Dr.Defatso and the Balloon Party

I reclined against the sofa to collect my thoughts. The rubber tank top I wore beneath my baggy shirt squeaked with the motion, joining the rest of the fetish apparel’s pitched melody whenever I repositioned myself. It was strange how awkward I felt wearing so much gear considering everything else I had done in the past four months. I thought I would be more acclimated to the lifestyle of an out-and-out kinkster by now, but as I felt the urge to keep the glossy red surface of my belly hidden beneath cotton and polyester, I supposed I wasn’t ready. Not yet at least.

“Making yourself comfortable, Joseph?” The voice of my lover, the enormous ‘Doctor Defatso,’ bellowed from the top floor of his library. He descended the spiral staircase I always swore was too delicate to support his heft, and lumbered towards me with a smile. His squarish face softened by his fatness, the jowls a man of his age would normally have obtained were plumped out, and made him appear more youthful. His hair had receded slightly around the temples, but the straight jet-black cut which he kept slicked back was still as shiny as I remembered.

“As comfortable as I can be,” I replied, shifting my weight. I had gained in fat rapidly since dating the doctor. I was already fatter than the average man, but now I was beginning to grow into the same dimensions as my astronomical lover who addressed me while keeping his spherical belly pressed to my face. He knew it drove me crazy, and the squeaking in my latex boxer briefs beneath my sweatpants let him know as much.

He bumped his naked stomach into my face, gently squishing my nose, and then went to sit next to me. I felt the sofa tilt towards his side when he plopped himself on to the cushion, and I swore I could hear the upholstery sigh in discontent through a gentle cracking. “Is something wrong dear?” He was fresh out the shower, still damp but dry enough to put on a pair of taut, latex underwear, much more daring than the comparatively conservative boxer briefs I had chosen for tonight. “If you would rather we stay home and do something else, then I completely understand. This is something I find exciting, but it won’t be the least bit fun for me if you’re merely coming because you feel you have to.”

I hummed and chewed my lip. I took a strand of my blonde hair, which I had grown longer since dating the doctor. It was something I never would have done before; I was always too self-conscious to let it extend past my ears. My parents had been strict with my appearance, and my fatness had been a point of contention when I lived at home over a decade ago. The doctor helped me untangle that when we had been seeing one another on a slightly more professional basis, and now that they were linked in a more intimate sense, he had helped open the floodgates. He encouraged me to do what I wanted, and to find out who I was, unrestrained by the expectations placed on me by others.

“I want to go,” I said. “It’s just...” I looked at him, really looked at him, and soaked in his enormity. He was a broad man who could barely fit through doorways, he had to have special car seats and steering wheels to drive, he was so inconvenienced by just how fat and round he was, and he was still so godly confident. Sitting next to him, I should have been basking in the radiance I envisioned to radiate from his celestial body. But instead I felt like a deflated balloon next to the world’s largest, most magnificent blimp.

“What if you meet someone better?” I admitted, quietly.

The doctor hummed. “Well that’s not going to happen,” he shook his head. “I could go into depth about the reasons why I think that, but that might harken back to our days practising Pneumatic Catharsis Therapy for profit rather than for pleasure,” he smiled apologetically.

Our relationship had never been strictly medical. He made it clear that were he still a practising therapist then he never would have dated me. Alexander, which was his actual name, and he insisted I call him that, practised the strange inflation-based therapy method of Pneumatic Catharsis under the same pretence as massage therapy, with the stipulation that it could also loosely qualify as sex work. He explained to me one night over dinner that while it was an effective treatment, he had ethical qualms about practising it medicinally when he had a vested sexual interest in the results. So he rationalized that it would be better advertised on the premise of an experience, akin to BDSM or roleplay, with possible psychological benefits; he always had a thing about being transparent, and direct.

I made a joke once that his need to be transparent came from him being a human balloon, and how much he desired enough pressure to fill him until he became see-through, but when I told him that he merely shook his head and pinned me to the bed with his belly and laughed.

“I’m excited, and well, horny - that goes without saying - to try it with other people,” I watched Alexander stand as I spoke. He nodded his head and kept looking over his shoulder to let me know he was still listening. He walked towards the outfit he intended to wear tonight. A plain, crimson latex body suit, which covered him from foot to neck. He pulled the insanely elastic material and pulled it up and over his globular body, encasing every fat, glorious curve in a reflective candy red. I lost my train of thought.

“Go on, but... ?”

“But uh, I’m worried I won’t... be as good as them. We’ve only practised Pneumatic Catharsis, and like you told me, that’s more controlled. It doesn’t prepare you for the experience of sexual inflation.”

“Don’t you think that could be more exciting?” He said, pulling me up from the couch. I looked up at him, spying his kindly face past the tightly sealed curves of his breasts. “Everyone else at the party is an experienced balloon, you get to come into my world as a new face, unsure of your limits, of what type of inflation you prefer, which parts of you will elicit the most pleasure. It’s an adventure.”

Alexander’s words calmed me down. I pressed myself into his body, hugging my hot air balloon of a lover. His belly, still soft and unpumped, yielded to my grip and gave me a simultaneous feeling of comfort and heat. I could have happily taken him there, or fell asleep against his mass, but I had a resolve to face my apprehensions now. With a nod, he led me by the hand and took me to the car. I asked if he was going to cover his shiny body while he drove, but he shook his head, saying it wasn’t technically illegal. I was always so eager to watch him waddle through town, why not give other people the chance to gawk, he said.

We arrived at a private residence after a torturous half hour drive. Alexander was an insatiable pun maker, inflation puns. He kept referencing how tight his suit was, and if he took a wrong turn while driving, he would call himself ‘more than just an airhead’ and take an extended breath to stretch his belly for my purview.

“This is where the Pumpr party is being held?” I asked, confused by the plainness of what looked like an ordinary two-story home on the city outskirts. There was nothing but forest and smaller homes at the far edges. “It’s remote, I guess.”

Alexander chuckled and emerged from the large vehicle like a balloon being allowed to bounce back into shape after being compressed in a drawer. “Just watch, I promise you’re in for a treat.”

A tall man wearing a green bodysuit that mirrored Alexander answered the door. He was slightly muscular, and his absence of enormous rotund proportions like me and the doctor made him feel tiny by comparison, a fact that he seemed to be keenly aware of by the way he gave Alexander’s gut a slap and called him a gorgeous big balloon. He led us inside and then down a flight of stairs adjacent to the entrance hall, quipping back and forth with my boyfriend. I heard something about whether Alexander would be going ‘Full Hindenburg’ tonight, or if he was just going to ride the wave. Alexander shook his head, and looked over his shoulder at me, giving a wink and a smirk.

“This is Joseph’s full time. I want to get him acquainted with the standard array of madness before I introduce him to anything more explosive.”

The man who identified himself as Scooter laughed. It sounded like a fake name and was probably his online pseudonym. Not everyone had the brass to use their real name in these settings like Alexander did, and apparently, myself as well.

When Scooter opened the double doors at the end of the stairs, I felt the thrum of heavy bass in my stomach. Then, in a room with a shiny purple floor that you could vaguely see your reflection in, I witnessed the most bizarre and tantalizing sight of my entire life. I took a step, wobbling slightly. The floor wasn’t solid as I had expected, but Alexander and Scooter had no problem traversing it. “It’s... like a balloon, but how? It should pop, right?”

There were scores of people. Balloons and their attendants. Some inflated, some with skin shiny as polished latex. A few had seams and by the way their partners squeezed and rode their forms, they appeared to be made from harder vinyl like pooltoys. Others took on more bizarre shapes, choosing to only inflate a specific part of their anatomy in cartoonish ways. Joseph passed a man with breasts bigger than his head, who nodded to him and signalled the two chubby men in matching wrestling singlets to resume pumping them even larger.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold out, Alexander,” I said. My crotch was aching beneath the latex. I removed my baggy shirt and sweatpants, and then my shoes, joining the throng in their rubbery pride. Alexander and Scooter led me to another section of the shiny underground party, under a balloon arch, where round inflatable beds were occupied by scores of more shiny men.

“Then shall we dive right in?” Alexander said, inhaling as he took great strides towards an empty bed. His body grew exponentially, and he voluntarily cast off his mobility by swelling his belly until his entire torso joined its curvature and he transformed into a handsome faced balloon. With thick, unbending limbs, and a barely concealed rigid cock and balls under his suit. I joined him, climbing atop his body. We engaged in a long kiss, while Scooter and some others cheered us on. Being witnessed like this, like a parade float, made me hungry to expand.

Scooter joined us. We talked, lightly, as the evening went on. My inflated body, smaller compared to Alexander, was losing the last vestiges of its dexterity. We had chosen a bed close to a wall, so that our enormous selves could squish against the green balloon wall and the floor. It was a corner of heaven. “So, do you like being a balloon?” Scooter asked.

“I love it,” I replied. “There’s... one thing I wanted to try, though,” my cheeks went hot wish a blush. Alexander turned to look at me. Scooter and I were on either side of his head, and he gazed at us eagerly.

“Do you want to ‘vent the pressure’ with Scooter and I, love?” Alexander asked.

I nodded. “Though isn’t... well, to be blunt. Isn’t it a waste to cum now, when we just arrived?”

The two laughed. I felt their bodies shake and gyrate, my cock pulsed, and its erotic tension spread throughout my body. With what strength I had left, I began to hump against Alexander while Scooter bounced and managed to get on top of me. He slammed his spherical body down against me, I could feel his own rigid cock against my ballooning cheeks. It was a heady, overwhelming feeling, and I swore if it continued, I would explode with enough force to destroy the building.

Alexander huffed, sweat pouring from his face. I loved the way it made him shine. “Focus on the pleasure, focus on how it builds. You won’t pop, not tonight. But you ‘will’ explode.”

Alexander and Scooter shared a knowing look over my shoulder. They took long, unending breaths, which seemed to go on for an eternity. My vision was consumed by red and green. I couldn’t see anything below me except for the warm, mega-pumped body of my lover; and I couldn’t see anything behind me, for how enormous Scooter had become. They tensed their bodies and slammed me between them, the tension was unbearable, and I couldn’t hold on anymore.

“I’m gonna... I’m gonna...” I bit my lip, my body expanded involuntarily from the rising heat that all human balloons produced on orgasm. Everything became liquid, up and down lost its meaning, there was nothing except for the bouncy, silly, erotic totality of being a balloon on the verge. “I’m gonna blow!” I called out, barely able to vocalize through my roar as cum gushed out of my cock with such volume I thought it would fill and rupture my latex boxer briefs.

An airy whine signalled Alexander and Scooter’s deflation. I lay there, panting.

“Let’s get you cleaned up... once you’ve had a moment to compose yourself,” Scooter laughed. He had clearly seen this before, and was more experienced than me. He bounded off my body and went to get a towel. Some of the other balloons who had been watching the display clapped and congratulated me on my first ‘group explosion.’

I felt something, however, in my groin. Unlike a normal orgasm, I didn’t feel completely drained. The urge to pump and hump and grow was building up again. “I’m... I’m getting horny again, so soon?”

Alexander winked. “I told you, you make a good balloon. Once Scooter gets back, and we clean you up, why don’t you try pinning ‘me’ between the two of you?”

I blushed. “Do you think I can grow large enough to do that?”

Alexander kissed me. Then whispered. “I know you can, by beautiful big balloon.”