Never Stop Popping

"Do you think men ever get bored of women bursting?" Two women sat on a bench, overlooking the city in the valley below. Lights illuminating the night below and starts twinkling above. They were munching on fast food, having stopped for a bite to eat after a night at the club.

"What do you mean Stacy?"

"Well..." Stacy mused. "I guess... I've just been thinking. At the club earlier, the ground was practically covered in scraps. Every five minutes, another bang went off and rubber spread across the room."

"Right?"

"Well, the few guys that were there. They looked into it the entire time. But, I guess... I started to wonder why. Do you get it Brittany?"

Brittany sipped her soda, reflexively hitting her chest to get the burp out before the gas could accumulate in her body. "I don't know if men ever could get tired of it."

Stacy continued. "But, like, you know. How many women does the average man pop anyway? How many times does he see it in the streets, on the news, at every graduation, wedding, new years, and party? If he ever gets married, his wife eventually bursts to have babies. And any other wives he has will burst at graduations and other bursts of honor. All he has to do is go to the club, the brothels, or get on a popping app to hook up with someone and pop her. Does it ever... get boring?"

Brittany looked up at the sky. "Well that sounds like you're asking why the stars shine Stacy."

Stacy tilted her head.

"Men are just like that." Brittany said. "It's how they're like, made, or something. Men are supposed to be pillars of society right? They can easily live to be sixty, seventy, hell, isn't the mayor in his eighties?"

"Why would that matter?"

"Well think about it. We're twenty four right?"

"Right."

"How many sisters do you have left?"

"... Gosh, I think... just two. All the rest burst."

Brittany nodded. "Yeah, when my birth mom gave burst, I had thirty four sisters. Now, there's less than six of us. And we've only been able to inflate for seven years. I don't know where my two brothers are. But they'll be around long after I've popped."

Stacy ate another french fry. "I never thought of it like that."

"If men cared about the women that popped, if they ever got bored of it. Do you think they could handle living more than fifty years longer than most women? I think that it's just how men are. They will always get off on bursting women cause if they didn't, they couldn't live with themselves."

"You're so smart Brittany." Stacy said.

"Popping to us. We're one and done. And it must feel good. Have you ever had sex, masturbated, or done anything that got you moaning, screaming, in pleasure? Nothing else gets you close to it. Inflating, and popping, is the only thing."

"Yeah..." Stacy said dreamily.

"When we pop, it'll be the best day of our lives. And you know. I think that's enough." Brittany finished.

Stacy nodded. And the two of them kept staring up at the stars. She lowered her hand to the bench, her fingers touching Brittany's. Brittany smiled, interlocking her fingers with Stacy's.