At this point, a wave of hissing all around her wasn’t enough of a disturbance to get her up. Spitfire burbled, rolled over, and tried to go back to sleep. Bored as she was in this damn cell - she ground her hips into the floor when some weight rested on them, and she shuddered from the dull ache of unanswered sexual need. How long had it been? She couldn’t tell. Long enough in this damn suit that it was difficult to think about anything else. Endless squeaks and creaks and the movement of air trapped in rubber, all day…
 
“Ooh, this is a cute one!” Spitfire’s eyes shot open. A sonorous, reverberant voice is not something she was expecting. Before she could scramble to her feet to investigate, a wall of puffed-out rubber came down on her back, pressing her against the floor. Pinned, briefly suffocating against the padded tile, her uncertainties were quelled. She even rolled her eyes a little. Wonderful. Another mandatory friend.
 
A moment later, a second thick wedge of rubber came to scoop her from the floor, and as she gasped down a gulp of air, the two enormous inflatable hooves lifted her into the air, leaving her dwarfed by a face sculpted from the air-filled rubber, draped in a moulded single-piece fringe, a little glowy green patch on her cheeks, and shiny, pouty lips. And the eyes… how did they make the eyes move? She could never figure it out.
 
“Oh, she is!” another voice chirped. Spitfire’s heart leapt again. Just to the right of that head twice her height, was another one, leaning in with her mohawk waving in between them, streaked with glowing blue and pink.
 
With her hooves pinned, Spitfire couldn’t do more than hang her jaw open and try to make words come out. “Uh… uhm. Two? Of?”
 
“Aw, she’s so confused!” The greyish-purple one with the mohawk patted her on the head, which effectively squished her between three hooves.
 
The one holding her moved her closer, opening her hooves out so Spitfire was laying on them on her back. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you…” she purred. Spitfire was washed with the sweet, rubbery breath that came from these synthetic companions, before a pair of rubber lips, each as wide as her head, pressed firmly against her. The strength of these things always overwhelmed her - there was basically no resisting them, even if their puffy nature meant that they could never hurt her. She couldn’t hide that she was blushing as the kiss progressed, pinning her on her back. When it broke, she was panting.
 
“I think she liked that!” the other one said. “I want a turn!” They seemed to be very much on the same page, and the green one offered her up for another smooch on her whole upper body at once. One hind leg wiggled in a meagre struggle that did little more than amuse the larger mare. The green one seemed to be into the idea enough that she couldn’t wait for her turn, and soon she was getting two kisses at the same time. She didn’t want to wiggle too much, pinned between these two pairs of kneading, puffy lips, for fear that she’d slip inside one or the other. They didn’t seem to want to stop, though. Which… well, it’s not like she was doing anything else.
 
A moment of carelessness saw her slip from the grip of the two pairs of kissing lips, and drop between the enormous cell buddies. She bounced off one stomach, then the other, then landed on the floor with another little bounce, startled, but not hurt. “Careful!” the grey one said. “We’ve got to keep her safe, remember?”
 
“Oh! Oh! Idea!” the green one chirped. Spitfire was only just getting to her hooves when she was swept back on her back by a hoof as tall as her. As she tried to get her bearings, the ceiling above her darkened, in a tone of greenish-blue. Oh no.
 
With a not insubstantial whump, the inflatable mare dropped her rump right on top of Spitfire. Its width was by itself enough to completely conceal her sprawled out body by a comfortable margin. Then she started grinding. A slow, almost rolling motion, not sliding the rubber over her - there was too much grip for that. It was still enough stimulation to tickle her trapped body into grinding back and groaning airlessly. Her efforts were pitiful from under the inflatable crush, but based on the echoes of cooing and giggling coming through the hollow latex pinning her, it wasn’t going unnoticed.
 
“Hey, no fair!” the grey one said. “You can’t just sit on her all day.” Relief came from the mild shove that lifted the big rump off her. She’d been pressed a little into the padding of the tiles, and she certainily didn’t want to get up right away. “I have an idea…”
 
Spitfire didn’t resist. It was pointless. Two inflatable hooves scooped her up, and placed her on an inflatable belly. She tried to balance, but it was a little too wobbly to do more than lift her head.
 
“Oh, I get it…” the green one’s purr from above warned her too late that another wall of pressurised latex was incoming. The two bellies pressed flat together as they snuggled up, with Spitfire pinned between them. She managed to crawl at least as far as getting her head into open air before the full strength of two top-of-the-line synthetic inflatable giants pinned her firmly in place. This let her emit her first full-throated moan, as she ground her hips in her tight predicament. Her captors, however, didn’t seem to notice. They were a little too preoccupied with each other, pressing full inflatable lips together and murmuring affectionately. She did however feel them work their abdomens, grinding together for their own pleasure, which incidentally brought her along for the ride. She gave up trying to squirm free. They could be at this for a while, and there was no point wasting her strength. Besides, it did feel… good, at least, to be strung along with all this pleasure…
 
===
 
A commission that kind of got out of hand! Spitfire getting a couple of new cell buddies. Is it a mistake that there are two of them? Or is that what was planned all along? Who knows! Part 2 - a closeup on what’s going on behind those big puffy posteriors~
 
LINKS  
Part 1  
Alternate versions:  
Penises  
Penises, no Spitfire  
Bulges  
Bulges, no Spitfire