Ivy woke to the soft pressure of a palm patting the empty space between them. The sheets were warm where her body had been, and Hazel's hand moved in a slow, searching rhythm—pressing, waiting, pressing again—like a blind thing looking for warmth. Her eyes were still closed, brow furrowing in something close to panic as her fingers found nothing but the mattress. Ivy watched, not moving, as Hazel's face cycled through confusion, then fear, then something cracking open just beneath her eyelids. When Ivy reached over and lifted the crumpled burgundy balloon from where it had slipped between the pillows, Hazel's eyes snapped open. The panic drained out of her in a single exhale. She took the balloon and pressed it to her naked chest, cradling it like a wounded animal, and the latex made a wet squelch against her skin instead of the clean squeak she'd been expecting. She winced, tried to peel it away, then stopped. The balloon was sticky, thoroughly stretched, translucent in the pale morning light coming through the curtains. She didn't unstick it from her breasts. She just held it there, her fingers pressing into the thin spots, the places where the latex had been transformed by them. Her eyes were wet when she said, "It's the best one I've ever had." Ivy knew she didn't just mean the balloon.
Hazel sat up slowly, the balloon crackling against her skin, and pressed her palm flat to the wrinkled surface. "I need to give it some care," she said. Her voice was soft, almost reverent. "What care? How does one care for a balloon?" Ivy asked, propping herself on one elbow. Hazel explained about cleaning with hot water, the gentle method of rinsing without soap, the careful drying with a soft towel. She talked about cornstarch to prevent the latex from sticking to itself, and how the best way to store them was in a sealed plastic bag, out of the light, so they wouldn't oxidize and break down. "It always makes me a little sad," she said, her voice dropping. "I don't mind balloons popping if I want them to—that's different, that's mine to decide. But it's sad when a balloon rots away before having given it all." She looked at the burgundy balloon in her hands, its surface soft and alive, and added, "This one has given us a lot. I want to take care of it now." She slipped out of bed, pulling the balloon with her as she found her towel.
Hazel paused at the bathroom door, her hand on the frame, and looked back. Ivy had swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her gaze already scanning the room with a quiet hunger. "Can I snoop?" Ivy asked. "I want to see what else you have." Hazel's cheeks flamed, the blush spreading down her neck, but she nodded. "Just—" She pointed to a small catdboard box on the top shelf of the closet. "Not the Memory Box. That one's off-limits." Ivy nodded, stood, and crossed the room. She reached up with an easy stretch of her lean frame and lifted the box, placing it on top of the closet where Hazel would need a stool to reach it. Hazel smiled, grateful, then realization dawned across her face. She looked at Ivy's height, then her own, and pouted. "I'd need a chair for that, or the help of my tall girlfriend." Ivy's heart jumped. Hazel caught herself, her hands rushing to her mouth dropping the towel, eyes going wide. Girlfriend. The word hung between them, and both women blushed fiercely, the air thickening, the balloon still stuck to Hazel's chest crinkling as her breathing quickened. She grabbed her towel—the same one she'd been holding—and vanished into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.
The water started running. Steam curled under the door. Ivy stood alone in the bedroom, her skin humming, and turned her attention to the shelves. Balloons everywhere—packs and singles, some still in plastic, others freed and nested together. There were ones with knobs at the neck, bigger than the GL 1200 they'd used last night, white and black and jewel-tone colors. There were hearts, donuts, ducks, rabbits, elephants, mice, and banners of different sizes.
Hazel takes a while and when she thinks she has seen every one, she sees the corner of a packet of balloons, but this one is on a different place, is on the bookshelf hidden. She grabs it, it's content's spilling on the floor, she was right, they were balloons, the packet said Arch Balloons 44 inches. The packet also said ten units but when she picked them up from the floor, she only counted nine.
‘‘I have never seen a balloon like this’’ Ivy said to herself taking two between her hands, letting one on the bed the other she held, deflated new from the packet was as long as a her forearm, with a curve not dissimilar to a crescent moon.
Her imagination was quick she saw Hazel, her whole body naked, glorious, glossy with lube, swaying and sliding on the balloon.
‘‘Have to try this’’, Her voice choked with expectation.
Luckily for her, the electric pump was on the desktop, just besides to the bottle of waterbased lube and the dildo.
‘‘Okay, how did this work?’’ She found out soon enough what button to press to turn on the pump, now it was as easy as blowing up the balloon.
She put the balloon on the black contraption and pressed the button, the balloon began to inflate rapidly. She stopped the pump.The balloon still had some squish, and only reached to her knees inflated at that size. ‘‘Bigger’’ The vision of Hazel stirred her loins, the balloon grew to it’s rated size, she paused the pump, but it still was squishy. The desire and greediness didn’t let her stop. ‘‘Bigger’’ The balloon grew bigger, and started to harden. ‘‘I should stop now, but I don’t see a neck growing’’ What she didn’t know was that in balloons like that there is no clear transition between neck and body, so the inevitable happened ‘‘BANG!’’, the balloon burst. ‘‘Shit!’’ leaving the nozzle on her hands.
She took the other, and watched how it inflated more carefully, although her other hand not holding the balloon still slipped to her cunt. ‘‘Carefull, carefull, ………carefull, done!’’, even with her hand wet of her juices she was able to fully knot the balloon.
The balloon was already, as tall as Hazel, one of it’s endpoints reached to her navel, while the other rested on the floor.
It brought her memories, she had been a late bloomer, being smaller than Hazle when they were younger, but the growth spurt of her late adolescence made her almost two heads taller than her. Butt flatter on the chest side of things, while Hazle was shorter in height so her breast looked bigger even if she only had between an F and E cup.
She took the lube and spread it all over herself, letting her glossy and slick.
And went to town on the arch balloon, although she call them crescent balloons, as they looked like a crescent moon. It was difficult to control and all the excitement was in wrapping her arms and legs around it, squeezing as tight as possible, without popping it. Once she had it stabilized under her naked body, she was able to slide up and down on it enjoying the slight give of the rubbery surface on her clit, as she had purposely under-inflated it, not wanting to pump to pop another one.
The shower drummed against her shoulders, hot and steady, and Hazel sat on the tile floor with the Tuftex eighteen-inch pressed to her lips. She blew. The latex unfurled, soft and easy at first, a small dome growing between her palms. She kept her other hand between her thighs, two fingers working in a slow rhythm, and blew again. The balloon expanded. The pressure built. Her cheeks ached but she didn't stop — couldn't stop — because every exhale pushed her closer, the latex growing taut, the neck beginning to lengthen. She hear a balloon burst in coming from her room, but she thought it was her imagination, Ivy would never pop her balloons on purpose.
The balloon she was blowing stiffened in her grip. The neck extended like something coming alive, a sudden erection sprouting from her fist, and she blew harder, faster, chasing that satisfiying boom she knew was waiting. Her fingers curled inside her, pressing, and the balloon swelled until the latex was hot against her mouth, the pressure like the pressure cooker her mother used for carnitas, that same contained violence, the same promise of release. She wanted it to burst. She screamed for it in her mind — burst, burst, burst — but the balloon resisted, proud and stubborn, refusing to yield even as she pushed harder, the latex stretched thin and translucent, the surface trembling.
She was going to lose. She felt it — the inevitability of defeat, the humiliation of a balloon that wouldn't break. She conceded. Let it go. Softened her demand into something almost tender, a plea. Please. Desperate. Quiet. Please.
The balloon creaked.
It trembled in her hands, the latex groaning, and she thought please again — not a demand anymore, a prayer — and the balloon answered.
The bang was enormous. Her ears rang with it, the latex whipping across her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, thin ribbons of rubber slapping her skin everywhere, and she came, her whole body convulsing, her fingers still inside her, the water still hot on her back, the fragments of the balloon floating in the steam, settling on her wet skin like evidence. Her mind left. Orbited somewhere cold and dark — a small planetoid, B612, where a little prince waved at her, a naked woman without guilt or shame or embarrassment, and she waved back.
She returned with a sharp inhale. The water was still hot. The marks where the balloon had slapped her were already fading, thin red lines dissolving under the stream, and by the time she stood — by the time she wrapped the big balloon in a towel and dried it carefully, powdered it with cornstarch until it was soft and silky and no longer sticky — the marks were gone.
She heard the squeaks from her bedroom as she reached the door. A rhythmic squeeze and release, the unmistakable sound of latex being ridden, and she opened the door a crack and saw Ivy.
Ivy's back was to her. Her front was to the wall. And between her thighs — stretched across the mattress, a crescent of pale greenish latex arching upward — was the forty-four-inch arch balloon, the one type Hazel had forgotten she owned. Ivy was naked, her body slick with lube, her hips going back and forth in a slow, deliberate rhythm, her hands braced against the balloon, and she was riding the balloon like she'd been at it for hours. The squeaks came in time with her thrusts. The latex gleamed. Hazel watched.
She stayed at the crack, holding the powdered balloon in her hands, and let herself look. Ivy's back curved. Her thighs closed, her legs crossed. Her hips pressed forward and pulled back, the balloon yielding under her, and the sound — that wet, rubbery friction — went straight to Hazel's cunt.
Ivy felt the draft. Her head turned. Their eyes met.
Hazel smiled. She felt her own expression shift into something hungry, predatory, and she pushed the door open slowly, letting the light fall across Ivy's body, across the balloon still wedged between her thighs.
"Found my arch balloons," Hazel said. Her voice was rough from the shower, from the orgasm, from watching.
Ivy didn't stop moving. Her hips kept rolling, a slow grind against the latex, and she said, "I found nine. The packet said ten."
‘‘I know, i already used one, i left them on a different place so I could ration them easily’’
"One burst on the pump." Ivy said. Hazel, looked at her with a look that said I know, and set the powdered balloon on the dresser. "I got greedy." Admited Ivy.
"I heard something too." Hazel's breath hitched. "I thought it was you."
"It was." Hazel said with a bright smile, as she crossed to the bed, sat on the edge, and let herself watch properly. "I was in the shower. Inflating one. Fingering myself. It burst when I came."
Ivy's hips stuttered. Her eyes were dark, her mouth open, and she said, "That's — fuck, Hazel — that's so hot."
"I know." Hazel grinned. "I'm full of surprises."
She stood, walked to the desktop, and pulled out another arch balloon from the packet. Now seven left. She pulled the crescent of pale blue latex between her hands stretching it, and brought it to the pump. She inflated it slowly, watching Ivy watch her, the balloon growing between her hands until it was the size of her head, then her torso, then — when it was as tall as hrself, reaching just past Ivy’s bellybutton — she tied it off.
"My turn," Hazel said.
She laid her arch balloon on the bed, curved side down, and positioned herself over it’s concave side. The latex pressed against her cunt, cool and smooth, and she sank down, letting the balloon take her weight. The sensation was different from the big round ones — less pressure, more surface area, the arch cradling her like a hammock of rubber.
Ivy was still on hers, still grinding, but her eyes were locked on Hazel.
"You're not allowed to come," Ivy said.
Hazel's hips stopped. "What?"
"Punishment." Ivy's voice was low, serious. "For watching without telling me, and cumming in the bathroom without telling me before." She slid off her arch balloon, and knelt beside Hazel. Her hand found the bottle of lube on the desk. "I'm going to apply this. And then you're going to ride until I say you can come. And I'm going to hold your hands so you can't touch yourself."
Hazel's breath caught. "Ivy —"
"Do you accept your punishment?"
Hazel looked at her. The woman who had come home early. Who had watched. Who had stayed. Who had learned the word "looner" and written a list and loved her through every pop and tear and sticky, translucent transformation.
"Yes," Hazel whispered.
Ivy squeezed lube into her palm, the warmth from her body heating it, and spread it across the arch balloon. Then she pressed her slick hand between Hazel's thighs, coating her, fingers sliding through wetness that was already there, and Hazel moaned.
"Good girl," Ivy said.
Hazel began to ride. The arch balloon yielded under her, the latex smooth and slick, and she moved in slow swings, her hands went to her sacred place, the friction building. Ivy took her wrists, pulled them away, pinned them to the mattress.
"Just the balloon," Ivy said.
Hazel whined. Her hips kept moving, the arch pressing against her clit, the pressure perfect, and she was so close — she had already come once in the shower, but this was different, this was Ivy watching, Ivy holding her, Ivy telling her when she was allowed.
"Ivy —"
"Not yet."
Hazel's hips stuttered. She was right at the edge, her whole body trembling, the latex wet beneath her, and she begged — "Please, please, Ivy, I need —"
Ivy leaned forward and kissed her. Open-mouthed, desperate, her tongue sliding against Hazel's, and Hazel kissed back, her hands still pinned, her hips still grinding against the arch balloon, and when Ivy finally said "Now," Hazel came.
Her body arched. Her thighs clamped around the balloon. She cried out into Ivy's mouth, her cunt clenching against the latex, and Ivy held her through it, her grip steady, her mouth soft, her body warm and real and present.
They stayed like that for a long moment. Hazel trembling, Ivy holding her, the arch balloon wet and warm between her thighs.
"I love you," Ivy whispered, her lips brushing Hazel's.
Hazel laughed, breathless. "I know. I love you too."
They moved together as one on the arch balloons and arranged themselves facing each other, the latex curved beneath them, their thighs sliding against latex. Ivy's hand found Hazel's. Their fingers laced.
They kissed. Slow at first, then hungrier, their bodies pressing against the balloon, the latex amplifying every shift and roll. Hazel's cunt was still sensitive, still wet, and when Ivy's thigh pressed against her, she gasped.
"Again," Ivy said. It wasn't a question.
Hazel nodded.
They moved together on their arches, their bodies sliding against latex, against each other, the friction building until it was unbearable, until Hazel felt herself climbing toward another peak, and this time when she came, Ivy's mouth was on her, tongue pressing against her clit, and she screamed.
Ivy didn't stop. She kept her mouth there, licking and sucking, riding her through the orgasm, and when Hazel finally stilled, Ivy kissed her inner thigh and looked up.
"My turn," Ivy said.
Hazel shifted. She around her arch, positioned herself between Ivy's thighs, and pressed her mouth against Ivy's cunt. The latex was wet beneath her hands, beneath her knees, and the taste of Ivy — salt and musk and something sweet — filled her mouth. Ivy's hips bucked against her face, and Hazel held her, licking in long, slow strokes, bringing her up until Ivy came with a sharp, broken cry.
Afterward, they lay on the bed, the arch balloons rocking them slowly beneath them, the room warm and quiet. The morning — or was it afternoon now? — light slanted through the blinds.
"We should eat," Hazel said eventually.
"We should shower," Ivy said.
"Both." Hazel pressed a kiss to Ivy's shoulder. "Shower. Then food. Out. Real clothes."
"Real clothes," Ivy agreed.
They untangled themselves, stood on unsteady legs, and Ivy disappeared into the bathroom. The shower started, quick and efficient, and Hazel stood in her bedroom, looking at the collection of balloons scattered across her floor — the arches, the powdered thirty-six-inch, the fragments of the Tuftex still wet in her hair. Her room. Her secret. Her life.
She smiled.
She picked out a sundress — yellow, with small white flowers, one of Ivy's favorites — and a pair of sandals. She brushed her hair, checked her reflection, and laughed at the flush still high on her cheeks.
She knocked on the bathroom door. "Shower's free?."
"Coming," Ivy called back.
Hazel showered quickly when her turn came — no balloons, no silliness, just soap and water and the anticipatory thrill of an afternoon out with the woman she loved. She dried off, dressed, and met Ivy in the hallway.
Ivy was wearing a linen shirt, loose and cream-colored, with high-waisted jeans and her worn-in boots. Her hair was still damp, curling at the ends, and her glasses were slightly fogged.
She looked beautiful.
Hazel crossed the hall, took Ivy's face in her hands, and kissed her.
"Ready?" Hazel asked.
Ivy smiled. "Ready."
They grabbed their handbags, their keys. Hazel checked she had her wallet. Ivy locked her bedroom door out of habit. They walked to the front door together, and Hazel opened it, letting in the late afternoon light, the sound of traffic, the smell of the city.
She stepped through. Ivy followed.
Hazel turned back, her hand on the door, and leaned in for one more kiss. Soft, unhurried. A promise.
"I love you," she said against Ivy's lips.
"I love you too."
Hazel pulled away, stepped fully onto the landing, and pulled the door closed behind them.
The lock clicked.
Inside, the apartment was quiet. The balloons lay where they'd been left — waiting. The morning light had shifted to afternoon gold, falling across the floor of a space that had never felt so much like home.
And from outside, through the closed door, came the sound of two women laughing.