It's easy to feel exposed when you're in a delicate moment.
More so when you're literally exposed.
Sitting on display, as a giant skin toned orb. A sphere. A balloon.
Pumped to your limits, any semblance of being a person long absorbed by your swollen body. The area that used to be your groin, now delicately balanced on the ground. Your aching pussy, twitching from pressure and pleasure, leaking mixing with the beads of sweat dripping from your overtaxed skin. The little divots that used to be hands and feet, too swollen to even wiggle anymore. Breasts, ass, stomach, any curve and bulge long swallowed by the burgeoning sphere of your body.
Alessa mused to herself. Her head, barely peeking out over the expanse of her spherical body. Sunk into another divot of her expanse.
She didn't expect to be left like this so long.
So filled, so swollen, near her limit but not ready to blow apart just yet. Beyond when she'd breathe deeply, and feel her skin strain to contain the deep breath.
He left her just massive enough to be comfortable, but so achingly close.
Her eyelids felt heavy, the constant strain draining her. The pressure making it easier to just keep them closed. If it wasn't for the damn constant jolts of pleasure throughout her nerves. She could just sleep like this. Just enjoy being full.
Where even was he? Did he really just leave her here?
Alessa's thoughts began to drift again. To him, the infamous burster.
Doing anything with him. It was a thrill. It was wrong. But it felt so right. So many women wanted him just because he was a man, just because deep down, their balloon-ish instincts lusted for male companionship. And even more to burst by a man's lustful desires.
Even with her eyes closed she rolled them.
Maybe there was an inkling of truth to that. But maybe not. It's far too complicated a notion to ponder. Twisted by generations of metaphor, anecdotes, justifications, and agendas. She wasn't here because of an innate biological need. She wasn't here because it's what women were for.
And yet she was here.
A bloated blimp of a woman, trembling with each deep breath, coated in sweat, leaking sexual fluid constantly. Aching for it to end, either with deflation or with destruction. To burst apart. Return to nothingness in a deafening bang and a cloud of scraps.
She chose to be here.
Johnny's lifestyle was no secret, everyone knew. Everyone knew that he was a twisted man who burst women like a child scarfs sweets. Prostitutes, girlfriends, clubbers, strippers, even minor celebrities. The rumour mill abuzz whenever a major business woman or person of interest burst with him involved. The man always lusting for the next explosion. For another woman to inflate past her limits.
Bursting to him was never an accident. It was a choice.
Or maybe that's just what Alessa told herself. She couldn't know the details of how everyone Johnny ever burst ended up that way. She couldn't know those that trusted him to not push that last pump in, those that were coerced into just one more sip of berry wine, or those that had an ounce of regret.
She was here because she was done. She was ready. She wanted to experience it. That moment. That glorious moment when she could feel the fire of her nerves flare one last time, and experience the blissful pleasure of detonation. Surrendering that final choice to him.
That was it.
If all she wanted was to explode, she could go down to the Burst Box, to the Berry Fields, buy some tanks and go back to her apartment.
No, this was about surrender.
To give your body, your mind, your life, to someone else. To be nothing to him. To be just another pile of scraps in his wastebasket. And who better than Johnny? That bastard.
With his toned but not bulky body, fuzzy and unkempt, save for his frequently bleached hair. That devilish grin, those lustful and hateful eyes. The feel of his stubble on your tight skin. The way he chuckles and grunts as he gets close. The way his cock tenses when you even mention bursting to him.
Johnny doesn't make your final moments special.
But in a fucked up way... for Alessa at least. There was pleasure in bursting for someone who so desperately needed to watch you burst.
There was but a moment, she realized he was behind her. That moment when she felt his fingers graze her taut skin. When she inhaled sharply, swelling out just a few centimeters. Her skin creaking and groaning from stimulation. She could have sworn she heard his lips part to smile that lustful grin. Then a single pricking. Something sharp, piercing somewhere on her back. A splash of warm thick goo just below.
A deafening sound. Suddenly out of breath. Flashes of light. Every inch of body in pleasure.
Then darkness. And nothing.
But the twisted pleasure-
Of feeding that twisted desire.