Belly Inflation

The instant Liliace awoke, she perceived the condition of the soil from the shady darkness inside her flower. Her roots knurled in the earth like toes wriggling through sand.

The nutrient balance was different. Slightly more traces of stone. Neighbors. Dozens of them.

She uncurled the large orange petals surrounding her while straightening her back and emerged into the slightly cool morning air and the warmth of the brilliant summer sunlight on her fern-green skin.

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.”