Bounce

You look up at me pleadingly as I tug your leash. I can see the embarrassment in your large expressive eyes as you sit there on your knees, generous rear end resting back on your heels, your pouty little mouth covered over by a strip of pink duct tape. Your hands are cuffed behind you, forcing your already extremely well-endowed breasts forward, pale cleavage bulging out of your pink PVC top.

"Come on, you little whore. Sit on it," I say, more of a tease than a command, as I tug upwards on your leash and scoot the pump closer to you. It's a bellows type foot pump, a squat rubber accordion with a spring holding it up, but this one is obviously different than any of the ones you've seen before. For one thing, the output valve is right on top and it has a big pink buttplug with a hole in the tip screwed directly onto the it. For another, that spring looks really heavy duty. Like you'd have to stand on it to pump it. Or, well, sit on it.

I walk around behind you and give you a little push forward, holding your dainty cuffed hands to keep you from helplessly falling face first into the ground as your body leans forward, ass raised into the air. I spread your feet apart, slide the pump under you, and lower your latex panty clad rear onto the lubed up plug.

You giggled and thought it was cute when I drew a silver bullseye on your bum earlier; you were expecting it to eventually become relevant symbolism, but not like this.

I hold your cuffed hands and grab your shoulder, sitting you up and back, pressing the entire weight of your body onto the plug. There is a brief squeak and then a pop as the huge plug slides into your tight ass, poking a hole in your panties. The sudden drop of all your weight onto the pump collapses it for a moment and you squeal as a blast of air shoots up your rump, and then the spring rebounds and lifts your butt back off the floor. I walk back to your front and twirl a lock of your hair in my hand as you look up at me helplessly.

"Okay, now bounce." Your eyes widen and you shake your head from side to side, blushing and letting out a little muffled squeal from under the strip of pink tape covering your mouth.

I put my hands on your shoulders and give you a little push down, pumping a blast of air into you. You rebound and I keep pushing your shoulders, bouncing you up and down as your impressive bust swells into two big pale gravity defying orbs straining your top and your hips and ass pump up wide and tight, squeaking in your underwear. You let out a surprised little squeal with every pump.

"Look, I can tell you're enjoying yourself, you little slut." You blush bright red, so hard you can feel your face warming up. Instead of nodding, you just stare back at me with big guilty eyes and wiggle helplessly as I bounce you up and down, pumping you like a tire pump. Your ass is huge, two huge curves of pale flesh with a taut triangle of black rubber stretched transparently taut across them, so round that I can see the now oval top curve of the bullseye from where I stand with my hands on your shoulders. Your tits are tight white orbs, exaggerated pale balloons with soft pink nipples peeking above the edge of your stretched pink top.

I give you a few more bounces and stop, walking behind you as I fish the keys out of my pocket. I bend down and undo the handcuffs. Your hands fly up to your huge hips, squeezing and caressing them, then to the gentle curve of your uninflated tummy, then up to your pumped up tits. I twirl a lock of your hair and watch you rubbing your inflated body. You reach a hand up to your mouth and feel for the corner of the tape, but I swat your hand back down to your breasts.

"No, I don't want to hear your moaning yet, you pumped up bitch," I say, the last three words sounding like the most degrading compliment you've ever received. Standing behind you, I put my hands back on your shoulders and keep pumping. You start pushing with your legs, harder and faster, until you're bouncing yourself, using your own pumped up thighs to blow yourself bigger and bigger, tighter and tighter.

I walk around to your front and rest my hands with yours on your balloon like chest as you bounce, panting and squealing.

"I'll take the tape off, but you have to stay quiet. No moaning. Ready?" Still bouncing, you nod eagerly. I reach up and pull the tape off. You immediately let out an involuntary pleasured squeal before clapping your hands over your mouth and going back to muffled squeaks.

There is a soft pop, and your underwear explodes into rubber confetti around your gigantic ass. You're pumping up big; I couldn't reach across your pale round pneumatic bum with both hands if I tried, and I walked behind you and I'm trying.

"How does it feel?"

You open uncover your mouth to speak between pants, and I give your ass a hard unexpected spank. You moan. Loudly.

"I said no moaning. I'm gonna have to punish you," I say as I pull a bike pump out from under the bed. "Open wide."

You open your mouth, smiling and closing your eyes as I put the hose in and start pumping. With double the airflow, you're soon an exaggerated blimp of a female, breasts and hips blown up like a caricature of a fertility goddess. You creak loudly, explosion imminent, and I pull out the tire pump.

You moan openly, bouncing and pumping yourself up tighter and tighter, creaking more and more as the pressure builds. A powerful internal tightness builds to a feeling of uncontainable pressure, and you stop, panting hard.

"Did I tell you to stop? Keep pumping. I want to see you pop." You're almost there. Even without pumping, you're slowly expanding on your own.

You moan again and nod, bouncing as the pressure builds and a surge of pleasure flows through your inflated body. You orgasm powerfully, wiggling and moaning as your body creaks and surges out, the pressure overcoming your ability to hold it in. Your moan turns into a scream of pleasure as your overpumped blimp ass and gigantic tits swell one final time and you explode in a hollow thunderous KABOOM!

I peel a big piece of stretched pink PVC off my face as a small wet spot forms at the apex of the tent in my pants.