This story was originally published in Best Women's Erotica Volume 6 by Cleiss Press. They've been kind enough to let me share it with you wonderful heathens for your reading pleasure. It contains descriptions of kinky sexy times so please click elsewhere unless you're 18+ and have a marvelous rest of the day!
Content tags: balloon play, female boss/male employee (though they consider themselves partners, so no sense of coercion or power dynamics)
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Inflated Egos
Evie Bennet
The dusk of twilight filters rays of fuchsia on the outside perimeter, red balloons bobbing in anticipation like they’re ready to be reunited with the sun. Carla supposes she should close the shades. Even though the car lot is reinforced with a huge fence, cameras, and security alarms, the actual sales building has an armored shell in the form of steel curtains.
It’d be such a shame to cover up the view. It’s the only thing vaguely soft set against a showroom of gorgeous leather and steel where people come with razor-sharp teeth to try to shave away her profits.
Her head throbs from lack of sleep and calculating profit margins for the sale. Her feet are vacuum-sealed into her wedge heels. She has to be a warrior ready to kick into gear at any moment, lest she succumb to lethargy and rest her feet.
She folds her arms and watches the slow bob of balloons in front of a splotch of pink. No shades tonight.
The clap of a car door echoes through the open chamber.
“You need these deets?”
At the ridiculous terminology, Carla has to smother an irritated sigh. Aroon is helpful, even if he thinks he’s way cooler than he is. He’s the second hardest worker in their building, always sharply dressed and ready to take on the day—never afraid to stay late and work on paperwork or numbers with her, even if he is more of a “people person,” as he claims. As long as he makes her moan in pleasure more than annoyance, their pseudo-relationship is fine.
The balloons stir as Aroon marches out into the open where he knows she’ll see him. He waves a packet until it wobbles like those tacky plastic wind-people with their long, shaky arms. “Where do you want them, babe?”
Terms of affection are fine when the lot’s not in operation. They’re encouraged when she’s got one heel up on a back seat and the other digging into his ass during their lunch break. It’s sort of a fuck and feed relationship of convenience, but she does like him. His thick eyebrows stay raised and ready until she gives him direction. Not that he doesn’t take initiative—he just knows how to do it without stepping on her in the process. He doesn’t send text messages that say Good morning, buttercup, because she finds them annoyingly chirpy and much prefers when he brings her a latte during their shifts instead. Maybe he doesn’t even consciously spread his stance behind her every time someone gives her a hard time, but she notices it all the same. They’re partners, not just playmates.
That’s a rare thing, she thinks, watching the balloons billow gently in a V like they’re paving his way to her with the breeze.
“Put them on your desk.”
“Here?”
She nods. Dropping them in a neat stack, Aroon eyes the top of it to make sure everything is in its place before walking around and leaning on the desk’s edge. He pockets his hands in his still-crisp gray slacks and stretches his neck.
“You good, C?”
“Roo, what do you think about the balloons?” She hadn’t been planning on asking him anything, but she’s so tired that it seems like a legitimate question.
He glances at the bundles of buoyant observers in the showroom. “I like ’em. They’re cool. Is this about the helium thing? You want to do streamers instead or something? Because I feel like balloons are just kind of the natural way to go. They make people happy.”
Her heels clip on the tile as she makes her way toward a balloon bouquet, plucking one from the bunch and wondering how weird it would be to smell it for the hint of latex. “They make me happy, too.”
As a kid, she’d always been excited about the emergence of balloon bouquets or archways because it meant the whole family would be in town. They’d be celebrating a wedding or a birthday and everyone would give her the extra balloons as the youngest child in the extended family. Life, love, and vitality filled those bouncy packages. Even the pear-shaped, weighted balloon she had punched and kicked as a kid would cushion her when she tackled it to the ground. Only something like a balloon could be so versatile—so supportive and satisfyingly squeezable.
“I daresay I love balloons,” she tells Aroon, rubbing the firm, round specimen across her breasts. The air prickles with electricity.
He swallows hard, eyebrows raised. “Oh, I see.”
Eyelids heavy, she smiles. Aroon takes his hands out of his pockets and braces them on the edge of his desk with his eyebrows raised, ready for direction. When she says she loves something, she means it. He flexes his fingers before tightening his grip. “You wanna show me?”
“Would I?”
It’s so bouncy, so curvy and joyous and squeaky. She’s tempted to keep it for herself—rub it along her body and make him get his own to play with. Still, she’s drowsy and horny and relaxed enough to want to make every hair on his body stand on end. She stalks to Aroon, slowly tracing her nipples in a circular motion with her free hand on one breast and the balloon on the other.
Both feel good. One just makes everything seem more intense. They feed on each other, the sensation of the trade.
Interest piqued, Aroon smiles and spreads his legs for her in an open invitation. She rolls the balloon along the seam of his pants, the fullness of the pressure gradually outlining his thickening dick. Seeing him grow reminds her of inflating—of how it can be squeezed to feel thicker or stretched to near-bursting lightness.
“Interesting,” he murmurs, eyes wide and fascinated by the deep purple of her nails indenting the latex sheath.
“You like that, baby?”
He’s awestruck, kind of like the first time he saw her boobs in her bra. The absent way his dick twitches for attention is the only indication that he’s still in the game. She rubs quickly enough to feel the electric heat in the air mirrored between her legs.
His hips jerk. “Damn, that’s fast, C. Let’s savor it a little or you might just pop me.”
“I won’t pop anything unless I mean to.”
She pulls the balloon back into two hands, squeezing and stretching it until her insides feel like taffy and Aroon’s hand is tickling the back of her thigh to bring her closer.
“You want to share with me?”
Grinning, she places the red balloon on his crotch and climbs onto the desk, forcing his hips back as she straddles both him and the balloon until it’s pressed right up against her sex. It’s smooth and hot and stiff whenever she rolls her hips. That tiny bit of pressure is so exciting—knowing she can anchor it, knowing it could just as easily bounce away. Too much and it could pop—and she doesn’t want this swelling need to end so violently.
Aroon’s shaking, hoisting her up higher from the crook of her knees. He could just as easily be imploring her to apply more pressure as securing her from toppling off of the desk.
“You’re so nervous,” she teases, pushing at the short-clipped hair above his ear and rocking on the toy between them. She loves the way it almost butterflies the lips of her lace-covered sex.
“Nervous. Excited.” He cants his hips, testing the connection and grinning when it holds up. Maybe he’s a popper. He might like that little burst of energy, orgasmic and rippling. She wants to play with it—bounce and rub and test the shape until she’s trembling with need.
His knee goes a little too high, and she jolts forward.
“C!”
“I’m fine! It’s fine,” she assures him, fingers stiff as her palms push off his shoulders to readjust, making sure she doesn’t crush the bulging sexy thing. “Maybe, since it’s our first time, we should put it somewhere safe.”
Aroon frowns at her in confusion as she plucks the balloon from between her thighs, savoring its little squeak of protest, and traps it under her chin. Looping her thumbs into her waistband, she turns over and sits on his uneven lap to slide her underwear down and kick it off the ankle hook of her wedges.
“You are so hot right now.”
She shoots a glare over her shoulder, dropping the balloon to her lap where it bounces once and hovers before resettling.
“You’re hot all the time,” he amends, firmly squeezing her hip. “I just feel like tonight is gonna be extra special. Maybe it’s all the electricity.” He nuzzles into her hair, and it does feel like a spark passes between them when he presses a kiss into the nape of her neck.
That’s what balloons are for, she thinks, holding it close. Making something extra special.
She taps his thigh. “Your turn.”
The idea of setting her aching feet back on the ground before she has to doesn’t seem particularly appealing. Carla scoots off to the side and lets him bare and prepare himself before comfortably straddling him, face-to-face once more.
“You feelin’ good, C?”
“I will be.”
She places his tip at her clit, closing her eyes and pressing the balloon between their chests. They move forward in their rhythm, Carla sinking down with each pass and taking more of him in. The pressure and poise of the rubber make her feel stretched and warm and magnetic—drawn to this feeling, drawn to her partner, who fills her in a similar, less visceral way.
Every time she sinks down, the shape changes. It curves. It extends. It’s blowing up and expanding into something full and tight and overwhelming.
The squeak of latex and the pressure from within inspire her to ride him harder. There’s so much stimulating her nerves beyond just the grinding at her clit. The bulbous compression against her chest combined with the way Aroon gathers and grips her hair makes her feel like she’s rising beyond her aching body and into a plane of pleasure amidst the smeared pink sky.
Bobbing, rubbing, she’s stretched and shaking. The shutters of her mind crumble and clatter to make way for pure feeling.
As the crash recedes, she registers Aroon’s hand on the small of her back, the warmth of his breath on her neck and the stillness of his hips. Her eyes feel dewy as she leans forward and pecks him on the lips, lingering long enough to feel lethargy setting in. The balloon drifts to the side, barely caught by her arm.
“Hey, C?”
“Yeah?” All she wants to do is eat something and go to sleep.
“You think we could take some of these home?”
Unexpectedly, she giggles, the sound shallow and vibrant. “Sure. Then we can tie you up in Shibari with one of the car ribbons.”
“Really?” He jerks his head in the direction of the giant bows and red satin sheets.
“No, not really. Those belong to the company.”
Sighing, he stretches his neck and looks longingly at the glossy car covered by stark red.
Biting her lip, Carla plucks at the wavy hair by the nape of his neck, wondering just how much she should reveal about her toy trunk at home. “I could invest in some . . . personally.”
“You could invest in me.”
She jerks back, surprised. “Aroon . . .”
“Just saying,” he offers, planting a quick, strong kiss on her cheek. “If you were ever looking for something more than coffee and balloons, I’m a decent boyfriend, I think.”
“You think?” she repeats dryly.
Huffing, he rolls his head back. “I’m tired of selling things today. Let’s clean up and crash. If you want, you can stay at my place.”
His place is closer than hers. She tugs the collar of his crisp white button-down for an excuse to feel the flush of his dark skin. “Okay.”
She grunts in stiff protest and clambers off of him to put the balloon back by its cluster, caressing it one last time. The whole school of them bobs in an effortless farewell.
As her heels clip against the showroom floor, her hips sway with the easy camaraderie of her floating friends. The warm pink hues behind the glass seem to glow, reflecting shiny cars, handsome partners, and, of course, a sea of floating reds.
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