Pump Me
by @Inflate123 / inflate123@gmail.com
“Pump me,” she says. It is not a request.
I enter the room apprehensively, closing the door behind me with a soft click. Her dress — flawlessly polished, clinging to every curve — reflects what little light the darkness allows in its domain. She sits, then reclines on the bed, itself clad in sheets of material that match her outfit. She hikes her skirt hem up to her hips, not an invitation so much as an instruction: “Pump me.”
