Her Fetish Revealed

"It's really silly, my fetish," I say, making significant effort to allow embarrassment into my voice. I drop my eyes from his as if ashamed, though I've had this conversation a dozen times before.

"Nonsense," he counters, smiling patronizingly. It's there to read in his face: already he is fantasizing that it must be something predictably male. His imagination takes hold of him and he surmises I must be dreaming of a threesome with him and another woman. Uninspired. The truth is far more perverse.

"Well..." I stammer in a vacillating tone that allows the proper sense of hesitation.

"Try me," he adds, grinning broadly with self-confidence. "I'm sure it can't be anything too strange. What's this fantasy you always hint at but never talk about?"

"Open your mouth, and close your eyes," I murmur. A moment of indecision crosses his face. "Please, for me?" This wasn't what he expected, but he feels obligated to be chivalrous and carry through on his offer. They always do. He complies with obedience, closing his eyelids and parting his lips.

I pop the lozenge into his mouth accompanied by a soft chuckle of anticipation. It's the last one, and the most precious because of that. I've used them increasingly carefully as their numbers waned. This one has to count. He jolts with a start at the presence of the unfamiliar object in his mouth, his eyes opening in alarm. He begins to rise to his feet. With a gentle but firm grip, I place my hands on his shoulders and settle him back down to the bed. I press my lips to his, not to romance him, but to complete my task. My tongue slips between his lips, casting about for the pill that has taken shelter inside his mouth.

"Mmf?" he grunts questioningly, his lips nervous and hesitant against my own.

With practiced ease, I push the pill straight down his throat with my tongue. He squirms, sputtering in surprise. He grabs me and pushes, shoving me backward and leaving my lips a hand-span away from his own. I smile at him, my eyes vibrant and intense.

"What's going on?" he asks, crossly demanding to know the reason for my actions. In response, I merely unbuckle his belt. I slowly draw the belt from his pants, a gentle whisper of leather as it passes through the loops one by one.

"My fantasy is men expanding like balloons," I murmur passionately, my warm breath panting against his chin.

"What?" he croaks in anger and disbelief. "That's impossible." I chuckle and slip my hand under his shirt, resting my fingers against his waist as they tingle with excitement. Already I can feel his belly beginning to bulge as the lozenge begins to work within his gut. One of my less-reticent toys managed to tell me that the pill at work felt like a churning inside his belly. I can tell this newest one feels it now. He squirms, hands clutching his swelling abdomen in surprise.

"Impossible?" I laugh, shoving him flat onto the bed. I yank his shirt up, revealing the taut expanse of the swelling dome of his belly. His toned abominals try to hold back the expansion, but the rush of air blossoming within him is an adversary they were never meant to match. The clasp of his pants pops open. I kiss the rising arc of his waist; it feels warm and springy against my lips, swelling to fullness. "If it's so impossible, what's brewing in your tummy here exactly?" I tease, prodding the turgid dome with a knuckle.

"Stop this!" he demands. He starts to backpedal away from me across the covers, struggling to pull his shirt down over the traitorous belly that it will no longer contain. He looks so adorable, ineffectually struggling to conceal his beachball tummy. I spot the proof of his virility as a bulge under his bloating waistline. I don't think this one is enjoying himself very much, but an unaccustomed pressure inside always makes men come to full mast regardless. I've hungered after this moment for months. He knows I've done this to him; his belly is swelling because of me.

"I can't," I murmur, my voice husky with restrained desire. "Nobody can. All I can do is enjoy you." I pounce across the bedspread, straddling the tight mound of his inflating gut as his body begins to distend to a sphere of round masculinity. I squeeze the bulging orb firmly between my thighs, relishing the long-forgotten feel of inflating flesh pressing against me.

He has perhaps a scant quarter of an hour before he gets too full. The most delicious things are always so brief and precious. He squirms beneath my lascivious assault.

"Blimp for me," I moan.

He does.