Friday night had ended in laughter and tangled limbs, the deflated balloon a limp witness on the dresser. They'd fallen asleep still smiling, Ivy's arm draped across Hazel's stomach, their breathing syncing in the dark. But dawn came slow, and by mid-morning, Hazel was restless — not the bad kind, not the anxious kind, but a low hum under her skin that wouldn't settle.
Ivy noticed. She always noticed. "You're doing that thing where you're thinking too loud."
Hazel laughed, soft and embarrassed. "Is there a thing?"
"You get this little line between your eyebrows." Ivy reached up, thumb brushing the space between Hazel's brows. "Right there."
"I was just — thinking about something. Something I bought. A while ago."
"A balloon?"
"A specific one." Hazel sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist. "I bought it when I was still with — him. I thought maybe if I could show him, if he saw how much it mattered, he'd understand. But I never got the chance. I hid it instead."
Ivy's hand found hers. "Show me."
Hazel slid out of bed, padding barefoot to her closet. She knelt, pulled out a cardboard box from the back corner, and lifted the lid. Nestled inside, still in its original packaging, was a balloon unlike any Ivy had seen — a translucent tube of latex, folded and coiled, the material so thick it looked almost industrial.
"Cattex GL 1200," Hazel said, her voice dropping. "It's a specialty balloon. For — well. For what you'd imagine."
Ivy took the package, turning it over. The dimensions on the label made her eyebrows rise. "Thirty-two by eighty-seven inches?"
"It's big."
"It's enormous. How do you even —"
"I have a pump. An electric one. It's too big to blow up by mouth." Hazel's cheeks flushed. "I bought it thinking we could — I don't know. That he'd lie on it with me. That we'd —" She gestured vaguely, the words failing.
Ivy's grin spread slow, predatory. "You wanted to fuck him on top of it."
Hazel's blush deepened, but she nodded. "Yeah. That was the idea."
"And he never got to see it."
"He never got to see any of it. Not really."
Ivy set the package down, her hand finding Hazel's chin, tilting her face up. "Show me now."
Hazel's breath caught. "You want to?"
"I want to see what you wanted him to see. I want to know what you imagined."
Hazel retrieved the electric pump from under her bed — a small black device with a nozzle attachment — and laid the balloon flat on the floor, uncoiling it. It was longer than she was tall, a translucent tube that caught the light. She fit the nozzle into the neck, secured it with her fingers, and pressed the button.
The pump hummed. The balloon began to fill, slowly at first, then faster, the latex stretching and expanding. Ivy watched, mesmerized, as it grew — longer, wider, the material thinning but still thick, still substantial. Hazel's other hand guided the shape, smoothing out wrinkles, coaxing it into an even cylinder.
"The bag clips," Hazel said, her voice tight with concentration. "In the drawer."
Ivy found them — snack-sized plastic clips in a small box. She handed one over, and when the balloon reached its full size, Hazel clipped the neck closed, the latex pinched tight. The pump clicked off.
The balloon lay between them like a second bed — long, wide, translucent, the surface cool and smooth. Hazel's hand rested on it, the latex dimpling under her palm.
"I bought it six months ago," she said quietly. "I never even took it out of the box. I kept thinking — maybe next week. Maybe after he's in a better mood. But the right time never came."
Ivy knelt beside her, her hand covering Hazel's on the balloon. "It's here now."
Hazel looked at her, eyes wet. "You're not scared of it?"
"I'm not scared of anything that makes you feel good."
Hazel leaned in, kissed her — soft, grateful, a question in the press of her lips. Ivy answered by deepening it, her tongue tracing the seam of Hazel's mouth, her hand sliding up Hazel's thigh.
"I want to try it," Ivy breathed against her lips. "The thing you imagined. On top of it. With me."
Hazel's breath hitched. "You — right now?"
"Unless you need more time."
"No." Hazel shook her head, a smile breaking through. "No, I've waited long enough."
They mounted the balloon together — Ivy first, lowering herself onto the wide surface, the latex cool and firm beneath her. It held her weight, yielding just slightly, the pressure distributed across her entire body. Hazel followed, settling beside her, their hips aligned.
Ivy pressed her palm flat against the balloon, feeling the tension in the latex, the way it pushed back. "This is incredible."
"It's better when you move." Hazel demonstrated, rocking her hips, the balloon shifting under her, the friction building. "It's like — being held and teased at the same time."
Ivy mirrored her, the sensation immediate — the latex slick against her thighs, the pressure building, the way the balloon responded to every tilt of her pelvis. She groaned, low in her throat.
"Yeah," Hazel whispered. "Like that."
They found a rhythm together, bodies moving in counterpoint, the balloon amplifying every motion. Hazel turned, her mouth finding Ivy's, and they kissed — open-mouthed, hungry, the taste of morning breath and desire. Ivy's hand slid into Hazel's hair, pulling her closer, and Hazel moaned against her lips.
"I want to taste you," Hazel breathed. "On top of this. While you feel it under you."
Ivy's eyes fluttered closed. "Yes."
Hazel shifted, sliding down Ivy's body, her mouth trailing over collarbone, breast, stomach, hip. She settled between Ivy's thighs, the balloon supporting her weight, and lowered her mouth to Ivy's cunt.
Ivy gasped, the sensation doubled — Hazel's tongue, warm and precise, and the balloon beneath her, cool and firm, pressing up into her. She arched, her hands finding Hazel shoulders gripping them, as she worked her, slow and deliberate.
"Don't stop," Ivy managed, her voice cracked. "Please —"
Hazel didn't stop. She licked and sucked, her tongue circling Ivy's clit, her fingers sliding inside, the rhythm steady and relentless. Ivy's hips bucked against her mouth, the balloon pushing back, and she came with a cry, her body shuddering, her hands shaking.
Hazel surfaced, lips glistening, and crawled up to kiss her. Ivy tasted herself on Hazel's mouth, the salt and musk of her own arousal, and she pulled Hazel closer, rolling them so Hazel was beneath her.
"My turn."
She worked her way down, her mouth finding Hazel's cunt, the taste of her already familiar — warm, slick, a little sweet. Hazel moaned, her hips lifting, the balloon cradling her, and Ivy buried herself in the sensation — the heat of Hazel's skin, the pressure of the latex, the sound of Hazel's breath catching.
Hazel came with a gasp, her thighs tightening around Ivy's head, her body trembling. Ivy held her through it, her tongue gentle, her hands steady, until Hazel's grip loosened and her breathing slowed.
They lay tangled on the balloon, both slick, both breathing hard. Ivy traced patterns on Hazel's stomach, the latex cool against her fingertips.
"I have an idea," Ivy said, her voice still breathy. "A stupid one. But I think you'll like it."
"Tell me."
"Double-ended dildo."
Hazel's eyes went wide. "You have one?"
"Bought it last year. Never used it. Thought maybe —"
"Go get it."
Ivy scrambled off the balloon, naked, and ran to her room. She pulled open her nightstand drawer — nothing. The closet — nothing. Under the bed — empty. She checked the bathroom cabinet, the laundry basket, the shelf above her desk, her voice growing more frantic with each empty search.
"Where the hell did I put it?"
She spun, scanning the room, and her foot caught on something — the edge of her yoga mat, rolled up in the corner. She stumbled, arms windmilling, and her hand smacked against her dresser, sending a small box flying. It landed with a thud, the lid popping open, and there it was — the dildo, silicone, curved, still in its plastic sleeve.
Ivy stared at it, then at the yoga mat, then back at the dildo. "You were in the dresser whole time."
She scooped it up, laughing, and ran back to Hazel, who was propped on her elbows on the balloon, watching her with an amused smile.
"You fell."
"I tripped, but I found it." Ivy held it up, triumphant. "In the dresser, tripped with the yoga mat. Which I haven't touched since I bought it."
"Classic."
Ivy climbed back onto the balloon, settling across from Hazel, the dildo between them. They each took an end, the silicone warm against their palms, and met each other's eyes.
"Ready?" Ivy asked.
"Ready."
They guided the ends inside themselves together — a shared gasp, a synchronized moan. The dildo connected them, every movement echoed, every thrust mirrored. Ivy rocked forward, and Hazel felt it inside her. Hazel pushed back, and Ivy's breath caught.
"Fuck," Ivy whispered. "This is —"
"I know."
They found a rhythm, bodies moving in counterpoint, the balloon beneath them shifting with each motion. Ivy's hand found Hazel's, fingers lacing together, and they moved like that — connected, synchronized, the dildo a bridge between them.
Ivy came first, her body arching, her cry a broken version of Hazel's name. Hazel followed, the vibration of Ivy's climax pushing her over, and they collapsed together, the dildo still inside them, their foreheads touching.
"Ivy."
"Hazel."
"Ivy."
"Hazel."
They kept saying each other's names, the syllables soft and reverent, until the words blurred into breath, into laughter, into tears. Hazel was crying — not sad, just full — and Ivy kissed the tears away, her mouth salt-wet and tender.
"I love you," Ivy said. "I've loved you for two years. And I love this. All of it. The balloons. The way you laugh. The way you look at me like I'm something precious."
Hazel's voice cracked. "You are."
They kissed again, slow, deep. The dildo connecting them. The balloon holding them, cool and patient, as they tangled together, limbs and breath and skin.
Time passed. An hour. Two. They lost count of how many times they came — on the balloon, against it, with fingers and mouths and the dildo and each other. The room smelled of sex and latex, and neither of them cared.
Eventually, hunger won.
Ivy's stomach growled, loud and undeniable, and Hazel laughed — that full-bodied laugh that shook them both on the balloon.
"Okay," Hazel said, wiping her eyes. "Okay, I hear you."
"I need food. And water. And maybe a shower."
"Same."
They slid off the balloon together, and took out the dildo, their legs wobbly, sore in ways that made them grin. Hazel unclipped the neck, letting the air hiss out, the balloon deflating with a long, rude sound that sent them both into giggles.
"It's like a party horn," Ivy said, still laughing.
"A very expensive party horn."
"How much costs a balloon like that?" Ivy said, a sudden realization dawning on her.
"Between seven and eight pounds per balloon." Said Hazel with a drop of sweat on her forehead. "In my defense, I ended up giving it a good use, ¿right?." She asked with puppy eyes.
Out of the sudden flux of emotion that Ivy experimented, she froze a bit in the hallway, then she just sighted and laughted softly."Expensive, but damn it was worth it."
Seeing Hazel’s blush she gave her a quick and soft peck on the lips."Thank you."
"My pleasure", Hazel said almost a quivering whisper.
"Our pleasure", Ivy retorted grinning without shame.
They walked to the kitchen hand in hand, accomplices in the aftermath, their bodies marked with the evidence of the morning — flushed skin, mussed hair, the satisfied ache of muscles well-used. Ivy poured two glasses of water, and they drank standing at the counter, naked, grinning.
"What do you want to do tonight?" Hazel asked.
Ivy considered. "Order takeout. Watch a movie. Fall asleep on the couch."
"And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow, we do whatever you want. Balloons included."
Hazel set down her glass, stepped close, and wrapped her arms around Ivy's waist. "I want to show you everything. All the balloons. All the things I've never told anyone."
"I want to see it all."
Hazel kissed her, soft and deep, and Ivy felt the promise in it — not just of more sex, but of more truth, more trust, more of the thing they'd been building since Ivy walked through that door and found Hazel with a balloon between her thighs.
They broke apart, foreheads resting together, and Hazel whispered, "Thank you. For not running."
"I'm not going anywhere."
And she meant it. Every word.