we kissed. He blew some air into my mouth; I could taste some alcohol on his breath. “Just giving you some air,” he winked. “Y’know. So you know how it feels when I really blow you up.”
I paused. “Have you... done this before, I mean y’know, the whole...”
“Blowing up a human balloon?” He squeezed my belly. It groaned, then he pinched and pulled, my skin stretched like rubber. “Several times. I’ve even been on the receiving end. Balloon party, couple years back. Had a big Santa looking guy fill me with cigar smoke then sit on me till I went to pieces,” he growled gently, it was clearly a good memory. “Felt amazing. Like... when you blow up, you get a bit stiff, but it’s a good stiff. Like an erection ‘cept it’s all over your body. And then you get hotter, and hotter, and you get so hot you feel delirious.”
I hung on to every word.
“Then,” he leaned in. “All at once, every inch of your body, lets out this big fat shout of pleasure. And you go kaboom.”
Oso led me into his spare room. It was filled with balloons of every brand, style and size. He sat down on an impossibly overinflated air chair, made from candy green vinyl. He patted his lap; confident it would take our combined weight. Oso was a large man. His stomach was prominent, often looking more bloated than soft, so it lacked the natural sag that I had to my own. He had a series of labour jobs through his life, meaning his limbs were thick and criss-crossed with light scars from machinery. When he welcomed me on to his lap, he slid off his sweatpants and I felt his warm cock against my cheeks.
“You’re still pretty heavy, even when you’re hollow.” He said, referencing the fact that I was more balloon than human right now. The benefits of mail-order magic.
“Not for long, right?” We kissed again. This time he gripped me tightly and his fingers dug into my air-filled belly. We kept our eyes open and locked on one another. He enjoyed the sight of me as my body grew, my chest and belly swelling with Oso’s breath. My moobs, already one of my fatter features, now bounced cartoonishly against Oso’s chin. And his eyes lit up, smirking with boyish delight as his cheeks filled up - plump and flushed red - with air brought in through his nostrils to deposit into me through our interlocked mouths.
My stomach grew, joining one great curve as my back rounded out and my torso became one great inflated chamber. My limbs would follow suit, never reaching the same level of absurd over-inflation as my belly, but they grew enough to be reduced to useless decoration. Oso leaned forward, we fell to the floor and feigned some wrestling which ended with him on top of me. Close to four hundred pounds of fat bearish man bore down on my stomach, pushing air into my extremities and face. The edges of my body tingled, and the rest of me felt stiff, but good, like he described.
“You’re such a good balloon,” he cooed. He bucked his hips, pushing his short but extraordinarily thick cock into my belly. My fair skin now a transparent and taut peachy expanse of balloon. I moaned, so loud I was worried the neighbours might hear, but when I complained Oso replied with “I’ve made far more noise than you are right now, and no one’s ever complained. So moan, you big balloon, because that’s not the loudest you’re going to be tonight. Not by a long shot.”
Maybe it was my inexperience; maybe it was how forceful Oso was. Whatever the case, I felt the overpowering warmth he warned me of. I was going cross-eyed, every groan and squeak sending me further from human consciousness and closer to inflatable bliss. With one powerful thrust, the events which would lead to my first pop were set in motion. I babbled a string of incoherent nonsense, and air - from deep inside me - announced its presence with violent susurration.
“Watch out, he’s gonna blow!” Oso said.
And in the wake of the most violent orgasms of my life, I threw everything to the far walls with my detonation. Hot air exploded out from my body, reducing me to featureless shreds of latex. The smaller inanimate balloons Oso had blown up for his enjoyment popped from the force, the larger ones were ripped from their cords and pooled on the ceiling in clusters. Oso himself was knocked on his back, letting out a shout of something I was too far gone to hear.
It was apparently only minutes later I reformed, as my scraps gathered, reinflated into a featureless blue sphere, and ‘popped’ to reveal my naked form.
“Welcome back Balloon Buddy,” Oso said, idly stroking his cock. “So do you want to do me next, or are you ready for another blow job?” He winked.
