The balloons smack against me, daring and relentless, like they know exactly what they’re doing. My hands grab their tight, tense curves, and for a second they give in—just enough to keep me hooked. I throw them up, but they don’t go far, bouncing back to me like they can’t stay away. The way the rubber clings and slides across my skin feels almost too bold, too shameless. It’s wild, messy, and I can’t help but wonder—am I playing with them, or are they the ones toying with me?

The balloons smack against me, daring and relentless, like they know exactly what they’re doing. My hands grab their tight, tense curves, and for a second they give in—just enough to keep me hooked. I throw them up, but they don’t go far, bouncing back to me like they can’t stay away. The way the rubber clings and slides across my skin feels almost too bold, too shameless. It’s wild, messy, and I can’t help but wonder—am I playing with them, or are they the ones toying with me?