My Boyfriend the Balloon

A commission for long-time patron Uberotter! This story contains a lot of highly charged sexual energy, and some, well... I suppose you could call it sex?

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Samson turned the knob to stop the water flowing out of the showerhead. He grunted and made sure that he had rinsed his body properly, no patches of bubbles remained on his porcine skin. Samson was ordinarily a pinkish orange with a paler belly and inner thigh, his showering must have been too hot however as he noticed he was flushed pinker than usual. To counteract the uncomfortable warmth, he decided to air-dry. Neglecting to put on the boxer shorts and socks he had left on a table outside the bathroom. He heard a click from the apartment’s front door, and yelled: “Barry, is that you?”

“Yeah, just got off work.” Barry replied, appearing in the long corridor off which most of the apartment’s rooms diverged. “Oh hello,” he said coyly. “Putting on a show? I ‘just’ got home but if you’re game I’m game.” He threw his coat over a chair and unbuttoned his work shirt, freeing his impressive ball-gut. Samson’s fat was spread across his entire body, all-around thick from a mixture of amateur powerlifting and hard labour. His boyfriend Barry, on the other hand, got his rotundity from a steady diet of beer and soda. When Barry bumped his stomach against Samson’s, it was evident he’d visited the bar before heading home. Samson could feel the sloshing of carbonated hops beneath the taut veneer of his partner’s skin.

“Been drinking with the boys from the office?” Samson said. He pecked Barry on the cheek with a kiss, then turned to walk toward the living room, deciding he was dry enough to sit on the couch and sprawl out with a remote in hand. Barry followed him, feigning a moan of disappointment.

“You could say that.” Barry said, completely stripping himself of his office regalia. He sat next to Samson and found his nook under the pig’s right arm. Samson lovingly coiled it around Barry’s neck and hugged his head to one of his moobs. He laid there, treating the breast like a pillow.

“Mind if I catch up on the news before we binge something?” Samson asked, remote primed.

Barry had his eyes closed. He was too comfortable to care what they watched, Samson could put on hard-core German porn and Barry would probably not budge an inch. He took a little whine and a burrowing into his pectoral as a vote for yes, flicking to the news.

A nervous reporter covered in building plaster and dust addressed the audience. They were nervously looking over their shoulder at a pile of rubble which the annotations on screen declared was a bank. Emphasis on was. “This is... uh, Thomas G...” the reporter flinched, looked over his shoulder again, then back to the camera. “... at the scene of the crime. Where two members of the Biohazard Blimps, presumably under orders from Biohazard Ben himself, have made off with an unknown volume of money from the bank behind me.” He said. “There were no casualties, as the building was methodically evacuated before the explosion took place. After the two members activated their suits, inflated to fill the entirety of the foyer, and popped like balloons. Bringing down the entire building!”

Samson chuckled. “Damn, guess they had a blast with that heist, eh?”

“We did... yeah.” Barry replied.

Samson stopped. He put a pinkie in his ear to clear it out, looked down at his boyfriend and just stared.

“What do you mean ‘we did,’ hon?”

Barry’s eyes shot wide open. “Uh... drunken slip of the tongue?”

Samson squeezed. “No, you can out-drink an entire football team, their coach, and their families. All in one night. You aren’t drunk, but you are a big bloated idiot if you think I didn’t hear what you just said.” Samson squinted. “What did you mean ‘we did.’”

The energy in the room changed. Tension reigned. Barry slide out from under his boyfriend’s arm and stood up, his back facing Samson. “I think there’s something we need to talk about,” he said with a seriousness uncharacteristic of his nature. “Can you wait here while I get something from the bedroom, it’ll take about fifteen minutes. I need to set something up.”

Samson squinted. He was too bewildered by the change in Barry’s persona to find a proper response, but he managed a vague “okay,” before settling into the couch and watching his boyfriend leave the room. He had only brought up the strangeness of his comment, something he thought was only a product of drunken delirium. He assumed that Barry had maybe done something silly while drinking with his work pals, but the way he reacted to Samson’s further querying was worrying. Samson took out his phone and scrolled the basic trinity of apps, checking his messages, replying to friends, seeing if anyone had posted any good porn in the last hour. It was just something to pass the time while Barry did whatever he had to do in the next room.

“I’m ready,” Barry called out from the other room.

“Okay,” Samson kept thumbing through his media feed. He heard a sequence of short, rubbery squeaks and groans, then looked up. He blinked. Barry was dressed from neck to toe in a skin-tight suit, it looked black at first, but it shone a subtle dark purple where the light graced the contours of his boyfriend’s prodigious belly. Samson struggled to find his voice, only a dull “uuuuuuuh” poured out from his open mouth, jaw dropped in bewilderment.

“Surprise...” Barry waited for a reaction. He waited for longer than he anticipated, because he coughed loudly and wiggled his hands, an awkward jazz hands display. “I’m a henchman for an inflatable supervillain, heh.” He spoke his confession with the casual manner of someone revealing they weren’t a natural blonde, or their favourite food wasn’t pizza after claiming it was.

Samson put his phone down. The pig rubbed his eyes, to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things, and gave Barry an incredulous stare. “So, let me get this straight,” he said rising from the sofa. Samson stepped towards his boyfriend, speaking as he went, “for the past six months, when you told me you got an office job for an incredibly exclusive company,” he got closer, Barry’s expression twisted with guilt, “one with such a big non-disclosure clause, you couldn’t tell me their name.” Samson stopped just inches from Barry, his pink belly almost touching their wrapped ball-gut. “You were working for Biohazard Ben, one of the - literal - biggest supervillains, who’s been terrorizing our city with his plans for months.”

Barry couldn’t look Samson in the eye. “I’m sorry I--...”

“... and you didn’t ask me to sign up with you?”

Barry’s attention snapped to the dirty grin on Samson’s face. “Wait, you’re... not mad?” he said.

Samson snorted; hot air steamed out of his nostrils. “Oh I’m fucking livid,” he pressed forward, pinning Barry to the living room wall. Rubber-clad belly against pig-man belly. “But I’m not angry because you’re a goon, I’m angry that we could have both been pumping up together all this time, instead of me doing odd plumbing jobs; and thinking you were bored shitless in an office cubicle.” Samson kept pressing, he could feel Barry’s dick thickening up beneath the rubber suit, pressing into the low curve of his own belly.

“Ugh, wait... too tight...” Barry bit his lip.

“Why, what’ll happen?” Samson pressed harder; Barry’s stomach deformed around the pig’s advance. Like a balloon trapped in a drawer, conforming to the limited space and the assaulting pressure. It squealed under the stress. “Will you pop if I keep going, are you already a human balloon through-and-through mister henchman?”

Barry huffed and puffed. He enjoyed the feeling of his boyfriend crushing him, Samson knew that. The added layer of balloon and inflation fetishism thrown on top must have made it unbearably horny for the man. Samson liked it; he could really tease the poor guy with this knowledge.

“You don’t want to pop me like this, big guy.” Barry said.

Samson eased off, Barry’s stomach returning to its ball shape with a loud fwoomp. “Then how ‘do’ I want to pop you?” Samson asked.

“The same way you pop any good balloon.”

“Good? I thought you were a villain, shouldn’t it be ‘how you pop any evil balloon’” Samson smirked.

“... ha ha, very funny.” Barry rolled his eyes. “The same way you pop any high-quality balloon then,” he rubbed his stomach. “Overinflating it.”

“I’m listening, but uh... you might be shorter than me, but you’re still a big man. I don’t think I have the lung-power to pump you to bursting.”

Barry was a shorter man than most, with fair skin, bald head and doughy round cheeks. Samson could blow into his lover for hours and hours, and barely make him swell. He thought for a moment, tutted, and then grabbed Barry by the hand. “Come with me,” Samson said. “Now is as good a time as any to let you know what I keep in the back of the closet.”

Samson led Barry into the bedroom, sat him on the bed, and moved to the closet. He threw open the doors and rummaged to the back of the space, where he kept the things he didn’t want anyone else to find in unmarked cardboard boxes. With a laugh, he hefted one of the boxes out and dropped it at the foot of the bed. Once pulled open, Samson revealed his secret stash of pumps, balloons, and fetish gear. Still squatting after lowering the trove to the floor, he looked up at his latex wrapped boyfriend with intent.

“How long have you had all this?” Barry said, wiggling his toes at the collection of inflatophile paraphernalia.

Samson readied a bright red bike pump. It was customized to deliver a far greater blast of air with every depression of the plunger than a simple bike tyre could ever need. “Since I was a teenager, I just kept it well hidden.” He eyed Barry, who had taken a strange device into his hand. It looked half kitchen utensil, half firearm, albeit wider and goofier like a phaser from Star Trek. “What’s that?”

Barry smiled. “You like my suit, right?” He pinched the material, pulled it, then let it snap back against his moob.

“I do...” Samson said, unsure of the direction the conversation was taking.

Barry aimed the device. A black liquid swirled in a glass tube attached to the back. “Good thing you’re already naked, fresh and clean, that’ll make this easier.”

“Make what easi--” Samson didn’t have time to finish his sentence. The goop contained in the device shot out, splashing over Samson’s chest. He gasped for air and felt it expand to envelop him, cocooning him in a layer of writhing, cool, shiny black. He was about ready to scream for help when he felt it adhere to his skin in a way that reminded him of his own latex-wear, but a thousand times better. It conformed to the contours of his body, leaving him perfectly neck-to-toe in a shiny black skinsuit like Barry. “Oh,” he said. “So that’s where the outfit came from.”

Barry flushed. “I uh... asked Biohazard Ben,” he put the device on the side table next to the bed. “He said that, if you like, you could come along to our next gig and see if you like it.” He scratched his head, looking away. “Look I kind of knew you had a thing for big bellies and stuff, and you always said ‘I’m gonna blow’ during sex a lot, but um... if this is too much for you I--”

Samson pressed his lips to Barry’s and blew. He blew hard. He knew he wouldn’t manage to pump him up very much, but it wasn’t the point. He wanted to show his acceptance, his affection, for his lover and his lifestyle. “Does that answer your question? Now, you want the hose in your mouth...?”

Barry giggled. “The suits react to one another, if you pull hard enough while wearing one, it’ll create an opening. It’s how we manage to use our pumps and hoses despite being covered head to toe.” Barry gasped; Samson roughly turned him over on to his belly. His wide cheeks up in the air, receiving a swift and hard slap from the pig. “I... ooh, you’re -really- into this.”

“We’ve been together a while, my big balloon.” Samson saw Barry’s bulge twitch and thicken at being called a balloon. “And we never knew we had this in common, I want to make up for lost time.” He lubed up the special insert for the bike-pump, customized to slide deep into a person’s anus like a buttplug. “I’m going to pump you until either you, or that suit, pops. And if I have my way, it’ll be both.”

Samson started pumping air into his boyfriend with a slow rhythmic rise and fall of the plunger. Thick globules of air travelled along the hose at a leisurely pace, disappearing into the crevice of Barry’s ass. He moaned and curled his toes whenever a pump completed its journey, his stomach inflating beyond its normal ball-like dimensions into a squashed exercise ball. He began to rise from the bed, propped up by his engorged stomach.

“More?” Samson said, still pumping.

Barry replied, “mooooore...” his voice cracking under the erotic pressure.

The pig changed a setting on the modified bike-pump. It clicked, and he sped up. Air travelled in vast, uneven quantities. Sometimes it would be one large burst, followed by three smaller ones; sometimes it would just be enormous payload after payload; and sometimes it was a rapid series of quick-fire injections of air. Samson was as overwhelmingly aroused as his partner. He found himself unable to keep a steady, routine pace. It was like the awkward rhythm of his curled fist sliding up and down his cock during masturbation. It just worked for him, but he couldn’t keep it steady.

Barry’s stomach had grown so overwhelmingly enormous that it threatened to consume the rest of him. The air travelled to other areas of his body when his gut became too packed, meaning his breasts were now swelling up and against his chin. His arms and legs, the thighs he was so proud of, were bulging, competing for space. He tried to keep his legs together, but the bounciness of those filled-up thighs just forced them apart. He laid on his airbed of a stomach, beautifully reflecting the light on account of the black latex which covered it, with his arms and legs out to awkward angles. He looked a bit like someone stuck in a permanent jumping jack position, stranded atop a curved airbed.

“Ooooooh babe, I’m getting full.” Barry whined.

Samson didn’t relent. He was snorting, his arms were burning, but lust drove him to just, keep, PUMPING.

Barry’s fingers and toes swelled up along with his palms and the soles of his feet, effectively robbing him of the limited dexterity he still retained as a human balloon. The comical puffiness of his extremities looked as though he had been made to wear a pair of latex gloves that someone had filled up for a joke with their breath.

“You got far bigger than this when the news reporters caught you, fatboy.” Samson gave his balloon a short break. He hopped up on the bed, what little of it remained unburdened by taut man-balloon and latex for him to kneel on, at least. He always had a ‘thing’ for big asses, so having his boyfriend’s juicy rear upsized ten-fold into a pair of malleable beach balls drove him wild. He pressed his face deep into one cheek. Barry released a tortured whine, he must have been so sensitive, but he had grown so much larger on TV. Why was he acting like he was fit to burst when he was barely scraping the ceiling?

“Babe, I’m gonna burst...”

Samson snorted. “Mm, that’s fine with me babe but... how come? You MUST have more stretch than this if you roll with Big Ben.”

Barry bit his lower lip. Samson crawled along the bed to see his boyfriend’s face, tyre like double chin, framing his plump, sweaty expression. He recognized the delirious lack of focus in Barry’s eyes, it was the way he looked when he was desperately fighting back an orgasm. “Babe... I’m...”

Samson laughed. “Oh I get it.” He said, torturing Barry by grabbing at his inflated melon breasts and thumbing the nipples trapped under the suit. “It’s the orgasm, that’s what sets you off, isn’t it?”

Barry strained, his body creaked. His fair skin was as hot and pink as Samson’s had been after his shower. He looked like a ripe fruit which could burst and release its juices with a light squeeze. He really was about to blow, and Samson would make sure of it. “Sam... can you, set me... off?” He huffed. “I’m sorry I didn’t get big enough for you,” the effort he mustered to talk took away from his efforts to delay the inevitable. In that one instantaneous lapse, his body let out a deafening protest like rubber being pulled to its absolute limit.

“Gladly.”

Samson grabbed fistfuls of Barry’s huge facial cheeks. He kissed him, forcefully. His tongue dancing with Barry’s. His hot breath mingling with the light bitter taste of the beer his boyfriend had guzzled on his way home. He could feel his upper lip being tickled by Barry’s incessant snorting, as he tried to vent the pressure building to a climax inside of him to prolong the moment.

Samson blew, hard as he could.

Barry’s eyes snapped open, he cried out in bliss, his eyes rolled back; and it was over in one, big, moment.

Bang!

Barry popped. Every inch of him, gone in an instant, leaving scraps of sweat-slick pink rubber and black latex all over the bedroom. He had returned to normal in the detonation, blown against the floor at the foot of the bed, his stomach sticky with more ribbons of cum than Samson had EVER seen a man erupt with in his life.

“Hope you recover quickly, lover,” Samson said, parting the suit around his own ass. “It’s my turn to be the balloon now.”